Death in Delta Quadrant
*snerks and giggles* Let's just get one thing out of the way right now. I love this.
Okay. Explanation.
For our English coursework, we had to pick a base text and transform it into something else. I ended up choosing "Beowulf". And making it into sci-fi. (This is why I've been taking so long over Torchwood fic recently. And I may have kind of slightly crossed bits over, so familiarity in either set is apologised for, with giggles, in advance...)
This is what happens when you turn me and my twisted mind loose on an Anglo-Saxon epic poem.
Fandom (!): Beowulf
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2200
Summary: A new take on the story of "Beowulf". A piece for our time...
Warning: Basic knowledge of the plot of "Beowulf" is required. Please. ;)
Death in Delta Quadrant
The Beowulf Fleet was dispatched within twenty-four hours of the Federation receiving Governor Hrothgar’s distress call. The fifteen warships gathered in formation for the leap into hyperspace, engaging their engines simultaneously and beginning the voyage in one perfectly synchronised manoeuvre. Discipline was everything - it could make the difference between life and death, particularly in a case such as this, where their enemy was unknown.
On the bridge of the flagship, the Admiral sat brooding, playing and replaying Hrothgar’s message in a futile attempt to find a kernel of previously hidden information buried in the broken, static-ridden recording.
“Mayday! May … ernor Hrothgar of Heorot to the Federation. Governor Hrothgar of Heor … Federation. Send warships, we are under attack, repeat, under attack. Unknown … in our quadrant. Eighty percent of evacuee … destroyed in flight! We have no spaceworthy ships remaining. All guns destroyed … terly defenceless! Alien ship picking … at random! No escape options left. Repeat, no escape. Population decimated. Send help. Mayday! May … ernor Hrothgar of Heorot to the Federation…”
At length, the Admiral shut off the repeating message, and considered what they knew. It didn’t amount to a great deal. Clearly - and understandably - Hrothgar had panicked, but the Admiral couldn’t help wishing that the Governor had managed to overcome his terror and relay more vital details of the attack. Instead, his message had raised the alert and got the Federation clamouring for a quick resolution of the problem. Sending the Fleet was considered by some to be an overreaction, but the Federation had little other choice, when all attempts to communicate with Heorot had failed - either the planet was suffering a communications blackout, or there was no-one left to respond. Just one more question that the Fleet had to answer. As information went, they were sadly under prepared. Being told there was an “unknown” alien ship in Heorot’s quadrant gave the Fleet nothing to go on - its offensive and defensive capabilities were a mystery, just like its intentions. None of it made any sense. The ship should never have been allowed to come within firing range without Heorot taking precautions against attack. Why had the planet been taken so completely by surprise that the evacuation had become a massacre?
The only way the Admiral was going to get some answers was by seeing Heorot for himself. And the Fleet would not be caught as off-guard as the planet.
Three hours in hyperdrive brought them within visual range of Heorot, a fact announced by the ensign at the scanners.
“On screen,” ordered the Admiral curtly, and the vast window at the front of the bridge turned opaque. Onto this was projected an image of the blue-green globe they were now orbiting. It looked peaceful enough, beyond the unusual accumulation of black clouds over the landmasses.
“Scan,” he snapped, and the ensign hit a few buttons, then started reading from the screens in front of her.
“Cloud formations have a chemical make-up consistent with smoke and ash. Also an unusually high concentration of carbon dioxide, sulphur dioxide, hydrogen sulphate-”
“What about the surface?” the Admiral interrupted, getting the picture. Heorot, it seemed, had gone up in flames.
There was a pause, and then the ensign continued, “Gun batteries not responding. All shields are down. Mayday beacon still sending, but otherwise communications are out. Transport systems out of action. Life support and air-con are still working in some of the outlying cities, but that’s about it, sir. All major areas of civilisation and technology appear to be in ruins.”
Everyone on the bridge fell silent, taking that in, and then, from around the night-side of the planet, a tiny black box came slinking into view on the screen.
“Alien ship on visuals!” the ensign said quickly, at the same time as the Admiral leaned forward in his chair and shouted, “Magnify and scan! Raise shields as soon as we’re within firing range.”
