FIC: Divergence 25/27?
Title: Divergence
Pairing: nu!K/S and counterparts
Rating: Teen
Notes: for a PROMPT on the old kink meme. I am so relieved this is almost over.
SUMMARY: The USS Douglas and Saltash join the fight against the Narada. Putting her many years of experience to use, Winona Kirk takes over from the Enterprise in leading the attack.
Beta : karmic_fic <3
Series Masterpost
USS Enterprise: Engineering deck, year 2246
The gangway lurched roughly to first one side then the other under his feet while behind him part of a railing twisted, then snapped under the stress. Inner eyelids closed protectively, Spock ploughed on, oxygen deprivation causing his head to spin. Finding his way to a fallen crewman, he tore the respirator from the dead man’s face and pressed it to his own, taking fast hot gulps of air as his eyes flicked left and right searching wildly for James and Doctor O’Connell. Sub-junction 3D, 3C… Spock silently counted. He came to a skittering stop at the obstruction in front of him, a collapsed gangway from Section 2, unsure how to proceed.
‘…SPOCK!’ A strangled cry made his head snap to the left. James, his insides jumped; James was trapped underneath the twisted metal and scorched plastic. Spock frantically scrambled through the debris and ripped off the respirator, pressing it to the younger boy’s face without a second thought. James’ hand clung to his own over the mask, throat flexing as he drank in the clean air, eyes wide and shockingly blue in the dim smoky interior. ‘Doctor,’ the boy gasped, his breath hissing through the mouthpiece, ‘dead!’
Forcing himself to withdraw from the boy’s desperate grasp, Spock relegated fear to the pit of his stomach and grabbed at the twisted metal with strength he didn’t know he had. Trying to help, James pushed, wriggled and tried to roll, never ceasing in his attempts to escape even as involuntary sobs started to shake him, his terrified cries distorted by the mask.
‘Spock, Spock, I can’t feel my left leg! I don’t think-!’ The metal shifted. James dropped the respirator and screamed outright, rearing up and twisting helplessly under the metal pinning his leg. The sound of James’ pain cut through Spock like a hot blade to his intestines. Feelings he had worked so hard to distance himself from while attending the injured in Sickbay came rushing back, making his knees weak. James’ hand clutched at his shoulder, his face in an agonized grimace, his eyes pleading. ‘Spock,’ the boy sobbed, ‘Spock, just get outta here, okay...’
Without conscious thought, his hand found the soft juncture of the boy’s neck and shoulder, squeezing down. James slumped over, unconscious. Spock grabbed the respirator for one last deep breath of air, fastened it over the boy’s face then focused on the beam pinning James’ leg. With a choked cry, Spock pushed against the beam with all his might, sounds muted, his vision blurred, nothing existed for him in that moment save the beam and his need to remove this last obstacle to James’ freedom. Every muscle in his body screamed out in protest as slowly the beam began to shift, metal grinding against metal until at last he felt it give. With a final cry and a last burst of energy Spock thrust upwards, freeing James. By working one arm beneath the unconscious boy and wrapping it around his torso, he was able to roughly lever the boy off the floor and brace himself to stand, sweeping an arm behind James’ knees to fully support his weight.
Holding James securely against his chest, Spock ran as fast as his legs would take him. He breathed erratically, alternating between holding and gasping in an attempt to limit his toxin intake but he could still feel the smoke and chemical gases sink into his lungs. The burning, sulfuric sensation coupled with fact that each breath brought not only life giving oxygen but also closer to death forced him to repeatedly fight back the urge to retch in an attempt to cleanse his system of the poisons. Dread pricked his skin, his arms locked immobile in their positions cradling James’ slumped body which seemed to get heavier the closer he got to the airlock seals.
Staggering to a stop and almost collapsing, he set James down harder than he wanted to and tore himself away to bang on the seals. We’re here, he wanted to shout, we’re alive! Spock fumbled open the door control panel and tried to make sense of it, blunt fingers sliding along the circuit boards. He was looking for an override but his brain refused to cooperate, too frazzled from the chaos pressing at his back and the scarcity of oxygen. His chest pounded with every thump of his fists against the cold hard metal but no one answered. Ship’s safety protocols were crucial to the structural integrity of the starship and her crew’s survival; they were trapped.
Collapsing to his knees, Spock reached for the unconscious boy, grateful that James couldn’t see him so shaken. Air rattled in and out of his scorched lungs, each breath a painful heave; he felt the stretch of every muscle, each expansion and contraction as he forced himself to take in the hot filthy air, fighting for control and reason. The dozen alarms and warning screeches continued on but all Spock could think about was the future he desperately wanted, the starship Enterprise - James - and that this couldn’t be the end.
Think, he silently ordered himself, a strange calm coalescing from the panic boiling his insides. He had come back for James knowing that auto-lockdown was less than a minute away. He had studied the schematics of the ship and there had to be some way, some method… Spock drew up the three-dimensional ship’s schematic in his head and examined every corner, all the entrance and exit points to Main Engineering… Thoughts of radiation and human frailty kept intruding, making it difficult to think past getting James to decontamination, to radiation treatments and - Spock snapped up, mentally berating himself for being so slow. The hazards chamber! It was their only chance.
--
USS Enterprise, Main Bridge, year 2246
“Attention, unidentified vessel! This is Commodore Winona Kirk of the United Federation of Planets, Starfleet, dammit! Cease fire and identify yourselves! Failure to respond will be taken as hostile intent!”
Looking at first Bones then Spock in speechless wonder, Jim whirled back to the viewscreen just as the first of the Narada’s torpedoes shrieked through the barren vacuum to lash across the nearest starship’s shields. Gut instinct told him that that would be his mother’s ship; even though he couldn’t tell what name was emblazoned on the front disc, he knew Winona Kirk would never command from any where other then on point. A whistle from the automated communications board made him whip his head around; someone was hailing them directly. A few seconds later, the console whistled again, and this time he dove towards the terminal, slamming his hand down blindly on a section of buttons to put the transmission onto loudspeaker. Behind him, Spock and Bones spread out, taking control of helm and operations.
“…Pike, captain of the USS Saltash, unknown vessel, do you require assistance…? This is Chris Pike, of the USS Saltash, do you copy?”
‘Yes, target coordinates 1.445 mark 3.17! It’s where the shield generators are!’
Instead of the response that he expected, there was a moment of silence and then, “Our sensors show life signs and multiple class-2 impulse signatures so I’m going to assume you are either unable to respond or are evacuating. We’re going to-” there was a muffled explosion in the background, cutting Pike off abruptly.
‘SHIT!’ Jim whirled around to catch the chaos of energy weapons discharge crisscrossing as the two Starfleet vessels feinted in close and then veered off from the Narada, burning lashes occasionally scorching ship hull and sparking along shields. ‘Status? Dammit, what’s their status!’
‘Shields at 70 percent and falling,’ Spock informed him in a grim tone of voice, ‘Both ships are taking heavy fire and have already diverted all non-essentials into weapons, defense and life support.’ The Vulcan turned to look at him, ‘Due to their unfamiliarity with the Narada, their attacks are not achieving the optimal effect.’
But if we could only share our intelligence with them, they would have a chance, Jim read in the black wells of Spock’s eyes. Bones looked over his shoulder from the other side of upper deck, his expression furious like he couldn’t believe this was happening. ‘Ship-to-ship communications is totally out! They hit the main array, Jim, and those backups just won’t cut it with this much shooting everywhere!’
‘Yeah, tell me something I don’t know!’ He snapped, popping open the hidden compartment under the console to get at a handheld communicator. The result was the same - too much fucking interference. Slamming it back down, Jim leaped to his feet and grabbed onto the safety rails, knuckles whitening as he tightened his grip in frustration. They needed to get communications up, to contact those ships and in the event of defeat, warn others away; he ground his teeth at the thought of letting Nero get away, even at a limp - there has to be a way - ‘Bones!’ Jim’s voice was filled with a new determination, frustration melting away into calm focus. ‘How many crew we still got aboard?’
‘Less than two hundred.’
It was enough. It had to be. Going to his chair, Jim sat down in one smooth, controlled movement and flicked on the thankfully still enabled ship-wide intercom. “Attention all decks, this is the captain speaking. If anyone is still out there - first of all dammit, what the hell are you still doing here - and secondly…”
---
Hikaru Sulu jerked up at the sound of Kirk’s voice ringing through the wide expanse of the shuttle bay. Next to him, there were similar reactions from Uhura and Chekov before they all looked at each other, incredulous at what they were hearing: there were other Starfleet ships attacking the Narada, any crewmembers still left on the Enterprise were being recalled to assist in repairs to establish communications and boost power to shields and weapons. The crewmembers that had still been waiting to board the shuttles scattered immediately upon the conclusion of the captain’s announcement, heading back to their respective battlestations. “…Any senior officers who are still aboard, please report immediately -”
Dashing to the nearest intercom terminal, Sulu didn’t hesitate to answer the bridge summons. ‘Sulu here, captain!’
