AN: I found myself with two completed chapters and two half written chapters and decided to go ahead and post early. If I fall behind again, I'll go back to monthly updates. We'll see how long the writing streak continues.
Ignoring toppling sculptures, trembling furniture, and the cracks that the walls fruitlessly endeavored to automatically repair, Amanda rushed outside. It was not the earthquake itself that drew her out onto the porch – it was the realization that whatever was causing the ground to shake was not a normal seismic tremor.
Across the desert landscape rocks were tumbling and bouncing down hillsides of brown and ochre. Cliffs cracked away as the pinnacles and spires she had known for most of her adult life began to crumble like columns of stale cake. And all the while the ground beneath her feet continued to quake with a terrifying constancy.
More disturbing than the steady and unvarying tremble of the earth was the gigantic pillar of swirling energy that was visible in the distance. Fire and fury, it appeared to be drilling into the ground as if the rocky surface of Vulcan were made of nothing more substantial than the Viennese schlag of which Sarek was so fond.
Tilting back her head, she traced the colossal column of energy upward into the clear sky.
Pike tensed as they were greeted by chaos.
"EVASIVE!" he roared.
"ON IT, SIR!" was Sulu's immediate response.
Ultimately, his command was unnecessary. Having dropped out of warp directly in front of the flaring, disintegrating remains of the Defiant, Sulu had responded instantly and reflexively to avoid the impending collision.
As they cleared the debris, what appeared to be the only two remaining ships of the fleet came into view, engaged in a desperate and losing battle against a gargantuan craft the likes of which he had never seen. A seemingly unending stream of torpedoes and similar deadly devices continued to detonate against the smaller ships, hammering away at their defenses yet nothing the vessels fired appeared able to penetrate the enormous defensive field that surrounded the hostile intruder.
Spock's voice, controlled as ever, was clear, if faster than usual. "No identifiable registry on the ship. Energy signatures, deployed weapons systems, design – all unknown."
"Get Starfleet Command on subspace!" he demanded.
Uhura's response was immediate and disheartening.
"Negative! All outsystem transmissions are subject to severe interruption emanating from the vicinity of Vulcan." Working quickly, she continued with only the barest of pauses. "I think I've located the source of the general interference. I detect the signature – very advanced, but identifiable – of a plasma drill operating in the atmosphere."
"Captain, they're locking weapons systems onto us," Spock reported.
"Continue evasive, come about starboard ninety degrees! Drop us underneath them. If their shields are indicative of the ship's design, they may be weaker along the ventral longitudinal axis. Prepare to fire all weapons!"
The following barrage seemed unending. As the Enterprise shifted position, one of the lethal tracking explosives passed directly between her engine nacelles. A second detonated nearby. Overwhelmed shields buckled beneath the unprecedented power. Peripherally, he registered the isolated flares of combustion that continued to be extinguished one after another as the crew struggled to survive and fight back.
"Shields at thirty-three percent," Sulu reported. "The explosive force of their weapons is unprecedented Captain! None of our torpedoes have that kind of focused energy and we don't seem to be able to penetrate their shields with our own weapons." He looked apprehensively toward the command chair. "We can't take another hit like that!"
"All power to forward shields!" he commanded. There was no time for indecisiveness. "Continue evasive, Mister Sulu. Prepare to fire all weapons anew. They have to have a weak spot!"
'Heavens save us if they don't…' Pike silently thought to himself. As his ship shook around him, he refused to allow himself to dwell on the possibility.
"Get Starfleet Command on subspace!" he demanded again.
Harriet wasn't scared of death. She'd had too many near and actual death experiences to NOT be comfortable with Death's presence. She wouldn't, however, go so far as to say she welcomed Death as an old friend. Personally, she thought Death was a little too creepy for that. And come on, it was Death, not Julio from the Schoolyard – that title deserved some serious respect.