The black box suddenly filled the main screen, revealing a twisted ship, initially of alien construction but now repaired with the remnants of destroyed Federation ships. Its oddly square shape appeared to be the result of curves having been beaten into straight lines to accommodate the angular shards of Earth vessels. The crew on the bridge noticed the way the Admiral’s eyes narrowed at the sight of such a patchwork of stolen technology.
“Scanners show that the hulls of several Federation ships have been used in repair work,” reported the ensign. “We’re picking up markers for Goliath, Revenant, Nautilus, Adele, Lioness, Fearless, Anna-Maria, Kestrel…”
As the list of dead ships went on, the crew watched the scans of the alien ship come up on the screen. Those guns stuck on the side were C-class, the most up-to-date model, ripped from the shell of the Fearless - clearly they hadn’t been enough to fight this ship. That escape pod, crammed into a gap in the alien ship’s hull, that was an old design, without the option of stasis. It wasn’t possible to see whether there was a body inside, living or dead. But those binders holding it in place were originally designed to contain any energy surges from the engines of a cruiser, and those claws were the cranes from a cargo ship’s loading bay, and those were the sub-light engines of a short range fighter.
And in a twisted display of humour, those four panels, torn from four different Federation ships, had been sealed into place over the alien ship’s side, their original names now lost, and the letters instead spelling out “GReNdel”.
“Well, Grendel,” the Admiral muttered, “I hope you’re ready to die.”
Suddenly, a persistent, irritating beep shattered the dark mood on the bridge, and the ensign at the communications desk reported, “Ambassador Unferth of the Enterprise on channel D, sir.”
“Put him on,” the Admiral growled. Unferth, that miserable coward, had been brought along to reassure the concerned committee back at the Federation that this was not an entirely military operation, and, knowing him, would be quick to try and take the credit for himself if they were successful in any way.
“Admiral,” Unferth began, but the Admiral interrupted.
“What do you want, Unferth?” he snapped impatiently, and could imagine the Ambassador’s affronted, indignant expression as he was forced to come straight to the point of his message.
“I demand that we talk to this ship before resorting to violence, as you are so fond of doing. We must try and make peaceful contact with this species!”
The Admiral barely hesitated. “If you want to try and make peaceful contact with a race that has just wiped out the entire population of one of our most prosperous planets, you go ahead. Personally I’ll settle for blasting the bastard into a million pieces - and I’ll be keeping my shields on full.”
Unferth’s disrespectful snort was cut off abruptly as he terminated contact. The Admiral sat back in his chair, determined to get on with his job and eliminate the threat to the Federation’s safety, and ordered, “Scan shields and weapons capabilities of the alien ship. Charge weapons and raise our shields. Take us within firing range.”
The ensign at the scanners suddenly reported, “Sir, the Enterprise is advancing on the alien ship!”
“Damn Unferth!” the Admiral shouted. “Send a recall transmission immediately!”
“Transmission blocked, sir,” the ensign said after a second. “Enterprise broadcasting on all channels.”
“Audio, now,” the Admiral snapped, and the message came over the speakers. First in Galactic Common, then again in Binary Standard, Unferth’s message was broadcast, proclaiming that the Fleet came in peace and wished to learn more about the alien race.
The Grendel wheeled about and headed straight for the Enterprise.
“Enterprise charging shields, sir!” called the ensign. “Firing range within two minutes!”
“Get us there quicker!” the Admiral yelled, but he hadn’t quite finished the order when there was a flash of fire on the main screen, and the Enterprise exploded.
There was silence on the bridge for a moment, then, quietly, the Admiral said, “Tell me when we’re in firing range.”
The ensign nodded silently, watching the Enterprise drift elegantly apart, fragments floating away on a short-lived cloud of flame. The Grendel went swooping in, firing magnetic tow lines, which latched onto the broken hull of the Enterprise and started reeling the pieces into the opening hatches on its sides. Everyone on the bridge of the Flagship could clearly see the inside of the ship, and the alien nature of its construction was obvious, in everything from the bulbous hatch doors to the disturbingly fluid internal surfaces.