There was a brief pause and then Commander Spock’s unmistakable voice piped through the speakers, “Lieutenant Sulu, what is your present location?” In the background Sulu heard the captain bark an exultant “Scotty!!”
‘Shuttle bay 3, sir!’
‘Commander!’ Chekov said loudly, accent even thicker than normal, ‘vhat is going on!?’
There was a brief pause and, even with the ship between them, Sulu could almost hear the gears in the Vulcan’s head turning. He glanced over at the young Russian who stared back, wide-eyed in anticipation before returning to burning a hole into the intercom terminal. “Ensign,” the commander said sharply, “Is Lieutenant Uhura still with you?”
Uhura started at the mention of her name but Chekov answered for her, ‘Yes, sir! And also Ensign Krout, Lieutenant Commander Shojaei, Doctor-!’
“Understood,” the commander cut off the Russian’s eager rant with curt politeness. “Lieutenant Sulu, I order you to take the Hendrik Lorentz and establish communication with the two Starfleet vessels engaging Nero; Commodore Kirk is the commanding officer coordinating the attack.”
He shared a shocked look with Chekov at the name, and behind them, Uhura gasped in surprise: the only Commodore Kirk in 2246 would have to be their captain’s mother, one Commodore Winona Kirk. The helmsman had never met the woman, but she was supposed to be as decorated and renowned as her son, Captain James T. Kirk, though for entirely different reasons. She was involved in Federation mining and colonization projects; specifically, she managed scientific research into local ecological systems and did whatever was required to make an asteroid belt, moon or planet ready for settlers. Sulu’s stomach sank because considering her line of work, it was unlikely her ships were outfitted to take on the Romulans. At his silence, the commander continued:
“She is aboard the USS Douglas; their shields are raised so it is unlikely that you will be able beam aboard. Ensign,” Chekov jumped to attention, “you and Lieutenant Uhura are both familiar with the information brought back from the Narada; you are authorized under orders to share that intelligence and formulate a tactical advantage which the two vessels will be technologically capable of exploiting.”
Sulu’s first thought was that it was going to be rough flying through a battlefield, his second was a curse and his third line of reflection was a vague shake of the proverbial head at the Temporal Prime Directive being thoroughly screwed then spat on. But this wouldn’t be the first time they had broken a few rules to save the whole fucking galaxy and so he nodded, even though the Vulcan couldn’t see it.
‘Yes sir -’ He said decisively, ‘- Sulu out!’ Then, after sharing a look with Chekov and Uhura, all three broke into a run.
---
Doctor Leonard McCoy slammed down the emergency stairs towards engineering at a dead run, one hand tightly gripping the straps of the three medical kits he’d slung around his torso, his expression caught somewhere between righteous indignation and deep concern. As soon as Jim had announced that the fight was back on, no fewer than fifteen motley groups of engineers in various stages of evacuation checked in with the bridge to report they were returning to duty; sixty percent of the two-hundred odd stragglers were engineers and quite frankly, he wasn’t half-surprised. In McCoy’s honest opinion, engineers didn’t possess the self-preservation God gave a newt; simply put, they were nuts - the whole lot of them - and didn’t deserve the effort he put into keeping them kicking.
And to make matters worse, whatever special brand of crazy infects engineers - hell! this whole damn ship - must be catching, ‘cause he’d been half way out the door before Jim could even ask him! Well, he supposed philosophically, someone had to make sure they didn’t all just keel over from untreated radiation exposure and smoke inhalation - McCoy might know jack all about engineering, but he sure as hell knew his engineers; they made up forty-four percent of all sickbay admissions, and that was from injuries racked up during simple charting missions! During a crisis like this? There wasn't a chance in hell they didn't need a doctor on hand!
Upon reaching the Engineering decks, McCoy barreled in without announcement and immediately went to work, bullying any petty officers he came across into being assistants. In the middle of the fifth burns treatment, eighth splint and twenty-second shot of hydronalin, he finally spotted the Chief Engineer who was shouting orders left right and centre, pointing at this and that. He made his way over, hypospray in hand but stopped when he saw Scotty’s face.
If there was one person on board who was as manic under pressure as Jim Kirk, it was Scotty. Jim might be the captain but it was Scotty who made all of their crazy ideas work, mired in the guts of the starship as he kept the consoles responsive. But instead of a grinning maniac, high on adrenalin, fumes and the sheer joy of being alive, Scotty’s face was tight with guilt, his jaw locked and his eyes strangely solemn. It was enough to send a chill through McCoy’s guts and kill whatever quip he’d been about to make. Before he could blurt out a question, the Chief Engineer caught sight of him, and his voice faltered for a second before he went back to shouting orders at a group of waiting crewman. McCoy didn’t care that his patient wasn’t the slightest bit interested in what he was doing; he grabbed the engineer by the arm and gave him a dose of hydronalin.
The engineer grasped the doctor’s arm desperately as though he were a lifeline. McCoy tried not to wince at the strong grip and stared fearlessly back, even though his stomach was rebelling in dread. ‘I’m sorry, doctor,’ the man told him in a thin quavering voice, nothing like his usual brash holler; ‘Jimmy and wee Spock are-’ the man swallowed thickly, ‘I tried, doctor, but they - I couldn’t override the auto-lockdown, I tried but…I lost them in Section 3 but I can’t be sure- I’m- I’m sorry,’ the engineer managed to choke out, and then he practically wrenched away, going back to barking orders and slamming tools.
Leonard McCoy blinked at the space where Scotty used to be, the words not quite making sense. When it finally sank in, he took a deep breath in shock; Jim Kirk and Spock of Vulcan were dead. It couldn’t be, some part of him argued, unable to accept what that implied for this timeline - that he should never meet Jim Kirk, that he should never meet Spock, that he may never apply to serve on the Enterprise and thus never meet Uhura, or Chekov, or Sulu, or…
The deck underneath him shook slightly, knocking him out of his disturbing thoughts. McCoy schooled his face to determination. There was still a fight going on out there and until it was over, he had to keep moving. Mind-made up, he fitted a fresh capsule into his hypospray and hurried to another group of engineers- and besides, he allowed himself one more thought, if anyone could survive, it would be those two, especially if they managed to stay together.
----
USS Saltash, Main Bridge, year 2246
‘INCOMING TORPEDOES!’ His weapons officer bellowed.
A second later the shockwave struck. Electricity spewed all over the ship. The bridge of the Saltash lit up like the Fourth of July as the viewscreen was set ablaze with the ensuing explosions against their shields. Chris Pike had the feeling that if he released his grip on the arms of his chair, he’d go spinning. All around him, his crew was hanging on for dear life as the deck pitched with the momentary loss of artificial gravity. Sirens whined and sparks flew everywhere, several people reeled back to escape being zapped; some were not so lucky.
Gritting his teeth, Pike ignored his urge to attend to the wounded but he didn’t dare abandon the central seat. He continued to order cover fire for the Douglas, reading Winona’s moves as if they were back at the Academy and she was putting him through his chops. A revelation hit him then, squarely between the eyes: why she’d volunteered him for the chair - in a space cockfight like this where constant communication was close to impossible, having two commanders who could read each other meant still being able to coordinate attacks. But still, doubts rested heavily on his mind; how did someone fight something so mysterious, and so utterly impossible!
The sheer size of that thing out there, coupled with the way it was constructed meant that they couldn’t get any accurate readings from their scans. It’s mass was such that it’s materials would have been more than sufficient for the construction of an entire fleet of the Federation’s heavy cruisers, and its shields just wouldn’t quit! They couldn’t identify the bridge from the ass end of the ship, and dear lord, the power drain of having something so immense fully shielded, the artificial gravity! The ship was so alien, so far outside the boundaries of his understanding that it was like a cipher, one that he couldn’t hope to comprehend it without a detailed key.
Pike watched with a mix of admiration and total terror as Winona repeatedly ordered her ship so close that he felt sure they’d collide with the black monstrosity. Each time, the helmsman barely saved the vessel by ducking or spinning in ways that were definitely illegal, maneuvering like a short-distance attack fighter from the Third World War; the captain wondered if Winona had made anti-nausea hypo-shots mandatory for all personnel.
