The shade pitched through the air, and Nero watched it as it came down upon the Klivam beast. Like a bird, predatory and sharp, his talons delivered a killing strike and sent the prey down, struggling and kicking. Two blows rendered it dead, twitching and skittering across the floor convulsively. He heard the hiss of pinions floating with the edge of fabric, fluttering in the stillness as claws gouged dark shapes and sprayed hot fuchsia across the blackened deck. The gap filled itself and the bird became Ayel.
“Ayel,” Nero uttered sharply. The word hung on the air and his eyes drifted away from the fallen man. It was silent, calm. The Narada was not sick, not anymore.
“Liorae.”Something in the Narada hissed and the thrum of power answered him. The lights flickered back to life, banishing the blackness away with cold amber. He twisted in place, his eyes following trails of pink across silver metal and broken glass. Seven he counted. His eyes drifted back to Ayel. Eight. He stared at the man before him, and the quiet hiss of
( ... )
Meaning crashed back to him at the sound of his captain's voice, his own name an alarm, a quiet strong reproach. "Ayel."
He would never get that cutter back--it was bent in, at least twice. He forced his hands open and stood, the filth under him suddenly too heavy to lift.
Nero was right. They had to hurry.
Couldn't touch her wet; the panels were too new, they would spark at him. He smeared his palms dry on his trousers and tapped a brisk sequence on the nearest interface--maintain position and his personal code. He could swear the Narada trembled in reluctance at the order.
"She won't wait long," he agreed, and followed his captain through that yawning barbarity the Klingons had come from. Eight gone; there couldn't be many more aboard, and surprise was on their side.
The klivam had left the door open, all unknowing, and now the night was moving in.
His legs moved before Ayel had finished staying the Narada's teeth, twining through the maze of fallen meat. He scooped up a disruptor, tore it free from a creature as picked across glass, as he neared the yawning doorway. Ayel's steps joined his, fell in line and into sound as they slipped through the hole in the Narada and onto the Klivam flooring. Nero glanced over his shoulder, an impulsive move as light flickered on the periphery of his vision, and paused mid-step as he took in the exterior of the Narada. She was a twisted endcap and the edge of her silhouette felt hollow. He could feel the amputated ship, see her in his mind. Cold rage filtered into his stomach and he moved.
Ayel caught him as they entered passed under the archway of the alien airlock. The Klivam ship was all red and beveled corners. It was the wrong red. The ceilings were strange, too short, and too high, and the wrong shape. It was disgusting, offensive, and it would be theirs. He sneered as he leaned against the bulkhead. Three directions from the airlock.
( ... )
Comments 7
their hands and their instruments. Ugly laughter issued through ugly faces for ugly reasons.
They were hurting her ( ... )
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The shade pitched through the air, and Nero watched it as it came down upon the Klivam beast. Like a bird, predatory and sharp, his talons delivered a killing strike and sent the prey down, struggling and kicking. Two blows rendered it dead, twitching and skittering across the floor convulsively. He heard the hiss of pinions floating with the edge of fabric, fluttering in the stillness as claws gouged dark shapes and sprayed hot fuchsia across the blackened deck. The gap filled itself and the bird became Ayel.
“Ayel,” Nero uttered sharply. The word hung on the air and his eyes drifted away from the fallen man. It was silent, calm. The Narada was not sick, not anymore.
“Liorae.”Something in the Narada hissed and the thrum of power answered him. The lights flickered back to life, banishing the blackness away with cold amber. He twisted in place, his eyes following trails of pink across silver metal and broken glass. Seven he counted. His eyes drifted back to Ayel. Eight. He stared at the man before him, and the quiet hiss of ( ... )
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He would never get that cutter back--it was bent in, at least twice. He forced his hands open and stood, the filth under him suddenly too heavy to lift.
Nero was right. They had to hurry.
Couldn't touch her wet; the panels were too new, they would spark at him. He smeared his palms dry on his trousers and tapped a brisk sequence on the nearest interface--maintain position and his personal code. He could swear the Narada trembled in reluctance at the order.
"She won't wait long," he agreed, and followed his captain through that yawning barbarity the Klingons had come from. Eight gone; there couldn't be many more aboard, and surprise was on their side.
The klivam had left the door open, all unknowing, and now the night was moving in.
(Klivam - Klingon.)
Reply
Ayel caught him as they entered passed under the archway of the alien airlock. The Klivam ship was all red and beveled corners. It was the wrong red. The ceilings were strange, too short, and too high, and the wrong shape. It was disgusting, offensive, and it would be theirs. He sneered as he leaned against the bulkhead. Three directions from the airlock. ( ... )
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