The ship gobbled up the shards of the broken Enterprise with a greed that sickened the watchers on the Flagship, and it was in a choked and quiet voice that the ensign at the scanners finally said, “Alien ship within firing range.”
“Closer,” ordered the Admiral. “Ready all weapons, maximum firepower. Keep shields on full and bring us into minimum firing range.”
The Grendel ignored the approaching ship, evidently concentrating on scavenging from the wreck. Slowly, the flagship drew closer to its prey, and the tension on the bridge was palpable until the ensign said, “Minimum firing range achieved. Any closer and we’ll get backlash.”
“Alright,” the Admiral nodded, maintaining his composure. “Fire all weapons simultaneously.”
There was an expectant pause, and then the main screen went blank for a few seconds, to protect the watchers from the blinding light of weapons fire.
“We have impact,” reported the ensign, with no small amount of satisfaction, and a ragged cheer was raised by some of the crew. The screen came back online, and the cheer died in their throats. The Grendel was unharmed, wheeling and speeding towards the Flagship with malice in its every move.
“Weapons ineffective!” yelled the ensign, and the Admiral shouted, “Divert power from weapons to the shields!”
There was no flash of light this time. The Flagship rocked violently as the alien weapons struck home, but there were no explosions. As the crew on the bridge picked themselves up, the ensign at a different set of monitors - those for the Flagship’s internal diagnostics - reported, “Shields holding at ninety-eight percent. Superficial damage sustained. Alien weapons appear ineffective.”
The other ensign chipped in, “Alien weapons one hundred percent efficient but otherwise unsophisticated. They seem to have no shields themselves and no knowledge of combating ours.”
The Grendel had stopped approaching, and was hovering within firing range, apparently waiting to see if its weapons had any delayed effect. After a few moments’ pause, it suddenly fired its engines, making a sharp turn and heading rapidly away from the advancing fleet.
“No you don’t,” the Admiral growled, then yelled, “Engage tractor beam, full strength! Target alien ship’s starboard engine!”
There was a sudden flurry of activity as his orders were obeyed, and he watched the main screen with vicious intent, grinning triumphantly when the Grendel came to an instantaneous halt.
“Alien ship increasing power to engines,” the ensign reported, and the Admiral sat back in his chair again, relaxing.
“Keep us where we are,” he ordered calmly, and smiled as the rest of the Fleet came into range, took up their positions, and opened fire on the trapped Grendel. He folded his hands in his lap and watched with a deep satisfaction as his ships did their best to beat the Grendel into scrap metal.
“Alien ship reaching maximum power,” warned the ensign, and he nodded, then raised his eyebrows in amusement as, with short-lived sparks shooting out and dying in the vacuum, and scavenged metal twisting and bending under the strain, the Grendel tore out its own engine in its struggle to break free.
Watching the crippled ship float slowly away from them, the Admiral said, “Release tractor beam and fire into that hole.”
The rest of the Fleet didn’t need to be given the same order. The Grendel was fired upon by every ship of the fourteen remaining, and nearly every shot hit its mark perfectly. With a spectacular burst of flame that died in a split-second once it had consumed the air from the ship, the Grendel seemed to fall apart, shards of metal breaking away and spreading like ripples into the empty darkness of space.
This time the cheers and celebration on the bridge went on for much longer, and the Admiral smiled, allowing his crew a few minutes of rejoicing before he called for order. The ensign at the scanners, still laughing, turned back to her console and froze.
“Sir!” she called in sudden panic. “Large unidentified object rising out of Heorot’s shadow! Scanners show its construction matches that of the alien ship we just destroyed.”
Everyone stopped, and the Admiral stood up, staring in horror at the screen as the new ship, almost as large as the planet itself, rose up out of hiding and hung above Heorot like a malevolent moon, strange lights flashing furiously across the Fleet as the shards of the Grendel were swiftly reeled in by tractor beams far more sophisticated than their own.
“Good God,” one of the officers breathed. “What is that thing?”
“Another Grendel?” someone suggested, in tones of dread.
The Admiral said softly, “No,” and everyone turned as he spoke.