A moment later, he wished for that anti-nausea shot himself when the Saltash helmsman followed the Douglas with move that must have been against the laws of physics with the way it sent the gravity compensators into conniptions. His stomach protested violently, but he forced the reaction into submission. On the viewscreen, the monstrous ship that he’d only even glimpsed in the distorted recordings salvaged from the Kelvin, became nothing but a mass of sharp black tentacles. Suddenly, it released another spread of those fragmenting torpedoes.
‘EVASIVE!’ He shouted.
The starship rocked and tilted against its own artificial gravity as all systems went haywire. Before he even had a chance to recover, someone shouted, ‘SIR! The Douglas! She’s set a collision course!’
---
The Narada: Command Centre, year 2246
The ship out there looked small and puny as it plunged towards them, plowing through the torpedoes that bombarded it but not without sustaining heavy damages; yet it continued to come at them with undaunted enthusiasm. D’Nal frowned and moved forward to better examine the Federation starship, his eyes, his mind, his sense of survival all focused on that screen. With the unfortunate death of Ayel, he had been made First Officer and it was a responsibility that he took seriously. He had no military training, but he had a keen mind and good instincts, all of which told him that it would be a grave mistake to underestimate Starfleet. They were not the weaklings that they had been long portrayed as being, of this he was certain.
‘Back off,’ he ordered. ‘Stop us!’
Captain Nero whirled from the command chair. ‘I don't back off!’ The man snarled.
D’Nal was unshaken. ‘Sir, I suggest we do so. Something's going on.’ Getting a sneer in response, he moved a step in the direction of his temperamental captain, his tone low and imploring. ‘Captain Nero, they're biding their time and hiding something from us, I’m certain of it.’
‘Like what?’ Captain Nero howled. ‘They can't outrun us! Their shields will fail soon! Like the noble sacrificial mules they are, they’re trying to destroy us by killing themselves! Well, it’s been tried before, it didn’t work then, and it won’t work now!!’
But it had crippled them so badly that they had been captured by the Klingons, the First Officer thought darkly. Here, deep in Federation space, it would surely lead to, if not their death, then to their humiliating capture by the other Starfleet ships that infested the area like vermin. D’Nal wisely kept these thoughts to himself. ‘But sir,’ he tried to protest, because no matter how much he loathed the Federation, they were neither weak nor stupid, and wouldn’t just roll over like the pirate scum they’ve been destroying and salvaging for spare parts.
‘ENOUGH!’ The other man roared, jumping to his feet. D’Nal backed down, edging away with his head bowed in respect. He skulked back to the command centre, resigned. Nostrils flaring, Nero pointed imperiously at the crewwoman manning the weapons console. ‘Fire everything we’ve got!’
‘Captain Nero!’ The man at one of the subsidiary consoles called out. ‘Something’s happening! They’re- they’re doing something!’
The Romulan captain turned along with everyone else on the bridge.
‘Doing what?’ He demanded in a growl.
The crewman shook his head in puzzlement then frowned openly. ‘They’ve opened their jettison tube…’
Shock breaking on his wide-jawed face, D’Nal darted around to where the crewman was, eyes flying across the ever-changing numbers then snapped up to point at their helmsman and weapons officer, his expression urgent. ‘Get us cover! Emergency evasive now!’
Catapulting back to his station in the command center, the First Officer twisted his upper body as he hit this button and pushed that lever, all the while shouting orders. Hands on deflector controls that would be useless against what Starfleet had planned for them, D’Nal met his captain’s heavy glare with a steady look, so calm he could have passed for a Vulcan. Only his voice revealed any hint of panic, ‘Sir, brace for impact!’
Nero pulled himself around to sneer at the small Federation vessel that dared to attack, gripping the back of his chair so hard that the material squealed. Instead of sneering, he howled in uncontrollable rage as he realized the horror on the viewscreen. The Federation ship ducked straight down and vanished from view at point-blank range. And in its place - a wall of debris. Barrels, jagged metal, pipes, cans, broken glass, cracked parts all flew at them at full impulse, fueled by inertia. D’Nal swallowed down his dread; the debris was too close to be repelled by either the deflectors or their navigational shields, and it was moving so fast it would surely tear through the hull.
‘Turn!’ Captain Nero bellowed. ‘Evasive! Turn!’ He plunged down from his raised dais and grabbed the helmsman by the back of the neck when nothing happened. ‘TURN, damn you!’
‘I am!’ The crewman choked. ‘Can't do it! Can't do it fast enough!’
‘Disruptors!’ The enraged man abandoned the helmsman and rounded on D’Nal, eyes dark and crazed. ‘Fire the disruptors! Fire! Fire!!’
Crrrraaackckclatatatatat-CRACKKAKA-CRACK!
Bits of junk moving at ninety thousand kilometers per second slammed into the Narada’s skeletal hull like needles, puncturing it in dozens of places and completely decimating certain arms. Ship integrity was compromised and as the almost endless redundancies started to kick in, atmospheric compressors fought to save what parts of the ship they could and abandoned the rest to the dead of space, chemical fountains spewed in the vessel’s bowels while deadly sparks erupted all over the forward portions of the ship, the bridge began to fill with smoke.
‘Fire!’ Captain Nero belted out in a furious snarl. ‘Fire at those bastards!’
The ship tilted upward as though it had been kicked in the underbelly and started to list to the side. The crew shouted while desperately trying to regain some control. Somehow, in the midst of all the chaos, D’Nal came back to himself, face-down on the cold slimy deck, blood blinding his eyes. He dragged himself from the deflector controls to the weapons panel and did as his captain instructed. His hand fumbled clumsily for the targeting preset, twisted the spray-width to maximum, and slammed his fist down to fire.
---
USS Douglas, Main Bridge, year 2246
There was a low but audible cheer as their jettisoned refuse hit their target hard, but the moment was cut short by the shouted warning that another torrent of torpedoes was coming at them. The starship was sent tumbling, a powerful shockwave hammering them and sending half the bridge lurching to the right. A chemical fire started on the upper deck of the bridge, issuing out blooms of smoke. Choking and coughing, several officers descended with extinguishers. The figure in the central chair barely spared a glance at the chaos, her eyes riveted on the viewscreen.
‘Bring us around!’ Commodore Winona Kirk ordered. ‘Attack Pattern Gamma Six!’
The crew scrambled to comply.
‘Commodore!’ Communications officer Lieutenant Ayoub shouted over his shoulder, jolted up and down by the lurching of the ship. ‘Approaching shuttlecraft of unknown ID origin hailing us on the emergency channels! It’s from the vessel that was under attack!’
Winona Kirk spun in the command hair, hair loose and wild, sweat brimming along her severe brows. Her eyes were slim with frustration and there was an edge in her voice when she spoke, ‘What are they saying?’
‘Too much interference for more than basic burst!’ He relayed, his voice steady even as the entire ship jolted, the alien vessel that loomed through the viewscreen bore down on them. ‘They keep repeating a loop of two words and a changing set of decimal points!!’ Suddenly his console flashed for his attention, a new set of coded messages showing up. The previous information was still there but it was now supplemented by a new equation of two words and a number. The first word in the pattern was the same - ATTACK - but the second word had changed to COOLANT instead of SHIELDS, and the number provided was once again unique but it was repeated when the code was looped again, while the first decimal linked to SHIELDS was different.
Behind him the commodore was already back in the thick of the battle, ordering evasive maneuvers, attack, feint, defilade, counterattack, retreat and so on. Casualty reports flooded the bridge, and Engineering started sending up dire warning interspersed with the Chief Engineer threatening the Commodore into buying her some time or else. Lieutenant Ayoub realized slowly that these could be considered attack orders, those brisk no-nonsense notes passed during a time when modern warfare was still relegated, confined to light horse brigades and projectile artillery…an idea came to him. Ayoub spun around to face the commodore but before he could speak, that ship out there fired again.
The Douglas rocked violently. The lieutenant pitched and hit his console hard face-first just as he heard Commodore Kirk yell, ‘INCOMING - EVERYONE BRACE FOR IMPACT!’
WHOOP WHOOP WHOOP WHOOP!!!
‘Hull fracture!’ Someone shouted over the alarm that was shattering Ayoub’s eardrums. ‘Ninety-six seconds to loss of integrity, two minutes to atmospheric zero!’
Forehead still smarting from the whack, the communications officer spun around madly trying to locate the ominous hsssss from somewhere in the superstructure of the bridge cabin but then someone was hustling him out of his chair and towards the emergency hatch. The First Officer made a sweeping gesture. ‘Go, go!’ The Tellarite growled at the same time as Commodore Kirk yelled, ‘AUXILIARY BRIDGE!’
