THE NEVERLAND CHRONICLES:
THE AFTER-EFFECT
Vulcans were notorious for not being able to lie. Suroth’s father, Shaverak had blown that stereotype to bits. For twenty-nine years, Shaverak had lied to them. Lied to him. And the thought troubled him to no end.
He pushed the disconcerting thought aside, and sat up. “Lights on,” he said, though he didn’t really need them.
His room was rather bare, as he was not one for interior-decorating. Of the four walls, only one held a painting-a new addition that Suroth himself had made one night such as tonight when he had been unable to still himself long enough to sleep. He had a bookcase with many books from around the galaxy: Vulcan history books (though, reading about Vulcan’s bloody past was not one of Suroth’s favorite pastimes), old popular Earth novels such as Tom Sawyer and some series called “Harry Potter”, as well as odds and ends he had collected from the homeworlds of his assortment of crewmates.
Needing something to do in order to ease his mind, he sat down at his desk. “Access schematics, building plans, diagrams, and models of the USS Neverland,” he said softly to the computer, as if his voice could somehow awaken the others who were no doubt sleeping soundly in the neighboring quarters. Perhaps, coming up with progressions to be made upon the ship he served would take his mind away from the events of the past days. Surely, Chief Engineer Cha’k’ree (a manic young man that was somehow a mix of human and the short, bipedal-meerkat-looking Oriki) would be glad of more “improvements” he could make upon the Neverland and its various mechanisms.
The Neverland was a rather small, old-style Miranda-class cruiser. Thus, only one hundred fifty crewmen were sufficient. And, the engines could us some refining…
And then, much to the Vulcan’s embarrassment, he remembered nothing as the glow of the computer screen lulled him into the sleep that had eluded him for a week.
* * *
Suroth was able to avoid the humiliation of being tardy for his shift, however, as he awoke five hours later, a good hour before his shift at 0500.
“Punctual as always, eh, Suroth?”
He was greeted by Captain Nairvet, who was four minutes and thirty nine seconds late. And Suroth was going to remind him of the fact.
Suroth looked up from his work as the Captain exited the turbolift. “You, Captain,” Suroth said with a raised eyebrow, “are exactly four minutes and thirty nine seconds late.”
Nairvet laughed. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but four minutes late doesn’t merit probation, and I know how you’re just itching to take my spot in the Captain’s chair.”
Suroth furrowed his brow, looking puzzled. “ ‘Itching’, Captain?”
“Yeah,” Nairvet grinned as he took his seat, “ ‘itching’.”
“Ahh, I will pretend I understand, Captain,” said Suroth as he turned back to his console. Laughs rippled across the bridge. After serving together for two years now, the bridge officers knew full well when the Captain and First Officer where exchanging banter jokingly, or when it was a serious argument (though often it was hard to tell the difference when it came to Suroth). And luckily for them, Suroth took the jibes and teasing good-naturedly.
“I suppose I’ll humor you, Mister Suroth.” Nairvet smiled slyly. “Status report?”
Suroth looked faintly amused. “All systems functioning properly, though I can not say the same for our Communications Officer.”
All eyes turned to the Andorian at the Communications console. Gra’chek was slumped over, clutching his head and moaning something about “never going drinking with Cha’k’ree ever again”. Noticing everyone watching him, he sat up abruptly, and looked like a case of vertigo had suddenly come over him from moving too quickly.
“Why is the room spinning, Captain…?”
Nairvet smiled amiably. “I think you should get some rest, Commander.”
“Uh, yeah. Th-thank you, Cap’n,” Gra’chek mumbled as he tripped his way over to the turbolift.
Muffled snickers could be heard as the turbolift’s doors hissed shut, though as soon as the captain looked around to find the perpetrators, everyone was suddenly hard at work. An ensign took Gra’chek’s place shortly.
“Patrols aren’t very exciting missions, are they Mister Suroth?”
Suroth cast Nairvet a contemptuous look over his shoulder. “I would not know, Captain. To know it is ‘exciting’ I would have to be subject to emotions, of which I am not. However, they are a vital operation, as you should well know.”
Nairvet raised his eyebrows. “Perhaps I should’ve asked someone else,” he said ruefully.
“But, knowing humans, it is not,” Suroth offered.
Nairvet seemed to accept this. “The Romulan Neutral Zone tends to be rather uneventful.”
Suroth fully turned around. “That would be considered a good thing, would it not?”
Nairvet pretended to muse that over. “Yes,” he said, propping his elbow on the arm of his chair, “I suppose it would.”
The turbolift doors hissed open again, and a shorter, leaner version of Suroth strode in. The seeming-doppelganger, Sora, looked rather restless, though only another Vulcan would have noticed.
“Brother,” Sora said in a commanding tone, “You told me I would be dropped off at Starfleet Headquarters as soon as possible. It has been a week.”
Nairvet turned around and gave Sora an “oh, really?” look. Suroth rose from his seat. “I did not lie, my brother. You will be dropped off at Starfleet Headquarters as soon as possible. However, now is not ‘as soon as possible’. We have an agenda to keep. We will be returning to the Sol System upon the completion of our patrol of the Romulan Neutral Zone. Until that time,” Suroth paused and raised an eyebrow wryly, “please contain yourself.”
“You tell’em, Mister!”