“It’s the Mothership.”
Okay. Explanation.
For our English coursework, we had to pick a base text and transform it into something else. I ended up choosing "Beowulf". And making it into sci-fi. (This is why I've been taking so long over Torchwood fic recently. And I may have kind of slightly crossed bits over, so familiarity in either set is apologised for, with giggles, in advance...)
This is what happens when you turn me and my twisted mind loose on an Anglo-Saxon epic poem.
Fandom (!): Beowulf
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2200
Summary: A new take on the story of "Beowulf". A piece for our time...
Warning: Basic knowledge of the plot of "Beowulf" is required. Please. ;)
Death in Delta Quadrant
The Beowulf Fleet was dispatched within twenty-four hours of the Federation receiving Governor Hrothgar’s distress call. The fifteen warships gathered in formation for the leap into hyperspace, engaging their engines simultaneously and beginning the voyage in one perfectly synchronised manoeuvre. Discipline was everything - it could make the difference between life and death, particularly in a case such as this, where their enemy was unknown.
On the bridge of the flagship, the Admiral sat brooding, playing and replaying Hrothgar’s message in a futile attempt to find a kernel of previously hidden information buried in the broken, static-ridden recording.
“Mayday! May … ernor Hrothgar of Heorot to the Federation. Governor Hrothgar of Heor … Federation. Send warships, we are under attack, repeat, under attack. Unknown … in our quadrant. Eighty percent of evacuee … destroyed in flight! We have no spaceworthy ships remaining. All guns destroyed … terly defenceless! Alien ship picking … at random! No escape options left. Repeat, no escape. Population decimated. Send help. Mayday! May … ernor Hrothgar of Heorot to the Federation…”
At length, the Admiral shut off the repeating message, and considered what they knew. It didn’t amount to a great deal. Clearly - and understandably - Hrothgar had panicked, but the Admiral couldn’t help wishing that the Governor had managed to overcome his terror and relay more vital details of the attack. Instead, his message had raised the alert and got the Federation clamouring for a quick resolution of the problem. Sending the Fleet was considered by some to be an overreaction, but the Federation had little other choice, when all attempts to communicate with Heorot had failed - either the planet was suffering a communications blackout, or there was no-one left to respond. Just one more question that the Fleet had to answer. As information went, they were sadly under prepared. Being told there was an “unknown” alien ship in Heorot’s quadrant gave the Fleet nothing to go on - its offensive and defensive capabilities were a mystery, just like its intentions. None of it made any sense. The ship should never have been allowed to come within firing range without Heorot taking precautions against attack. Why had the planet been taken so completely by surprise that the evacuation had become a massacre?
The only way the Admiral was going to get some answers was by seeing Heorot for himself. And the Fleet would not be caught as off-guard as the planet.
Three hours in hyperdrive brought them within visual range of Heorot, a fact announced by the ensign at the scanners.
“On screen,” ordered the Admiral curtly, and the vast window at the front of the bridge turned opaque. Onto this was projected an image of the blue-green globe they were now orbiting. It looked peaceful enough, beyond the unusual accumulation of black clouds over the landmasses.
“Scan,” he snapped, and the ensign hit a few buttons, then started reading from the screens in front of her.
“Cloud formations have a chemical make-up consistent with smoke and ash. Also an unusually high concentration of carbon dioxide, sulphur dioxide, hydrogen sulphate-”
“What about the surface?” the Admiral interrupted, getting the picture. Heorot, it seemed, had gone up in flames.
There was a pause, and then the ensign continued, “Gun batteries not responding. All shields are down. Mayday beacon still sending, but otherwise communications are out. Transport systems out of action. Life support and air-con are still working in some of the outlying cities, but that’s about it, sir. All major areas of civilisation and technology appear to be in ruins.”
Everyone on the bridge fell silent, taking that in, and then, from around the night-side of the planet, a tiny black box came slinking into view on the screen.
“Alien ship on visuals!” the ensign said quickly, at the same time as the Admiral leaned forward in his chair and shouted, “Magnify and scan! Raise shields as soon as we’re within firing range.”