The shouts overlapped but it was the same order. The first of the crew dove through it feet first, face pale but determined. Lieutenant Ayoub followed, half-falling down the chute to land in the emergency stairwell. He fumbled his way down the stairs with his fellow officers and heard behind him the Commodore’s desperate shout for First Officer Diadu when the companionway hatch closed, abandoning anyone still left on the bridge to hard vacuum. Despite the standing orders, Ayoub hesitated and turned back to wait for the commodore.
‘What are you doing?’ She snapped when she saw him, ‘Get to your battlestation!’
‘Commodore,’ Lieutenant Ayoub said in a rush, following her as she continued on down the steps without even pausing for him, ‘the message from the shuttlecraft - it was giving us coordinates for an attack on the alien vessel!’
The commodore glanced at him but her pace never slowed as they pounded down the emergency stairs together, distant booms and shakes pushing crew to reach their stations. ‘You know this how?’ She demanded, voice ragged and low.
Pushing away his desire to explain how he arrived at his conclusion, the lieutenant focused on the pertinent details. ‘The short message is liken to attack orders issued in twentieth century warfare,’ Ayoub said without hesitation, ‘The coordinates given were 4.47mark2.5, and I seem to remember something from my Intro to Propulsion Engineering…’
‘Well, don't make me tickle it out of you, lieutenant,’ the commodore remarked, her manner sardonic, as they reached Deck Six and exited the emergency stairs. ‘Shoot.’
‘I believe they gave us coordinates to the alien vessel’s coolant system.’
‘Coolant?’
‘Yes sir! If we’re only allowed one hit, sir, coolant is probably the best target.’ At the slight furrow in her brow, Lieutenant Ayoub’s earlier certainty faltered slightly. ‘Isn't that right? If that ship out there operates in any way like a regular starship, without coolant they can't run anything.’
In the middle of Deck Six and a few feet away from the doors to the auxiliary bridge, Commodore Kirk stopped dead in her strides. ‘Coolant,’ she whispered then rounded on him with a bark of harsh laughter. Eyes bright, she grabbed his shoulders. ‘Coolant compressors! Hit those and that'll shut down everything!’ Then she paused, face furiously calm as her eyes glittered with the roulette wheel spinning behind them. ‘Question is… can we shoot through their shields. That's the big question. Those shields bounce our torpedoes as if they were rubber balls- come on, let’s get to the bridge!’
Ayoub almost leaped up in a whoop of victory as he scrambled to catch up. Finally! they might have an advantage. ‘Commodore, there was another code prior! The message was Attack, Shields, and a constantly altering set of -!’
A hard kick from nowhere sent the ship reeling and both of them slammed into the wall as the deck they were on pitched left. Swallowing down his cry of pain, Ayoub felt the malfunctioning gravity pin him there against the wall like he weighed an elephant. It was only a few seconds but when it was over, his heart was pounding so hard it was drowning out all other sounds in his ears and he wanted to be sick.
‘Shit!’ The commodore swore viciously, charging onto the auxiliary bridge at a sprint. The relocated bridge crew were already at their stations and trying desperately to fight back. By the proximity display on the viewscreen, they were way too close to the alien vessel for comfort. ‘Get us clear!’
The helmsman gave a curt nod; almost too quickly, the starship dove left with systems compensating for the sudden change in vectors as they screamed straight past the alien vessel upside down. ‘Decimal points?’ She shouted over the chaos as she found the central chair in the smaller, more utilitarian bridge and turned the chair consoles towards her so no sensor reading, no damage report would be missed. ‘Show me.’
‘Yes sir!’ Lieutenant Ayoub dashed to the communications terminal and plugged commands in at lightning speed then looked over to see if Commodore Kirk had gotten the relay. She was already engrossed in what he had sent to the central chair consoles, looking up only to issue new orders as the ship rocked and jerked. Without warning she stood to her full height despite the low ceiling of the auxiliary bridge, her eyes flashing with predatory hunger and righteous fury.
‘Set up a variable phaser discharge, starting point frequency 3.2 with a maximum yield of sixteen! Seven points for each variation to hold for five seconds!’ She yelled across the bridge, ‘Target coordinates 4.47 mark 2.5 and fire all weapons on my mark!’
Officers didn’t blink at the orders and scrambled to obey them despite the fact they weren’t sure what was going on. They’d gotten used to Winona Kirk’s leaps of logic, and their faith had never been misplaced before. She slammed a hand down on the arm console and connected to the Saltash. ‘Kirk to Pike!’ When she got no response, she gritted her teeth wolfishly and hoped that Pike was paying attention.
‘In position!’ The helmsman reported.
‘Ready, sir-!’ The weapons officer never finished. A shattering bang reverberated through the ship and several consoles blew at once, spewing a mass of electricity, chips, plastic and metal.
The commodore slammed into her central chair with a pained grunt but only staggered back up. ‘NOW!’ She bellowed harshly, throat raw, ‘NOW DAMMIT!’
Thin lines of red lashed out from the bow of the ship as phasers were discharged. They slammed into the alien vessel’s shields, simmered there and then plowed past to stab into the black skeletal structure of the monster itself. Flurries of red bolts followed, pounding into the same spot. Soon the Saltash joined the barrage. Orange flames exploded from the ship but were quickly swallowed by the darkness of space.
Winona Kirk took a breath, eyes wide and waited with barely-leashed impatience. It was only four seconds but it felt like an eternity.
‘They’ve stopped firing…’ someone announced in shocked disbelief.
A beat later, another officer spun from her station, ‘Their shields are going down!’
Her Science officer shook his head, frowning so hard that his bushy brows became one continuous tangle. ‘I’m reading fluctuations in their entire power grid! They’re losing propulsion, shields, everything!’
Victory blended with pure hatred as the commodore glared at the black monster that had haunted her dreams for thirteen long years. It had stolen her husband the father of her sons, her first captain and many of her friends and colleagues. She had lost hope of ever settling the score but here they were, facing each other. The ball was in her court now… ‘Fire,’ she growled.
The USS Douglas fired.
---
NCC-1701/3, Hendrik Lorentz, year 2246
It would not have been possible earlier to defeat the Narada, even with the information they had been provided, but the Enterprise had paved the way by systematically targeting all major systems till the Romulan vessel was forced to continue the fight on redundancies. And now, even those were gone with one decisive blow from the two vessels that fell upon the crippled ship like vicious wolves, phasers whipping across its structure and tearing strips from it.
Sulu watched the viewscreen in a grim silence, showing none of the relief he was experiencing. That could come later, when the Romulans were well and truly defeated - and by that he meant when they were space dust. Beside him, Chekov let out a preemptive whoop of joy in Russian and hugged him impulsively with one-arm before jumping up to embrace Uhura. ‘They did it, they did it!’ The accent somehow made the words even more joyous and he had to let out a small terse grin as the communications officer laughed in utter relief, hugging Chekov back hard.
Before their eyes the Narada buckled against itself in the middle of its desperate scramble to catch the two ships orbiting it. Crystallized air sprayed out as cracks appeared in the black skin of the ship; in some places, the hull part caved in as if being crushed by an invisible fist. Seams gaped open, and some chambers blew out, disgorging everything inside; metal, liquids, atmosphere and organic matter, that is, people - no distinction was made by the suck of hard vacuum.
‘What the-??’ Uhura started.
‘Right in the middle of a turn!’ Sulu said in disbelief at the same time that Chekov stammered, ‘Ah! Th-the gravity compensation is gone!’
What had been a fearsome enemy was being reduced to a demonic nightmare. If Mister Spock were here, he might even have called it a tempest of physics. A ship with its gravity shut down in the middle of a turn, crushed by its own impossible inertia.
Atmosphere sprayed in frozen funnels from a dozen places. Equally drawn and repulsed by the unfolding events, the helmsman watched stoically as the backups desperately tried to save the ship; some funnels puttered and closed off quickly, but others spewed white frozen atmosphere until everything had been drained. It wasn’t enough but still, the ship tried to maneuver.
‘They cannot, NO!’ Chekov stammered, eyes widening, his hand flying across the console and bringing up sensor readings back up on their screen. ‘They have lost their compensators - the ship will tear apart if they move!’
‘No navigational shields either,’ Sulu confirmed grimly.
The Romulan vessel Narada, twisted and deformed into a nightmare version of its former self, heaved for one last breath and slowly, began to unravel… It was over; they had won.
part twenty-six
A/N: the battle is over. Hope it wasn't a let down :) review is <3
Pairing: nu!K/S and counterparts
Rating: Teen
Notes: for a PROMPT on the old kink meme. I am so relieved this is almost over.