Which is why she didn't – did not – shout at, attack, curse, or blow the bird to the being staring directly at her from across the bridge as if she didn't know whatever her death sense had been anticipating had already begun in earnest. Instead, she grimaced, never taking her eyes off the scene before her, never acknowledging the only being who knew her with anything more than her cool observation of the situation.
Their ship was being near continuously bombarded by the enemy vessel. Even with some forewarning, there didn't appear to be much that Pike could do defensively – the attacks were too fast, precise, and destructive. It also didn't look like the other vessel was at all bothered by having two other opponents contending for its attention. In fact, it looked like the other two vessels of the line were desperate to share the attention with the Enterprise. In her own way, the Enterprise was happy to help she supposed.
In light of the bombardment, she was thankful the light sticking charm she'd placed on her feet was holding. Given she'd made an express point to apply it in a strictly topical manner to the deck, a part of her was particularly pleased, as it allowed her mind to race through her inventory of potions, salves, old fashioned bandages and splints, and emergency medical apparatus with clarity and focus.
The same clarity and focus allowed her to rapidly compile and update a list of the hardest hit decks from the information being given to the captain. From that list, she anticipated where the most likely triage points could or would be set and estimated how many medical personnel were where.
Pivoting smartly from her place beside Pike's chair, she cancelled the charm and made to leave the bridge. When she felt death's stare turn toward Vulcan, she paused.
'So this won't be getting particularly better.'
She continued off the bridge and headed straight to the nearest computer interface. "Locate Leonard McCoy," she commanded.
If Vulcan was Death's problem, then there was work to be done, people to organize, and an emergency call to a mirror to attempt.
At some point Harriet had disappeared. At the current moment however, it was not entirely relevant. He had noticed, of course, that while around him stations were shaking and fires were erupting, his station had remained steady. In the recesses of his mind, he wondered if Harriet had solved her "not getting along with technology problem" and somehow used the ancient Norse symbol to channel or anchor something to his station.
"Captain, the commander of the hostile ship is hailing us!" Uhura informed.
"How are they cutting through the blanketing interference?" Chekov asked from his station. It was a question that Spock himself didn't think necessary to ask aloud; a waste of attention and a distraction for the crew. It was no time for speculation. Every minute they were not under attack was another minute the crew on devastated decks could use to make repairs and tend to the wounded; another minute engineering could use to try and restore the ship's defenses; another minute that which remained of the fleet could do the same.
"On screen," the captain told the communications officer. She complied and the forward monitor cleared instantly, almost as if the hailing vessel was intimately familiar with Starfleet communication protocols. How odd.
The humanoid that appeared on the viewscreen was clearly Romulan and did not look as if he had been recently engaged in a battle to the death with five Federation starships. To Spock, it was yet another confirmation of their superior weapons technology.
"Your valor does you great honor, Captain, and the skill of your crew surpasses, however uselessly, any that has preceded, including your fellows amongst the fleet."
"I'm Captain Christopher Pike. To whom am I speaking," the captain demanded firmly.
"Hi Christopher. You may address me as Nero."
"You've declared war against the Federation. Withdraw. I'll agree to arrange a conference with Romulan leadership at a neutral location."
The Romulan's reaction to the captain's reasonable offer was unexpectedly violent. "I do not speak for the Empire! We stand apart, as does your Vulcan crewmember, isn't that right, Spock?"
Confused, he stepped forward, even as every member of the bridge, other than the captain, not responsible for tactical and defense turned to look in the direction of the ship's science station. "Pardon me, I do not believe that you and I are acquainted?" This was useful discourse: dialogue was time gained, regardless of his confusion.
"No, we're not – not yet." Illogical. "Spock, there's something I would like you to see. Tell me: at what price did the Federation turn you from your people? Where do your true loyalties lie?" He made a distinct point to maintain his stoicism and projected calm in spite of his curiosity? Alarm? Disquiet? Uncertainty? It was certainly no longer just confusion.
"I'll say what you wish if it will save lives," he responded, quite serious.