The black box suddenly filled the main screen, revealing a twisted ship, initially of alien construction but now repaired with the remnants of destroyed Federation ships. Its oddly square shape appeared to be the result of curves having been beaten into straight lines to accommodate the angular shards of Earth vessels. The crew on the bridge noticed the way the Admiral’s eyes narrowed at the sight of such a patchwork of stolen technology.
“Scanners show that the hulls of several Federation ships have been used in repair work,” reported the ensign. “We’re picking up markers for Goliath, Revenant, Nautilus, Adele, Lioness, Fearless, Anna-Maria, Kestrel…”
As the list of dead ships went on, the crew watched the scans of the alien ship come up on the screen. Those guns stuck on the side were C-class, the most up-to-date model, ripped from the shell of the Fearless - clearly they hadn’t been enough to fight this ship. That escape pod, crammed into a gap in the alien ship’s hull, that was an old design, without the option of stasis. It wasn’t possible to see whether there was a body inside, living or dead. But those binders holding it in place were originally designed to contain any energy surges from the engines of a cruiser, and those claws were the cranes from a cargo ship’s loading bay, and those were the sub-light engines of a short range fighter.
And in a twisted display of humour, those four panels, torn from four different Federation ships, had been sealed into place over the alien ship’s side, their original names now lost, and the letters instead spelling out “GReNdel”.
“Well, Grendel,” the Admiral muttered, “I hope you’re ready to die.”
Suddenly, a persistent, irritating beep shattered the dark mood on the bridge, and the ensign at the communications desk reported, “Ambassador Unferth of the Enterprise on channel D, sir.”
“Put him on,” the Admiral growled. Unferth, that miserable coward, had been brought along to reassure the concerned committee back at the Federation that this was not an entirely military operation, and, knowing him, would be quick to try and take the credit for himself if they were successful in any way.
“Admiral,” Unferth began, but the Admiral interrupted.
“What do you want, Unferth?” he snapped impatiently, and could imagine the Ambassador’s affronted, indignant expression as he was forced to come straight to the point of his message.
“I demand that we talk to this ship before resorting to violence, as you are so fond of doing. We must try and make peaceful contact with this species!”
The Admiral barely hesitated. “If you want to try and make peaceful contact with a race that has just wiped out the entire population of one of our most prosperous planets, you go ahead. Personally I’ll settle for blasting the bastard into a million pieces - and I’ll be keeping my shields on full.”
Unferth’s disrespectful snort was cut off abruptly as he terminated contact. The Admiral sat back in his chair, determined to get on with his job and eliminate the threat to the Federation’s safety, and ordered, “Scan shields and weapons capabilities of the alien ship. Charge weapons and raise our shields. Take us within firing range.”
The ensign at the scanners suddenly reported, “Sir, the Enterprise is advancing on the alien ship!”
“Damn Unferth!” the Admiral shouted. “Send a recall transmission immediately!”
“Transmission blocked, sir,” the ensign said after a second. “Enterprise broadcasting on all channels.”
“Audio, now,” the Admiral snapped, and the message came over the speakers. First in Galactic Common, then again in Binary Standard, Unferth’s message was broadcast, proclaiming that the Fleet came in peace and wished to learn more about the alien race.
The Grendel wheeled about and headed straight for the Enterprise.
“Enterprise charging shields, sir!” called the ensign. “Firing range within two minutes!”
“Get us there quicker!” the Admiral yelled, but he hadn’t quite finished the order when there was a flash of fire on the main screen, and the Enterprise exploded.
There was silence on the bridge for a moment, then, quietly, the Admiral said, “Tell me when we’re in firing range.”
The ensign nodded silently, watching the Enterprise drift elegantly apart, fragments floating away on a short-lived cloud of flame. The Grendel went swooping in, firing magnetic tow lines, which latched onto the broken hull of the Enterprise and started reeling the pieces into the opening hatches on its sides. Everyone on the bridge of the Flagship could clearly see the inside of the ship, and the alien nature of its construction was obvious, in everything from the bulbous hatch doors to the disturbingly fluid internal surfaces.