SUMMARY: The USS Douglas and Saltash join the fight against the Narada. Putting her many years of experience to use, Winona Kirk takes over from the Enterprise in leading the attack.
Beta : karmic_fic <3
Series Masterpost
USS Enterprise: Engineering deck, year 2246
The gangway lurched roughly to first one side then the other under his feet while behind him part of a railing twisted, then snapped under the stress. Inner eyelids closed protectively, Spock ploughed on, oxygen deprivation causing his head to spin. Finding his way to a fallen crewman, he tore the respirator from the dead man’s face and pressed it to his own, taking fast hot gulps of air as his eyes flicked left and right searching wildly for James and Doctor O’Connell. Sub-junction 3D, 3C… Spock silently counted. He came to a skittering stop at the obstruction in front of him, a collapsed gangway from Section 2, unsure how to proceed.
‘…SPOCK!’ A strangled cry made his head snap to the left. James, his insides jumped; James was trapped underneath the twisted metal and scorched plastic. Spock frantically scrambled through the debris and ripped off the respirator, pressing it to the younger boy’s face without a second thought. James’ hand clung to his own over the mask, throat flexing as he drank in the clean air, eyes wide and shockingly blue in the dim smoky interior. ‘Doctor,’ the boy gasped, his breath hissing through the mouthpiece, ‘dead!’
Forcing himself to withdraw from the boy’s desperate grasp, Spock relegated fear to the pit of his stomach and grabbed at the twisted metal with strength he didn’t know he had. Trying to help, James pushed, wriggled and tried to roll, never ceasing in his attempts to escape even as involuntary sobs started to shake him, his terrified cries distorted by the mask.
‘Spock, Spock, I can’t feel my left leg! I don’t think-!’ The metal shifted. James dropped the respirator and screamed outright, rearing up and twisting helplessly under the metal pinning his leg. The sound of James’ pain cut through Spock like a hot blade to his intestines. Feelings he had worked so hard to distance himself from while attending the injured in Sickbay came rushing back, making his knees weak. James’ hand clutched at his shoulder, his face in an agonized grimace, his eyes pleading. ‘Spock,’ the boy sobbed, ‘Spock, just get outta here, okay...’
Without conscious thought, his hand found the soft juncture of the boy’s neck and shoulder, squeezing down. James slumped over, unconscious. Spock grabbed the respirator for one last deep breath of air, fastened it over the boy’s face then focused on the beam pinning James’ leg. With a choked cry, Spock pushed against the beam with all his might, sounds muted, his vision blurred, nothing existed for him in that moment save the beam and his need to remove this last obstacle to James’ freedom. Every muscle in his body screamed out in protest as slowly the beam began to shift, metal grinding against metal until at last he felt it give. With a final cry and a last burst of energy Spock thrust upwards, freeing James. By working one arm beneath the unconscious boy and wrapping it around his torso, he was able to roughly lever the boy off the floor and brace himself to stand, sweeping an arm behind James’ knees to fully support his weight.
Holding James securely against his chest, Spock ran as fast as his legs would take him. He breathed erratically, alternating between holding and gasping in an attempt to limit his toxin intake but he could still feel the smoke and chemical gases sink into his lungs. The burning, sulfuric sensation coupled with fact that each breath brought not only life giving oxygen but also closer to death forced him to repeatedly fight back the urge to retch in an attempt to cleanse his system of the poisons. Dread pricked his skin, his arms locked immobile in their positions cradling James’ slumped body which seemed to get heavier the closer he got to the airlock seals.
Staggering to a stop and almost collapsing, he set James down harder than he wanted to and tore himself away to bang on the seals. We’re here, he wanted to shout, we’re alive! Spock fumbled open the door control panel and tried to make sense of it, blunt fingers sliding along the circuit boards. He was looking for an override but his brain refused to cooperate, too frazzled from the chaos pressing at his back and the scarcity of oxygen. His chest pounded with every thump of his fists against the cold hard metal but no one answered. Ship’s safety protocols were crucial to the structural integrity of the starship and her crew’s survival; they were trapped.
Collapsing to his knees, Spock reached for the unconscious boy, grateful that James couldn’t see him so shaken. Air rattled in and out of his scorched lungs, each breath a painful heave; he felt the stretch of every muscle, each expansion and contraction as he forced himself to take in the hot filthy air, fighting for control and reason. The dozen alarms and warning screeches continued on but all Spock could think about was the future he desperately wanted, the starship Enterprise - James - and that this couldn’t be the end.
Think, he silently ordered himself, a strange calm coalescing from the panic boiling his insides. He had come back for James knowing that auto-lockdown was less than a minute away. He had studied the schematics of the ship and there had to be some way, some method… Spock drew up the three-dimensional ship’s schematic in his head and examined every corner, all the entrance and exit points to Main Engineering… Thoughts of radiation and human frailty kept intruding, making it difficult to think past getting James to decontamination, to radiation treatments and - Spock snapped up, mentally berating himself for being so slow. The hazards chamber! It was their only chance.
--
USS Enterprise, Main Bridge, year 2246
“Attention, unidentified vessel! This is Commodore Winona Kirk of the United Federation of Planets, Starfleet, dammit! Cease fire and identify yourselves! Failure to respond will be taken as hostile intent!”
Looking at first Bones then Spock in speechless wonder, Jim whirled back to the viewscreen just as the first of the Narada’s torpedoes shrieked through the barren vacuum to lash across the nearest starship’s shields. Gut instinct told him that that would be his mother’s ship; even though he couldn’t tell what name was emblazoned on the front disc, he knew Winona Kirk would never command from any where other then on point. A whistle from the automated communications board made him whip his head around; someone was hailing them directly. A few seconds later, the console whistled again, and this time he dove towards the terminal, slamming his hand down blindly on a section of buttons to put the transmission onto loudspeaker. Behind him, Spock and Bones spread out, taking control of helm and operations.
“…Pike, captain of the USS Saltash, unknown vessel, do you require assistance…? This is Chris Pike, of the USS Saltash, do you copy?”
‘Yes, target coordinates 1.445 mark 3.17! It’s where the shield generators are!’
Instead of the response that he expected, there was a moment of silence and then, “Our sensors show life signs and multiple class-2 impulse signatures so I’m going to assume you are either unable to respond or are evacuating. We’re going to-” there was a muffled explosion in the background, cutting Pike off abruptly.
‘SHIT!’ Jim whirled around to catch the chaos of energy weapons discharge crisscrossing as the two Starfleet vessels feinted in close and then veered off from the Narada, burning lashes occasionally scorching ship hull and sparking along shields. ‘Status? Dammit, what’s their status!’
‘Shields at 70 percent and falling,’ Spock informed him in a grim tone of voice, ‘Both ships are taking heavy fire and have already diverted all non-essentials into weapons, defense and life support.’ The Vulcan turned to look at him, ‘Due to their unfamiliarity with the Narada, their attacks are not achieving the optimal effect.’
But if we could only share our intelligence with them, they would have a chance, Jim read in the black wells of Spock’s eyes. Bones looked over his shoulder from the other side of upper deck, his expression furious like he couldn’t believe this was happening. ‘Ship-to-ship communications is totally out! They hit the main array, Jim, and those backups just won’t cut it with this much shooting everywhere!’
‘Yeah, tell me something I don’t know!’ He snapped, popping open the hidden compartment under the console to get at a handheld communicator. The result was the same - too much fucking interference. Slamming it back down, Jim leaped to his feet and grabbed onto the safety rails, knuckles whitening as he tightened his grip in frustration. They needed to get communications up, to contact those ships and in the event of defeat, warn others away; he ground his teeth at the thought of letting Nero get away, even at a limp - there has to be a way - ‘Bones!’ Jim’s voice was filled with a new determination, frustration melting away into calm focus. ‘How many crew we still got aboard?’
‘Less than two hundred.’
It was enough. It had to be. Going to his chair, Jim sat down in one smooth, controlled movement and flicked on the thankfully still enabled ship-wide intercom. “Attention all decks, this is the captain speaking. If anyone is still out there - first of all dammit, what the hell are you still doing here - and secondly…”
---
Hikaru Sulu jerked up at the sound of Kirk’s voice ringing through the wide expanse of the shuttle bay. Next to him, there were similar reactions from Uhura and Chekov before they all looked at each other, incredulous at what they were hearing: there were other Starfleet ships attacking the Narada, any crewmembers still left on the Enterprise were being recalled to assist in repairs to establish communications and boost power to shields and weapons. The crewmembers that had still been waiting to board the shuttles scattered immediately upon the conclusion of the captain’s announcement, heading back to their respective battlestations. “…Any senior officers who are still aboard, please report immediately -”
Dashing to the nearest intercom terminal, Sulu didn’t hesitate to answer the bridge summons. ‘Sulu here, captain!’