The two Vulcans looked at the captain as if he had lost his mind.
Feeling rather silly and trivial under the gaze of the emotionless duo, Nairvet turned back around. “Mister Suroth, if you would scan the area?”
“Ah, of course, Captain.”
Sora shook his head at his brother and returned to the turbolift.
“Scans indicate no abnormalities- ah, disregard. Two Romulan warbirds are on the other side of the Neutral Zone, running parallel to our course.”
“Any indication of hostilities?”
“Their weapons are-” The report was interrupted by the ensign at the Communications console.
“Incoming subspace transmission from one of the vessels, sir.”
Nairvet looked rather uneasy. “What does it say, Ensign?”
“It… It says prepare to be boarded.”
The captain was out of his chair at once. “What??”
Suroth was suddenly at his side, making him jump in surprise, as he had not seen his approach. “Captain, one of the warbirds has activated their cloaking device.”
“Get our shields on-line!”
It was too late, however, as the warbird was de-cloaking directly in front of them and several forms were materializing in an emerald glow on the bridge. Eleven Romulans armed with disruptor rifles and looking callous and grim hustled across the bridge, keeping every bridge officer at bay.
Only Suroth looked untroubled by this sudden interruption, which made Nairvet want to strangle him until he showed some actual emotion.
“Is there a problem, Commander?” Suroth was obviously addressing the twelfth Romulan who stood in the center of the bridge, observing each individual’s reaction to the intrusion. He was tall (six foot one point four inches by Suroth’s measurements), with broad shoulders and an “I’m in charge and I like it that way” expression.
The Romulan Commander blinked in surprise and glared at the impudent Vulcan, his face turning green in anger. “Oh, no problem,” he said in a suave voice, composing himself and sauntering over to Suroth, “I’m just here to pick up a… friend of a friend.”
Suroth didn’t even falter. “And who would that friend be, may I ask?”
The Commander smirked. “Always the chivalrous ones, Vulcans are. Well, I suppose I’ll tell you, as it won’t make a difference either way.” He turned his back on Suroth and slunk over to the captain’s chair-pushing Nairvet out of the way as he did so- and settled himself in. He tilted his head back in Suroth’s direction. “We intercepted a very interesting transmission about… oh, a week ago. It seems a friend of ours, a certain Shaverak, has been playing a little game of hide-and-seek with us.” The Romulan leered at Suroth, “And what better way to bring the man out of hiding than to offer in trade to him, his two precious sons, no?”
Suroth’s stood without comment, his face remaining expressionless.
This seemed to annoy the Romulan Commander, but he continued regardless. “If he doesn’t come out, we kill the two of you, and such pain lasts longer than death: and we win. If he does come, we get him: and we win. Either way, it’s our victory.”
“You’re quite the vidshow-villain, aren’t you?”
The Commander looked rather bewildered by the captain’s brass. “Excuse me, human?”
Nairvet allowed himself a brash smile he knew would infuriate the Romulan lounging in his chair. “You heard me. On every vidshow the villain always spells out their evil plot to the hopelessly captured, good guys.” He widened his grin. “And then the good guys escape and win. It seems to me like you should be dressed in something classy and twirling an evil mustache.”
The Romulan sneered at him. “This is no fairy-tale, Captain, I assure you, and I am no ‘vidshow villain’. There is no way for me to lose. Now, if you would kindly call the other brother up to the bridge, I can be on my way with my Vulcan friends.”
“Captain, if I may?”
Nairvet looked faintly surprised and smiled knowingly. “Now would be best, Mister Suroth.”
Faster than any human could have moved, Suroth delivered a rather enthusiastic nerve pinch on the Romulan that stood in front of him. The others, being surprised by Suroth’s lightning reflexes, hesitated for a second too long, and were jumped upon by any bridge officer who had the brains to act. That was, unfortunately, only enough to subdue seven of those twelve Romulans, the five of the remaining with disruptors ready to blast the head off of the next person to move a muscle.
“My, my, what a vicious lot you are!” The Romulan Commander smiled maliciously, “But yet, I still have the upper-hand. After all, the next person to so much as twitch just might find themselves vaporized.”
“Thoughts, Captain?” Suroth glanced at the Captain who had an unconscious Romulan under his knee.
“Aye, Mister Suroth. Damn I could use Gra’chek up here right now.”
Suroth looked faintly amused. “I was looking for an order, Captain.”
Nairvet blinked. “Oh. In that case: I believe we have a friend to call.”
* * *
When Sora arrived, he looked clearly taken aback by the state of the bridge.
“I believe I have missed something,” he said, looking from his brother with his stolen disruptor rifle, to the captain with the pinned Romulan, then finally resting his gaze on the Romulan Commander wearing a gleeful expression who had swiveled around to greet him. The welcoming committee of two Romulans hustled Sora over to Suroth’s side.
“Now that we finally have you two lovely boys together,” the Romulan Commander stood with an air of importance, “I believe we shall take our leave.”
Two Romulans roughly grabbed the brothers by the arm.
“Before you go,” Nairvet said with the anger of someone out for revenge against his friend’s kidnapper (which he certainly was), “what’s your name?”
The Romulan smiled dangerously. “My name, human, is Tarvess, not that it will do you any good.”
And then the Romulans and their Vulcan captives dissolved in a green flare.
Last edited:
