Uncommon
He was a miner. It was a hard, yet profitable, life. Months, years away from home at a stretch, in a ship uncomfortable simply because all the money had been put into the equipment, not the accommodations. It was little different from the life of any commoner on ch'Rihan, though, and the wage he earned would have gone a long way to providing a more comfortable life for his wife and child.
Would have.
The government kept tight rein on any news that might panic the populace, even and especially following the coup of Shinzon and the "minor" Federation incursion into homespace. There had been promises of transparency, of change, of all the things a new government always promised, sand always failed to deliver. The people had long ago given up on getting news through official channels, and information spread like a virus beneath the surface of the computer networks.
So the first inkling that something strange was going on in the galaxy were digital whispers, whispers that grew into a dull roar and gained traction when a technician from one of the border listening posts was on a news program one day, and a missing person the next. A chain of stars going nova, he had said, because of a suspected disturbance in subspace.
The miners followed the news, as much as they did any news, with only half an ear. Their work didn't leave much time or energy for bizarre rumors that affected faraway stars.
And then the government made an official announcement, and everyone sat up and took notice.
The star Hobus, nearest system to the Homesun, is in the direct path of the subspace disturbance. We would not be affected except that Hobus is a rogue star, capable of extending its supernova radius many lightyears further than normal stars. If it supernovas, the Homesun, ch'Rihan and ch'Havran could be destroyed. The newsreaders all used their best "Do Not Panic" voices. The Vulcan Reconciliationist Spock has developed a solution and has promised to save us all. Remain in your homes. The Empire will prevail.
By the time the broadcast reached the Narada moments later, Ambassador Spock had failed. Hobus had supernovaed, taking the seat of the Empire with it. In the following days, the Empire was in disarray, the far-flung colonies unable to cope with the loss. The Federation and others offered aid, but for the grieving Romulans, there was nothing that could help.
***
Nero slowly opened his eyes, not wishing to see the face in the mirror before him. Thick, black tattoos now marked his skin, tattoos of mourning. This one, for his wife; this for their unborn child; those others, for his brothers, sisters, parents and the rest of their clan. And one, simple but heartfelt, for his former captain.
He was not the only one so newly marked, and there were many more waiting their turn for the chair. He nodded his thanks to the ship's surgeon and de facto tattooist. "Ayel, attend me," he said. His second-in-command strode after him as they returned to the command deck.
"We must determine what to do with Loval's body. Normally we would send it back to his family. However..."
Ayel nodded. "It doesn't seem appropriate to return the body to the shriveled, barren rock that was once our home."
"He was, of course, destroyed by the same force that destroyed his family... the Hobus supernova," Nero mused. "You are the religious one among us, Ayel. Would the Elements accept his lifeforce if we jettisoned his body into the Hobus black hole?"
The flamboyant tattoos on Ayel's forehead crinkled as he thought on that idea. "I believe, prod, that would be an acceptable alternative. It may also provide some closure to the crew to see the instrument of our Empire's destruction."
"Make course for Hobus, then." He looked sharply at his subcommander. "And Ayel -- the Empire has not been destroyed. We have merely suffered a setback. We shall survive... and we shall have honor and glory again..."
***
The Jellyfish still hovered a safe distance from Hobus, with its payload of red matter and Ambassador Spock, when Narada arrived. Nero was surprised, but then again not. The Ambassador was something of an open secret on ch'Rihan -- until a few years ago, his presence had not been officially sanctioned, but the elderly Vulcan was considered harmless enough, and while he couldn't speak publicly, he was allowed to speak privately without repercussion. His most Romulan-like trait, to believe the rumors, was stubbornness in his reconciliation mission. He would not abandon his Romulan cousins.
Thus, Nero accepted Spock's words as deep truth when the Vulcan greeted him with, "I grieve with Thee."
"Thank you, Ambassador," he said, inclining his head slightly. "We have come to bury our captain."
Spock raised an eyebrow microscopically, but only said, "Be careful to maintain your distance. Hobus is now a black hole and pulsar combined. I will send my observations of its cycle to you."
"Our gratitude for your data, and for your attempt to save our people, Ambassador."
"I regret that I acted too late to have any effect."
Nero felt strangely exposed as the Ambassador's gaze moved to his mourning tattoos.
"You have lost many," Spock observed. "A wife... and child?"
"Unborn. I never had the chance to know him."
A shadow passed across the Vulcan's face, only briefly, but long enough that Nero knew he was meant to see. "I lost my wife to the supernova, as well."
His heart felt as if it were in a vise, the same feeling he'd had as he'd watched ch'Rihan incinerate. He dredged up the Old High Vulcan phrase, rather than saying it in translation as Spock had. "I grieve with Thee."
Spock only nodded. "What will you do, once your captain is interred?"
"We will rebuild. Perhaps one of the colonies will volunteer to be the new homeworld."
"Your people require leadership."
Nero met the older man's eyes. "I know."
***
Ayel had calculated an appropriate trajectory, one that would bring Narada near enough to the black hole to eject Loval's body, yet stay safely out of the gravity well. Spock remained, observing respectfully, in Jellyfish.
"Engage," Nero ordered. "Forward view on all screens."
The crew watched solemnly as they approached the star, then turned about.
"Release the airlock. Rear view."
The ship jolted slightly as a rear airlock blew and the husk of its former captain pitched into the darkness. As one, all over the vast mining ship, the crew bowed.
"Let's go," Nero said as he straightened. "Make for Artaleirh. Send Ambassador Spock a message, should he wish to follow--"
"Prod!" Ayel shouted, pointing at the viewscreen. Behind them, the black hole was surging, far beyond its previously observed period, the gravity well expanding and the center crackling with energy reminiscent of a lightning storm.
"All engines full ahead!" Nero shouted. "Reroute power from anywhere -- everywhere!"
Around him, panicked engineers flew into action, shouting back and forth to each other and to Ayel.
"Sir, I don't think it's working," the subcommander said frankly. "It's got the Jellyfish, too."
"The shear force is too much, sirs," an engineer interjected. She traced a finger along her console display. "It's going to tear the ship apart if we fight it."
"And it'll crush us if we don't do anything. We're screwed either way."
Nero frowned at the pair of them. "Contact the Ambassador."
Spock appeared instantly on the main screen. "I have detected a temporal disturbance centered in the black hole," he shouted calmly over the screaming of two ships.
"What does that mean?" Nero shouted back.
"I believe that if we do not resist, we will not be crushed. We will, however, be thrown across time and possibly across space."
Nero stared at him in disbelief.
"It is our best chance for survival," Spock said.
"But what about the Empire -- what about our lives here, and now?"
The ambassador shook his head. He could not possibly know. "I am disengaging my engines now," he said. "Your decision is your own. May the Elements go with you."
The screen went blank. Nero confirmed that Jellyfish's engines were down. "Disengage our engines," he ordered. As they spiraled down into the gravity well, he murmured, "I hope you are right about this, Ambassador."
***
Several members of the crew had lost consciousness. Nero himself had felt like his body was being turned inside-out. But they had all come through the black hole alive... unless, of course, this was the afterlife. He didn't expect proximity sensors to be blaring in the afterlife, though.
"Report?" he asked Ayel, more weakly than he had intended.
Ayel poked at a console with a trembling hand. "There is a ship, within a few kilometers. They are backing off."
"Can you identify them?"
"It has Federation markings and follows their general design preferences. It is not a model in our database."
Nero frowned. "Our database is limited. Could we have been thrown into the future?"
"Stellar analysis is coming in now. Themis?"
The female engineer swung her head around. "We've been thrown into Federation space, near the Klingon border. I'll have an estimate on time period in a moment."
"That ship doesn't look more advanced than, say, a Sovereign-class Fed ship," Nero mused. "Is it really as big as it looks?"
"Magnification is at 100 percent, sir," Ayel confirmed.
"We're at least 150 years into the past, Prod," Themis reported. "I am unable to get a better reading, the... thing we came out of is still there and interfering with our instruments."
"Thank you. Ayel, contact the Federationers."
The subcommander slanted a skeptical look at Nero. "Maybe we should wait for Ambassador Spock to get here."
"Yes, where is he?" Nero frowned in Themis's general direction.
"No sign of him, sir."
"Contact them."
Ayel poked his panel with a shrug. "Channel open, sir."
"Federation starship. I am Nero, captain of Narada. Please respond."
The viewscreen flickered as it attempted to match resolution with the signal the Federationers were sending. A stern man, bald as Nero himself, appeared. "Captain Nero. I am Captain Richard Robau of the U.S.S. Kelvin. State your purpose in this region."
Nero smiled sardonically. "Just a lost time traveler, Richard. Have you seen Ambassador Spock?"
"I am unfamiliar with Ambassador Spock."
"Of course. Would you tell me the stardate, please?"
"The stardate? 2233.04." Robau looked thoroughly confused now.