There was a brief pause and then Commander Spock’s unmistakable voice piped through the speakers, “Lieutenant Sulu, what is your present location?” In the background Sulu heard the captain bark an exultant “Scotty!!”
‘Shuttle bay 3, sir!’
‘Commander!’ Chekov said loudly, accent even thicker than normal, ‘vhat is going on!?’
There was a brief pause and, even with the ship between them, Sulu could almost hear the gears in the Vulcan’s head turning. He glanced over at the young Russian who stared back, wide-eyed in anticipation before returning to burning a hole into the intercom terminal. “Ensign,” the commander said sharply, “Is Lieutenant Uhura still with you?”
Uhura started at the mention of her name but Chekov answered for her, ‘Yes, sir! And also Ensign Krout, Lieutenant Commander Shojaei, Doctor-!’
“Understood,” the commander cut off the Russian’s eager rant with curt politeness. “Lieutenant Sulu, I order you to take the Hendrik Lorentz and establish communication with the two Starfleet vessels engaging Nero; Commodore Kirk is the commanding officer coordinating the attack.”
He shared a shocked look with Chekov at the name, and behind them, Uhura gasped in surprise: the only Commodore Kirk in 2246 would have to be their captain’s mother, one Commodore Winona Kirk. The helmsman had never met the woman, but she was supposed to be as decorated and renowned as her son, Captain James T. Kirk, though for entirely different reasons. She was involved in Federation mining and colonization projects; specifically, she managed scientific research into local ecological systems and did whatever was required to make an asteroid belt, moon or planet ready for settlers. Sulu’s stomach sank because considering her line of work, it was unlikely her ships were outfitted to take on the Romulans. At his silence, the commander continued:
“She is aboard the USS Douglas; their shields are raised so it is unlikely that you will be able beam aboard. Ensign,” Chekov jumped to attention, “you and Lieutenant Uhura are both familiar with the information brought back from the Narada; you are authorized under orders to share that intelligence and formulate a tactical advantage which the two vessels will be technologically capable of exploiting.”
Sulu’s first thought was that it was going to be rough flying through a battlefield, his second was a curse and his third line of reflection was a vague shake of the proverbial head at the Temporal Prime Directive being thoroughly screwed then spat on. But this wouldn’t be the first time they had broken a few rules to save the whole fucking galaxy and so he nodded, even though the Vulcan couldn’t see it.
‘Yes sir -’ He said decisively, ‘- Sulu out!’ Then, after sharing a look with Chekov and Uhura, all three broke into a run.
---
Doctor Leonard McCoy slammed down the emergency stairs towards engineering at a dead run, one hand tightly gripping the straps of the three medical kits he’d slung around his torso, his expression caught somewhere between righteous indignation and deep concern. As soon as Jim had announced that the fight was back on, no fewer than fifteen motley groups of engineers in various stages of evacuation checked in with the bridge to report they were returning to duty; sixty percent of the two-hundred odd stragglers were engineers and quite frankly, he wasn’t half-surprised. In McCoy’s honest opinion, engineers didn’t possess the self-preservation God gave a newt; simply put, they were nuts - the whole lot of them - and didn’t deserve the effort he put into keeping them kicking.
And to make matters worse, whatever special brand of crazy infects engineers - hell! this whole damn ship - must be catching, ‘cause he’d been half way out the door before Jim could even ask him! Well, he supposed philosophically, someone had to make sure they didn’t all just keel over from untreated radiation exposure and smoke inhalation - McCoy might know jack all about engineering, but he sure as hell knew his engineers; they made up forty-four percent of all sickbay admissions, and that was from injuries racked up during simple charting missions! During a crisis like this? There wasn't a chance in hell they didn't need a doctor on hand!
Upon reaching the Engineering decks, McCoy barreled in without announcement and immediately went to work, bullying any petty officers he came across into being assistants. In the middle of the fifth burns treatment, eighth splint and twenty-second shot of hydronalin, he finally spotted the Chief Engineer who was shouting orders left right and centre, pointing at this and that. He made his way over, hypospray in hand but stopped when he saw Scotty’s face.
If there was one person on board who was as manic under pressure as Jim Kirk, it was Scotty. Jim might be the captain but it was Scotty who made all of their crazy ideas work, mired in the guts of the starship as he kept the consoles responsive. But instead of a grinning maniac, high on adrenalin, fumes and the sheer joy of being alive, Scotty’s face was tight with guilt, his jaw locked and his eyes strangely solemn. It was enough to send a chill through McCoy’s guts and kill whatever quip he’d been about to make. Before he could blurt out a question, the Chief Engineer caught sight of him, and his voice faltered for a second before he went back to shouting orders at a group of waiting crewman. McCoy didn’t care that his patient wasn’t the slightest bit interested in what he was doing; he grabbed the engineer by the arm and gave him a dose of hydronalin.
The engineer grasped the doctor’s arm desperately as though he were a lifeline. McCoy tried not to wince at the strong grip and stared fearlessly back, even though his stomach was rebelling in dread. ‘I’m sorry, doctor,’ the man told him in a thin quavering voice, nothing like his usual brash holler; ‘Jimmy and wee Spock are-’ the man swallowed thickly, ‘I tried, doctor, but they - I couldn’t override the auto-lockdown, I tried but…I lost them in Section 3 but I can’t be sure- I’m- I’m sorry,’ the engineer managed to choke out, and then he practically wrenched away, going back to barking orders and slamming tools.
Leonard McCoy blinked at the space where Scotty used to be, the words not quite making sense. When it finally sank in, he took a deep breath in shock; Jim Kirk and Spock of Vulcan were dead. It couldn’t be, some part of him argued, unable to accept what that implied for this timeline - that he should never meet Jim Kirk, that he should never meet Spock, that he may never apply to serve on the Enterprise and thus never meet Uhura, or Chekov, or Sulu, or…
The deck underneath him shook slightly, knocking him out of his disturbing thoughts. McCoy schooled his face to determination. There was still a fight going on out there and until it was over, he had to keep moving. Mind-made up, he fitted a fresh capsule into his hypospray and hurried to another group of engineers- and besides, he allowed himself one more thought, if anyone could survive, it would be those two, especially if they managed to stay together.
----
USS Saltash, Main Bridge, year 2246
‘INCOMING TORPEDOES!’ His weapons officer bellowed.
A second later the shockwave struck. Electricity spewed all over the ship. The bridge of the Saltash lit up like the Fourth of July as the viewscreen was set ablaze with the ensuing explosions against their shields. Chris Pike had the feeling that if he released his grip on the arms of his chair, he’d go spinning. All around him, his crew was hanging on for dear life as the deck pitched with the momentary loss of artificial gravity. Sirens whined and sparks flew everywhere, several people reeled back to escape being zapped; some were not so lucky.
Gritting his teeth, Pike ignored his urge to attend to the wounded but he didn’t dare abandon the central seat. He continued to order cover fire for the Douglas, reading Winona’s moves as if they were back at the Academy and she was putting him through his chops. A revelation hit him then, squarely between the eyes: why she’d volunteered him for the chair - in a space cockfight like this where constant communication was close to impossible, having two commanders who could read each other meant still being able to coordinate attacks. But still, doubts rested heavily on his mind; how did someone fight something so mysterious, and so utterly impossible!
The sheer size of that thing out there, coupled with the way it was constructed meant that they couldn’t get any accurate readings from their scans. It’s mass was such that it’s materials would have been more than sufficient for the construction of an entire fleet of the Federation’s heavy cruisers, and its shields just wouldn’t quit! They couldn’t identify the bridge from the ass end of the ship, and dear lord, the power drain of having something so immense fully shielded, the artificial gravity! The ship was so alien, so far outside the boundaries of his understanding that it was like a cipher, one that he couldn’t hope to comprehend it without a detailed key.
Pike watched with a mix of admiration and total terror as Winona repeatedly ordered her ship so close that he felt sure they’d collide with the black monstrosity. Each time, the helmsman barely saved the vessel by ducking or spinning in ways that were definitely illegal, maneuvering like a short-distance attack fighter from the Third World War; the captain wondered if Winona had made anti-nausea hypo-shots mandatory for all personnel.