The ship gobbled up the shards of the broken Enterprise with a greed that sickened the watchers on the Flagship, and it was in a choked and quiet voice that the ensign at the scanners finally said, “Alien ship within firing range.”
“Closer,” ordered the Admiral. “Ready all weapons, maximum firepower. Keep shields on full and bring us into minimum firing range.”
The Grendel ignored the approaching ship, evidently concentrating on scavenging from the wreck. Slowly, the flagship drew closer to its prey, and the tension on the bridge was palpable until the ensign said, “Minimum firing range achieved. Any closer and we’ll get backlash.”
“Alright,” the Admiral nodded, maintaining his composure. “Fire all weapons simultaneously.”
There was an expectant pause, and then the main screen went blank for a few seconds, to protect the watchers from the blinding light of weapons fire.
“We have impact,” reported the ensign, with no small amount of satisfaction, and a ragged cheer was raised by some of the crew. The screen came back online, and the cheer died in their throats. The Grendel was unharmed, wheeling and speeding towards the Flagship with malice in its every move.
“Weapons ineffective!” yelled the ensign, and the Admiral shouted, “Divert power from weapons to the shields!”
There was no flash of light this time. The Flagship rocked violently as the alien weapons struck home, but there were no explosions. As the crew on the bridge picked themselves up, the ensign at a different set of monitors - those for the Flagship’s internal diagnostics - reported, “Shields holding at ninety-eight percent. Superficial damage sustained. Alien weapons appear ineffective.”
The other ensign chipped in, “Alien weapons one hundred percent efficient but otherwise unsophisticated. They seem to have no shields themselves and no knowledge of combating ours.”
The Grendel had stopped approaching, and was hovering within firing range, apparently waiting to see if its weapons had any delayed effect. After a few moments’ pause, it suddenly fired its engines, making a sharp turn and heading rapidly away from the advancing fleet.
“No you don’t,” the Admiral growled, then yelled, “Engage tractor beam, full strength! Target alien ship’s starboard engine!”
There was a sudden flurry of activity as his orders were obeyed, and he watched the main screen with vicious intent, grinning triumphantly when the Grendel came to an instantaneous halt.
“Alien ship increasing power to engines,” the ensign reported, and the Admiral sat back in his chair again, relaxing.
“Keep us where we are,” he ordered calmly, and smiled as the rest of the Fleet came into range, took up their positions, and opened fire on the trapped Grendel. He folded his hands in his lap and watched with a deep satisfaction as his ships did their best to beat the Grendel into scrap metal.
“Alien ship reaching maximum power,” warned the ensign, and he nodded, then raised his eyebrows in amusement as, with short-lived sparks shooting out and dying in the vacuum, and scavenged metal twisting and bending under the strain, the Grendel tore out its own engine in its struggle to break free.
Watching the crippled ship float slowly away from them, the Admiral said, “Release tractor beam and fire into that hole.”
The rest of the Fleet didn’t need to be given the same order. The Grendel was fired upon by every ship of the fourteen remaining, and nearly every shot hit its mark perfectly. With a spectacular burst of flame that died in a split-second once it had consumed the air from the ship, the Grendel seemed to fall apart, shards of metal breaking away and spreading like ripples into the empty darkness of space.
This time the cheers and celebration on the bridge went on for much longer, and the Admiral smiled, allowing his crew a few minutes of rejoicing before he called for order. The ensign at the scanners, still laughing, turned back to her console and froze.
“Sir!” she called in sudden panic. “Large unidentified object rising out of Heorot’s shadow! Scanners show its construction matches that of the alien ship we just destroyed.”
Everyone stopped, and the Admiral stood up, staring in horror at the screen as the new ship, almost as large as the planet itself, rose up out of hiding and hung above Heorot like a malevolent moon, strange lights flashing furiously across the Fleet as the shards of the Grendel were swiftly reeled in by tractor beams far more sophisticated than their own.
“Good God,” one of the officers breathed. “What is that thing?”
“Another Grendel?” someone suggested, in tones of dread.
The Admiral said softly, “No,” and everyone turned as he spoke.
“It’s the Mothership.”