Hello James, It's been far too long.
The lights were dim and amber, everything he'd come to be familiar with. They shifted, melting into the thick, half visible air as it pumped through the changing vents. They were still carrying the flavor of the Klivam from deep below. It would be gone soon, and once again it would be the Narada alone.
“Do you have a lock?” Nero prompted, pressed tentatively into the central bridge chair. It was hard, square, and had no bend nor curve. It made him uneasy, set his muscles on edge and his jaw in a hard line. He watched, stark and unmoving, as the Enterprise's deflector gleamed at them. The curve of the ship's fore-disc occupied the top half of the main screen, it rolled silently above them. Nero scowled as he watched it. Ayel made a short plosive sound and Nero half heard him.
“Problem with the calibration envelope,” he relayed. The half-Klivam controls beeped and clicked beneath Ayel's fingers. A careful, quick cacophany of function. Ayel hissed, old quotes of bar-room anger and flashing knife-wounds, and his fingers punched across the controls. “Fvadt...off the scale, everywhere!”
Nero glanced to him as he hunched forward, above the controls, seething. “It makes no sense.” The screens flashed, conflicting lines painted across green and black and half Rihannsu text. The type flew by in sheets of amber and Ayel hissed again. When he spoke again, his words were cold and curt. They held the weight of chi'Rihan.
“Negative, sir.”
Nero shot up, propelled from his perch by the sound that tore from his chest. Raw and coiled, it cut across his throat and the Narada didn't echo it back. The Klivam ship was laughing at him and he struck the chair. The metal didn't curl under his hand, and his strike became, all at once, an act of strict bracing. His knuckles ground against the red of the chair-in the amber, the split flesh appeared black. The flavor of coppered air returned to him, the taste of green, and he scowled tight and sharp.
“Kirk.” The word was as much a damnation as an order. The air settled around him, thick and impenatrable with the Narada's agreement. He twisted his neck and spoke, half from the corner of his mouth. “Bring me Kirk.”
On the edge of his vision, Ayel inclined his head. The resounding litany of controls flashed and Nero awaited the hissing dischord of Ayel's work. “Compensating.” Seconds trickled by and the Enterprise loomed above him. He couldn't see, not anymore, but the startled catch in Ayel's voice drew him from his fixation. He stared at the back of the man's head and, after a quick second, Ayel repeated himself. “Au'e!” Ayel spoke swiftly, clearly through the heavy space. “I have a pattern!”
The screens danced, jumping lines intersected badly. The weave was looser now, like a hole worn through old cloth. Ayel's hands swept the glass, placated the fevered scroll of letters, and he hissed as the locks flashed in and out of red. Nero released the chair, his hand raw as he moved alongside Ayel. “Here, bring him here,” the word was a seethed, forced through clenched teeth and punctuated with the draw of the Klivam disruptor at his hip. Ayel's head snapped forward and back, a slight motion of acknowledgement, and the computer confirmed a lock.
“There!” He snapped, a hint of twisted cheer in his voice. Perhaps it was a smile, Nero could hardly remember what those sounded like. “Materialization in sie....” The air stirred, pulling clear patches between them and the blaring lights, moments of sharp clarity that spiked across Nero's vision. “Til.” The ship whined, a call of objection from the old Klivam parts and a high keen of delight murmured through the Etrevon advancements. All the density of the air drew together over the central platform, a heavy shadow of the transporter controls. “Tie.”
The lights were overcome by the orange-red glare of the transporter. A crackle of green followed their wake, a scrambling pulse of Etrevon interference and confusion across the mainframe. Two systems competing to be one. The amber lights flickered violently and went out but Nero did not need them. He could see them, even if he couldn't. A sharp breath, half a word, and Nero fired. The light from one blast revealed another and Ayel was before him, his own gun drawn and smoking, before the figure had stumbled a step. The lights surged and, as they came back on, the air smelled like burnt iron flesh and victory.
He'd forgotten what that smelled like.
“Mnekha, Ayel....mnekha.” In the dim light, he could make out the collapsed shapes of James Kirk and another. The other seemed familiar, but humans were similar in face. He could hear their pained breathing, could see the uneven rise and fall of their chests, and an unfamiliar expression pulled across his face. He could hardly feel it as he walked to the central platform and knelt. “Warp out, now.”
“Au'e.”
(Klivam - Klingon
Fvadt - Fuck
Rihannsu - Romulan
chi'Rihan - Romulus
Au'e - Yes
Sie - 3
Til - 2
Tie - 1
Etrevon - Borg
Mnekha - Good.)