A moment later, he wished for that anti-nausea shot himself when the Saltash helmsman followed the Douglas with move that must have been against the laws of physics with the way it sent the gravity compensators into conniptions. His stomach protested violently, but he forced the reaction into submission. On the viewscreen, the monstrous ship that he’d only even glimpsed in the distorted recordings salvaged from the Kelvin, became nothing but a mass of sharp black tentacles. Suddenly, it released another spread of those fragmenting torpedoes.
‘EVASIVE!’ He shouted.
The starship rocked and tilted against its own artificial gravity as all systems went haywire. Before he even had a chance to recover, someone shouted, ‘SIR! The Douglas! She’s set a collision course!’
---
The Narada: Command Centre, year 2246
The ship out there looked small and puny as it plunged towards them, plowing through the torpedoes that bombarded it but not without sustaining heavy damages; yet it continued to come at them with undaunted enthusiasm. D’Nal frowned and moved forward to better examine the Federation starship, his eyes, his mind, his sense of survival all focused on that screen. With the unfortunate death of Ayel, he had been made First Officer and it was a responsibility that he took seriously. He had no military training, but he had a keen mind and good instincts, all of which told him that it would be a grave mistake to underestimate Starfleet. They were not the weaklings that they had been long portrayed as being, of this he was certain.
‘Back off,’ he ordered. ‘Stop us!’
Captain Nero whirled from the command chair. ‘I don't back off!’ The man snarled.
D’Nal was unshaken. ‘Sir, I suggest we do so. Something's going on.’ Getting a sneer in response, he moved a step in the direction of his temperamental captain, his tone low and imploring. ‘Captain Nero, they're biding their time and hiding something from us, I’m certain of it.’
‘Like what?’ Captain Nero howled. ‘They can't outrun us! Their shields will fail soon! Like the noble sacrificial mules they are, they’re trying to destroy us by killing themselves! Well, it’s been tried before, it didn’t work then, and it won’t work now!!’
But it had crippled them so badly that they had been captured by the Klingons, the First Officer thought darkly. Here, deep in Federation space, it would surely lead to, if not their death, then to their humiliating capture by the other Starfleet ships that infested the area like vermin. D’Nal wisely kept these thoughts to himself. ‘But sir,’ he tried to protest, because no matter how much he loathed the Federation, they were neither weak nor stupid, and wouldn’t just roll over like the pirate scum they’ve been destroying and salvaging for spare parts.
‘ENOUGH!’ The other man roared, jumping to his feet. D’Nal backed down, edging away with his head bowed in respect. He skulked back to the command centre, resigned. Nostrils flaring, Nero pointed imperiously at the crewwoman manning the weapons console. ‘Fire everything we’ve got!’
‘Captain Nero!’ The man at one of the subsidiary consoles called out. ‘Something’s happening! They’re- they’re doing something!’
The Romulan captain turned along with everyone else on the bridge.
‘Doing what?’ He demanded in a growl.
The crewman shook his head in puzzlement then frowned openly. ‘They’ve opened their jettison tube…’
Shock breaking on his wide-jawed face, D’Nal darted around to where the crewman was, eyes flying across the ever-changing numbers then snapped up to point at their helmsman and weapons officer, his expression urgent. ‘Get us cover! Emergency evasive now!’
Catapulting back to his station in the command center, the First Officer twisted his upper body as he hit this button and pushed that lever, all the while shouting orders. Hands on deflector controls that would be useless against what Starfleet had planned for them, D’Nal met his captain’s heavy glare with a steady look, so calm he could have passed for a Vulcan. Only his voice revealed any hint of panic, ‘Sir, brace for impact!’
Nero pulled himself around to sneer at the small Federation vessel that dared to attack, gripping the back of his chair so hard that the material squealed. Instead of sneering, he howled in uncontrollable rage as he realized the horror on the viewscreen. The Federation ship ducked straight down and vanished from view at point-blank range. And in its place - a wall of debris. Barrels, jagged metal, pipes, cans, broken glass, cracked parts all flew at them at full impulse, fueled by inertia. D’Nal swallowed down his dread; the debris was too close to be repelled by either the deflectors or their navigational shields, and it was moving so fast it would surely tear through the hull.
‘Turn!’ Captain Nero bellowed. ‘Evasive! Turn!’ He plunged down from his raised dais and grabbed the helmsman by the back of the neck when nothing happened. ‘TURN, damn you!’
‘I am!’ The crewman choked. ‘Can't do it! Can't do it fast enough!’
‘Disruptors!’ The enraged man abandoned the helmsman and rounded on D’Nal, eyes dark and crazed. ‘Fire the disruptors! Fire! Fire!!’
Crrrraaackckclatatatatat-CRACKKAKA-CRACK!
Bits of junk moving at ninety thousand kilometers per second slammed into the Narada’s skeletal hull like needles, puncturing it in dozens of places and completely decimating certain arms. Ship integrity was compromised and as the almost endless redundancies started to kick in, atmospheric compressors fought to save what parts of the ship they could and abandoned the rest to the dead of space, chemical fountains spewed in the vessel’s bowels while deadly sparks erupted all over the forward portions of the ship, the bridge began to fill with smoke.
‘Fire!’ Captain Nero belted out in a furious snarl. ‘Fire at those bastards!’
The ship tilted upward as though it had been kicked in the underbelly and started to list to the side. The crew shouted while desperately trying to regain some control. Somehow, in the midst of all the chaos, D’Nal came back to himself, face-down on the cold slimy deck, blood blinding his eyes. He dragged himself from the deflector controls to the weapons panel and did as his captain instructed. His hand fumbled clumsily for the targeting preset, twisted the spray-width to maximum, and slammed his fist down to fire.
---
USS Douglas, Main Bridge, year 2246
There was a low but audible cheer as their jettisoned refuse hit their target hard, but the moment was cut short by the shouted warning that another torrent of torpedoes was coming at them. The starship was sent tumbling, a powerful shockwave hammering them and sending half the bridge lurching to the right. A chemical fire started on the upper deck of the bridge, issuing out blooms of smoke. Choking and coughing, several officers descended with extinguishers. The figure in the central chair barely spared a glance at the chaos, her eyes riveted on the viewscreen.
‘Bring us around!’ Commodore Winona Kirk ordered. ‘Attack Pattern Gamma Six!’
The crew scrambled to comply.
‘Commodore!’ Communications officer Lieutenant Ayoub shouted over his shoulder, jolted up and down by the lurching of the ship. ‘Approaching shuttlecraft of unknown ID origin hailing us on the emergency channels! It’s from the vessel that was under attack!’
Winona Kirk spun in the command hair, hair loose and wild, sweat brimming along her severe brows. Her eyes were slim with frustration and there was an edge in her voice when she spoke, ‘What are they saying?’
‘Too much interference for more than basic burst!’ He relayed, his voice steady even as the entire ship jolted, the alien vessel that loomed through the viewscreen bore down on them. ‘They keep repeating a loop of two words and a changing set of decimal points!!’ Suddenly his console flashed for his attention, a new set of coded messages showing up. The previous information was still there but it was now supplemented by a new equation of two words and a number. The first word in the pattern was the same - ATTACK - but the second word had changed to COOLANT instead of SHIELDS, and the number provided was once again unique but it was repeated when the code was looped again, while the first decimal linked to SHIELDS was different.
Behind him the commodore was already back in the thick of the battle, ordering evasive maneuvers, attack, feint, defilade, counterattack, retreat and so on. Casualty reports flooded the bridge, and Engineering started sending up dire warning interspersed with the Chief Engineer threatening the Commodore into buying her some time or else. Lieutenant Ayoub realized slowly that these could be considered attack orders, those brisk no-nonsense notes passed during a time when modern warfare was still relegated, confined to light horse brigades and projectile artillery…an idea came to him. Ayoub spun around to face the commodore but before he could speak, that ship out there fired again.
The Douglas rocked violently. The lieutenant pitched and hit his console hard face-first just as he heard Commodore Kirk yell, ‘INCOMING - EVERYONE BRACE FOR IMPACT!’
WHOOP WHOOP WHOOP WHOOP!!!
‘Hull fracture!’ Someone shouted over the alarm that was shattering Ayoub’s eardrums. ‘Ninety-six seconds to loss of integrity, two minutes to atmospheric zero!’
Forehead still smarting from the whack, the communications officer spun around madly trying to locate the ominous hsssss from somewhere in the superstructure of the bridge cabin but then someone was hustling him out of his chair and towards the emergency hatch. The First Officer made a sweeping gesture. ‘Go, go!’ The Tellarite growled at the same time as Commodore Kirk yelled, ‘AUXILIARY BRIDGE!’