The Romulan, Nero, abruptly altered his attention and his tone. "Captain Pike, if you are already not aware of the fact, your transporter has been disabled along with your communications. You will man a shuttle, come aboard the Narada, my vessel, for negotiations. As you can see by the state of the rest of your armada, you have no choice. That is all."
Spock thought hard and fast. How much time would this Nero allocate for discourse when his vessel was so clearly superior? How long could the captain continue to stall the enemy? Why had he not been targeted if he was so clearly one of Nero's targets?
"As a sentient being who values honor," the captain, after obvious deliberation, began, "give me your word you won't harm my ship, or those others of the fleet remaining, if I come aboard yours."
Indifferent to the nonverbal exchange happening amongst the crew, Nero answered almost… genially? "As sentient beings of honor, we have an agreement. I shall inform the remaining vessels of that agreement. You will be allowed sufficient time to depart and arrive. Any delay perceived as excessive will result in the immediate destruction of all vessels without prejudice." A clearly predatory smile appeared. "I would recommend, Captain, that you do not loiter."
The communication was terminated before a final transmission could be relayed.
This deck had been hit hard as well, to the point where he wondered if there was even much of it left. He didn't have time to wonder though, he once more needed to get to an intact medbay – this time one that hadn't just sucked all the oxygen from the room to suppress the fire that had overtaken half of the bay.
'Hopefully, some of the tools and supplies will be salvageable.' He wasn't going to wait to find out however. He'd send someone back as soon as he had a destination for those supplies in mind.
Grabbing as many intact medkits as he could, he set off at a quick jog to find a working turbolift. His com came to life.
"Bones," came Hari's voice with zero waver.
"Yea," he gruffed out.
"Where are you?"
"Headed to deck seventeen with additional kits."
"Head to bay seven instead. It's larger, closer, intact, full, and near unstaffed."
"Right." That didn't perhaps come out as unaffected as he'd have liked to project. Bay Seven was second only to central medical, designed to act as central medical in case of an emergency … or severe damage to central medical. He changed course immediately. "On my way. What else can you tell me?"
"You've been promoted."
Hell.
"Also a high possibility for an external influx of patients. Soon."
Merlin and Morgana!
The captain was immediately on his feet.
"He'll kill you when he's finished with you, you know that." (Why was the cadet still on the bridge?) "He's already caused the death of hundreds." (Has he been executing any duty?)
"Your survival is unlikely." The probability was indeed low: less than five percent.
"Captain, we gain nothing by diplomacy. Going over to that ship is a mistake," Kirk said.
"I, too, agree. You should re-think your strategy," Spock added.
"I understand that." Addressing the bridge at large, "I need officers who have been trained in advanced hand-to-hand combat."
"I have training, sir," Sulu answered near instantly.
"Come with me. Kirk, you too. You're not supposed to be here anyway. Chekov, you have the conn."
"Aye aye Kaptin."
Turning to face Spock and the cadet, the Captain continued. "Without transporters, we can't beam off the ship, we can't assist Vulcan, we can't do our job. Mister Kirk, Mister Sulu, Engineer Olson, will space-jump from the shuttle. You will land on that machine they lowered into the atmosphere that's scrambling our gear. You'll get inside. You'll disable it, then you'll beam back to the ship."
Spock found his plan and orders to be a sound addition to his previous directives, if still inadequate.
"Mister Spock, I'm leaving you in command of the Enterprise. Once we have transport capabilities, and communications back up, you'll contact Starfleet, report what the hell's going on here. And if all else fails, fall back, rendezvous with the fleet in the Laurentian system. Kirk, I'm promoting you to second officer, Cristians to first. Prove you deserve it."
"What?"
What? "Captain, please, I apologize. The complexities of Human pranks escape me." This was no time for humor.
"It's not a prank, Spock. And I'm not the Captain, you are. Be sure to keep track of Hari. Let's go." What more did Hari have to do with this? Suddenly, her disappearance became more concerning.