"Our apologies for intruding." Nero bowed from his shoulders. "We'll just be going now." A flick of his finger, and Ayel had closed the connection. "Plot a course to ch'Rihan. We have a 150 year lead on the subspace supernovas, and I'll be damned if my family dies again."
"Sir, your family may not even exist in this timeline," Themis ventured. "Granted we aren't particularly well equipped for this kind of analysis, but that ship never existed in the universe we came from. I'd say we're in an alternate universe."
"Ayel?"
The subcommander looked over Themis's shoulder, checking her calculations. "Agreed. I don't believe I ever told you this, but my hobby is temporal physics. It's apparently not possible to travel through time in a linear fashion. You necessarily create a new universe each time."
Nero cursed floridly. "So nothing we know is necessarily true anymore?"
Ayel grimaced. "Well, we know there are humans and a Federation. And Captain Robau seemed to recognize us as intruders -- and thus Romulan, not Vulcan."
"My orders stand, then," Nero said. "We go to ch'Rihan. I will make a plan for approaching the Praetorate. The two of you, my time-travel experts, will calculate where and when Ambassador Spock arrived -- or when he will."
He stalked off, leaving Ayel and Themis to dread their task alone.
***
On the Kelvin, Richard Robau looked at his first officer. "What do you make of that, George?"
George Kirk shook his head. "I have no idea, sir. Oddest bunch of Romulans I've ever met."
They watched the spiky Narada as it moved off, then disappeared into warpspace in the general direction of Romulus.
"I suppose I'd better file a report," Robau said, looking disappointed.
"Mr. Kirk," the communications officer interrupted. "A message from medical for you, your wife has gone into labor."
"Thanks. Captain?"
"Go ahead. I'll hold down the fort."
***
TWENTY-FIVE YEARS LATER...
The Emperor's yacht floated in the empty space between the Vulcan and Delta Vega star systems. Its sleek lines were reminiscent of a design that, in another universe, wasn't developed for another hundred years yet. Swept-back wings and a bottom hull painted with a raptor identified it to anyone as a Romulan ship, even if they couldn't read the script down the side.
On board, two men spoke softly at the center of a small but comfortable bridge. The human was slightly older, his red hair gone sandy with age, his red Starfleet tunic adorned with the stripes of a commodore. The Romulan Emperor was garbed in what his people had come to refer to as his "uniform", soft, skintight black leather pants and a sleeveless midnight-blue tunic with a Nehru collar. The only indication of his rank was a small raptor pin which fastened a lightweight black cape to his right shoulder.
"One minute left, Your Majesty," the yacht's captain announced from his perch at the science station.
"Thank you, Ayel," the Emperor said. "I probably shouldn't admit this," he told the Commodore, "but I'm nervous to see him again. What will he think of the work we've accomplished?"
His companion smiled. "I'm sure he'll be pleased, Your Majesty."
"George, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Nero? We are friends, aren't we?"
George shook his head. "And I've told you as many times that I'm not comfortable with it. You're a bloody Emperor!"
"I don't feel like one. Ayel --"
"It's beginning, sir. We're getting a lot of temporal activity out there, even though it's not on the visual spectrum yet." Ayel turned to the engineer at his side. "Does it seem closer than we'd expected?"
She nodded. "We'd best back off a bit. Sera, another half-million kilometers should do it."
"Aye, ma'am," the girl at the helm said.
"There it is," Ayel said. He moved to the center of the bridge. "Is this what it looked like the last time, Commodore?"
A slight nod. A slow breath. "Incredible. Just the same."
Suddenly the lightning storm increased exponentially, bursting forth with temporal energy. As they watched, a tiny silver speck flew directly toward them, its openwork propulsion system undulating wildly as the pilot attempted to regain control of his trajectory.
"Tractor beam," Ayel said, just as the Emperor demanded, "Open a channel."
The helmswoman responded, "Channel open, Your Majesty." The engineer latched on to the Jellyfish and drew it close.
"Ambassador Spock!" Nero said, a wide smile gracing his tattooed face as he strode toward the ancient face on the viewscreen. "Welcome to 2258. It's an alternate universe, but there are a lot of familiar faces. I think you'll like it here."
Spock raised an eyebrow, opened his mouth to respond, then blinked sharply as he caught site of the men beyond Nero. "Jim?"
The Commodore shook his head. "No, George Kirk. I've got a son named Jim, though."
"Of course," Spock nodded. "There is a... family resemblance. My apologies."
Nero attempted to take back control of the conversation. "Beam over, Ambassador. We got here twenty-five years before you did. We have a lot of catching up to do."
"Indeed," Spock said. "I shall be most interested to hear what you have been doing."
***