The shouts overlapped but it was the same order. The first of the crew dove through it feet first, face pale but determined. Lieutenant Ayoub followed, half-falling down the chute to land in the emergency stairwell. He fumbled his way down the stairs with his fellow officers and heard behind him the Commodore’s desperate shout for First Officer Diadu when the companionway hatch closed, abandoning anyone still left on the bridge to hard vacuum. Despite the standing orders, Ayoub hesitated and turned back to wait for the commodore.
‘What are you doing?’ She snapped when she saw him, ‘Get to your battlestation!’
‘Commodore,’ Lieutenant Ayoub said in a rush, following her as she continued on down the steps without even pausing for him, ‘the message from the shuttlecraft - it was giving us coordinates for an attack on the alien vessel!’
The commodore glanced at him but her pace never slowed as they pounded down the emergency stairs together, distant booms and shakes pushing crew to reach their stations. ‘You know this how?’ She demanded, voice ragged and low.
Pushing away his desire to explain how he arrived at his conclusion, the lieutenant focused on the pertinent details. ‘The short message is liken to attack orders issued in twentieth century warfare,’ Ayoub said without hesitation, ‘The coordinates given were 4.47mark2.5, and I seem to remember something from my Intro to Propulsion Engineering…’
‘Well, don't make me tickle it out of you, lieutenant,’ the commodore remarked, her manner sardonic, as they reached Deck Six and exited the emergency stairs. ‘Shoot.’
‘I believe they gave us coordinates to the alien vessel’s coolant system.’
‘Coolant?’
‘Yes sir! If we’re only allowed one hit, sir, coolant is probably the best target.’ At the slight furrow in her brow, Lieutenant Ayoub’s earlier certainty faltered slightly. ‘Isn't that right? If that ship out there operates in any way like a regular starship, without coolant they can't run anything.’
In the middle of Deck Six and a few feet away from the doors to the auxiliary bridge, Commodore Kirk stopped dead in her strides. ‘Coolant,’ she whispered then rounded on him with a bark of harsh laughter. Eyes bright, she grabbed his shoulders. ‘Coolant compressors! Hit those and that'll shut down everything!’ Then she paused, face furiously calm as her eyes glittered with the roulette wheel spinning behind them. ‘Question is… can we shoot through their shields. That's the big question. Those shields bounce our torpedoes as if they were rubber balls- come on, let’s get to the bridge!’
Ayoub almost leaped up in a whoop of victory as he scrambled to catch up. Finally! they might have an advantage. ‘Commodore, there was another code prior! The message was Attack, Shields, and a constantly altering set of -!’
A hard kick from nowhere sent the ship reeling and both of them slammed into the wall as the deck they were on pitched left. Swallowing down his cry of pain, Ayoub felt the malfunctioning gravity pin him there against the wall like he weighed an elephant. It was only a few seconds but when it was over, his heart was pounding so hard it was drowning out all other sounds in his ears and he wanted to be sick.
‘Shit!’ The commodore swore viciously, charging onto the auxiliary bridge at a sprint. The relocated bridge crew were already at their stations and trying desperately to fight back. By the proximity display on the viewscreen, they were way too close to the alien vessel for comfort. ‘Get us clear!’
The helmsman gave a curt nod; almost too quickly, the starship dove left with systems compensating for the sudden change in vectors as they screamed straight past the alien vessel upside down. ‘Decimal points?’ She shouted over the chaos as she found the central chair in the smaller, more utilitarian bridge and turned the chair consoles towards her so no sensor reading, no damage report would be missed. ‘Show me.’
‘Yes sir!’ Lieutenant Ayoub dashed to the communications terminal and plugged commands in at lightning speed then looked over to see if Commodore Kirk had gotten the relay. She was already engrossed in what he had sent to the central chair consoles, looking up only to issue new orders as the ship rocked and jerked. Without warning she stood to her full height despite the low ceiling of the auxiliary bridge, her eyes flashing with predatory hunger and righteous fury.
‘Set up a variable phaser discharge, starting point frequency 3.2 with a maximum yield of sixteen! Seven points for each variation to hold for five seconds!’ She yelled across the bridge, ‘Target coordinates 4.47 mark 2.5 and fire all weapons on my mark!’
Officers didn’t blink at the orders and scrambled to obey them despite the fact they weren’t sure what was going on. They’d gotten used to Winona Kirk’s leaps of logic, and their faith had never been misplaced before. She slammed a hand down on the arm console and connected to the Saltash. ‘Kirk to Pike!’ When she got no response, she gritted her teeth wolfishly and hoped that Pike was paying attention.
‘In position!’ The helmsman reported.
‘Ready, sir-!’ The weapons officer never finished. A shattering bang reverberated through the ship and several consoles blew at once, spewing a mass of electricity, chips, plastic and metal.
The commodore slammed into her central chair with a pained grunt but only staggered back up. ‘NOW!’ She bellowed harshly, throat raw, ‘NOW DAMMIT!’
Thin lines of red lashed out from the bow of the ship as phasers were discharged. They slammed into the alien vessel’s shields, simmered there and then plowed past to stab into the black skeletal structure of the monster itself. Flurries of red bolts followed, pounding into the same spot. Soon the Saltash joined the barrage. Orange flames exploded from the ship but were quickly swallowed by the darkness of space.
Winona Kirk took a breath, eyes wide and waited with barely-leashed impatience. It was only four seconds but it felt like an eternity.
‘They’ve stopped firing…’ someone announced in shocked disbelief.
A beat later, another officer spun from her station, ‘Their shields are going down!’
Her Science officer shook his head, frowning so hard that his bushy brows became one continuous tangle. ‘I’m reading fluctuations in their entire power grid! They’re losing propulsion, shields, everything!’
Victory blended with pure hatred as the commodore glared at the black monster that had haunted her dreams for thirteen long years. It had stolen her husband the father of her sons, her first captain and many of her friends and colleagues. She had lost hope of ever settling the score but here they were, facing each other. The ball was in her court now… ‘Fire,’ she growled.
The USS Douglas fired.
---
NCC-1701/3, Hendrik Lorentz, year 2246
It would not have been possible earlier to defeat the Narada, even with the information they had been provided, but the Enterprise had paved the way by systematically targeting all major systems till the Romulan vessel was forced to continue the fight on redundancies. And now, even those were gone with one decisive blow from the two vessels that fell upon the crippled ship like vicious wolves, phasers whipping across its structure and tearing strips from it.
Sulu watched the viewscreen in a grim silence, showing none of the relief he was experiencing. That could come later, when the Romulans were well and truly defeated - and by that he meant when they were space dust. Beside him, Chekov let out a preemptive whoop of joy in Russian and hugged him impulsively with one-arm before jumping up to embrace Uhura. ‘They did it, they did it!’ The accent somehow made the words even more joyous and he had to let out a small terse grin as the communications officer laughed in utter relief, hugging Chekov back hard.
Before their eyes the Narada buckled against itself in the middle of its desperate scramble to catch the two ships orbiting it. Crystallized air sprayed out as cracks appeared in the black skin of the ship; in some places, the hull part caved in as if being crushed by an invisible fist. Seams gaped open, and some chambers blew out, disgorging everything inside; metal, liquids, atmosphere and organic matter, that is, people - no distinction was made by the suck of hard vacuum.
‘What the-??’ Uhura started.
‘Right in the middle of a turn!’ Sulu said in disbelief at the same time that Chekov stammered, ‘Ah! Th-the gravity compensation is gone!’
What had been a fearsome enemy was being reduced to a demonic nightmare. If Mister Spock were here, he might even have called it a tempest of physics. A ship with its gravity shut down in the middle of a turn, crushed by its own impossible inertia.
Atmosphere sprayed in frozen funnels from a dozen places. Equally drawn and repulsed by the unfolding events, the helmsman watched stoically as the backups desperately tried to save the ship; some funnels puttered and closed off quickly, but others spewed white frozen atmosphere until everything had been drained. It wasn’t enough but still, the ship tried to maneuver.
‘They cannot, NO!’ Chekov stammered, eyes widening, his hand flying across the console and bringing up sensor readings back up on their screen. ‘They have lost their compensators - the ship will tear apart if they move!’
‘No navigational shields either,’ Sulu confirmed grimly.
The Romulan vessel Narada, twisted and deformed into a nightmare version of its former self, heaved for one last breath and slowly, began to unravel… It was over; they had won.
part twenty-six
A/N: the battle is over. Hope it wasn't a let down :) review is <3