"Sir, after we knock out that drill, what happens to you?" Kirk asked.
"Oh, I guess you'll have to come and get me." He turned slightly to meet Spock's eyes. "Careful with the ship, Spock. She's brand new." And on that note, he left the bridge with the requested crew members.
He turned and strode to the Captain's chair; there was no time for confusion or indecisiveness. The first order of business was to assess the damage to the medbay.
"Doctor Puri, this is Acting Captain Spock. Report."
"It's McCoy. Doctor... Doctor Puri was on deck six. He's dead."
"Then you have just inherited his responsibility as Chief Medical Officer."
"Yeah, tell me something I don't know. In lieu of orders I've been doing what I can."
"Prepare all bays for mass triage. We must prepare ourselves for a possible influx of refugees from Vulcan."
"Our facilities are stretched to the limit right now, Captain."
"Understood Doctor. The need remains."
"Right. I'll do the best I can – sir."
Harriet was by Spock's side as soon as he was within sight of the transporter bay.
"Clear the pad," Spock stated almost aggressively. "I'm beaming to the surface."
"Ditto." Harriet stepped on the pad and melded to him, Spock's arm subconsciously pulling her close to his side. She simply didn't trust the darn contraption otherwise and he likely knew it.
"The surface of what?" the annoyance asked. "What, are you going down there? Are both of you nuts? Spock, you can't do that?!"
"Energize," Spock commanded.
They arrived on Vulcan and Spock immediately set off at a breath-taking run.
"Objective?" Spock didn't answer. "Spock!"
"Evacuate the elders from the Katric Ark."
When they arrived it was to the confusion of those within the ark.
"Spock?" Amanda asked, surprised.
"We must evacuate, now!"
Even as he spoke, the roof was caving in, statues toppling toward the others within the cave. Harriet, quick as a whip, called the wand from the loaded holster on her arm and put as much power behind her shield spell as possible, preventing a fair number of deaths as the occupants fled onto the surface.
"Spock to Enterprise," she heard. "Get us out now!"
"Locking on you," Chekov's voice stated. "Don't move. Stay right where you are."
"Harriet!" Spock called, holding out his arm.
"Everyone's out!" she called, running to clear the caves herself even as the group began to, for a lack of a better word, glow.
Chekov's disembodied voice continued: "Transport in five... four... three... two..."
"No, no!" Spock cried and Harriet instantly knew to let go and jump.
She'd forgotten how easy it was to jump. It'd been a long time since she'd really had a need to use that particular form of apparition. 'Decades, perhaps?' she wondered absently as time seemed to slow down.
'Panic.'
'Concentrate.'
Amanda was the only person Spock's tone would have changed in such a way for; only Amanda.
'Amanda.'
Amanda had been standing four feet away, just off six o'clock from the entrance to the Ark.
Jump one.
Not there, falling sensation. Amanda fell, she was falling.
'Which wa – there. Velocity, drag. Calm.'
Jump two.
'Flip, grab, GO!'
Jump three.
In the split second before she made the jump, she imagined Spock was like a rock: solid and unmoving in her mind's eye. Hopefully that would be enough.
The main transporter bay was in turmoil as technicians worked furtively to finalize the progression. Seven shapes began to take form, one of them in an awkward position with one arm extended out as if to reach something and the other wrapped around something that was no longer there. Even as six began to gaze around them, Spock continued to stare off into the distance.
… Until two bodies landed on his head mere seconds before the ship entered into warp. Then, he knew hope.
Prompt: Invictus; Spock the Rock (partial fill for Derpeon)
AN 2: Jumping is a modified apparition technique that I introduced in another writing style challenge I answered, called The Healer (FYI: It's not a writing style for everyone). Imagine being able to apparate in a more fluid like manner, similar to how Voldemort and Snape flew, leaving behind smokey trails and little sound, but with a strong hint of X-men's Nightcrawler's style of teleporting.
