Following a discussion on the Star Trek board about how Nemesis could be improved I've decided to take the oppourtunity to flex my long-dormant writing muscles to put my money where my mouth is. The following will hopefully be a complete rewrite of the film, keeping the spirit and (where possible) major plot elements but making them...not suck.
Two points before I start.
1) I have absolutely no intention of treading on the toes of RedImperators's (awesome) Voyager rewrite. Indeed, if this story turns out to be a tenth of RedImperator's I'll be a very happy man indeed.
2) As I said previously, I haven't engaged in some fanfiction in quite some time, and my knowledge of hard science is high-school level only. From time to time I will definitely be asking help from those with greater knowledge than me on such things. At those points I can only ask that you be patient, point out any wallbang-worthy errors and help me out.
Anyway, without further ado...
Last edited by OneEyedTeddyMcGrew on 2011-03-15 03:56am, edited 1 time in total.
"It is said an Eastern monarch once charged his wise men to invent him a sentence, to be ever in view, and which should be true and appropriate in all times and situations. They presented him the words: "And this, too, shall pass away." How much it expresses! How chastening in the hour of pride! How consoling in the depths of affliction!"
Remus, Romulan Star Empire, Mining Complex C1324, Stardate 55501
General Movar was a worried man. While his race had long ago forsaken the way of Surak and his misguided acolytes, emotion was still not something that came easily to the Romulan general. Why should it? It was a matter of discipline, not mindless dogma.
But now, in the relentless heat that made him feel like his ornate military dress was little more than an elaborate oven, deep in the crust of this benighted, accursed rock Movar allowed himself the luxury of anxiety.
Part of it was a simple sense of self-preservation; no Romulan had ever willingly ventured this far into the dark heart of Remus. Any foolhardy enough to attempt such a thing would have found their life expectancy measured in milliseconds, if they were lucky. The Remans were a brutal race, suited for cannon fodder in mines and battlefields and little else. When Romulan feet had first touched the cold dust of this world, the Remans emerged from their caves and crevasses and slaughtered the entire colony to a man. Some unlucky souls were left crucified to the hulls of their own ships as an example to any other trespassers. The ensuing pacification had taken countless cycles, with incredible brutalities perpetuated by both sides. Inevitably, the Romulans were triumphant. Eternal slavery for the Remans was the price of their failure.
Until today…
His guide, who had identified himself only as “Viceroy” (such presumption!) unerringly strode through the narrow, winding tunnels in front of Movar, and the light source he carried in one talon seemed more a courtesy to his unlikely guest. Its sickly green light threw shadows across the rough grey walls, and Movar swore he could see the vampiric, almost translucent visages of Remans lurking around corners and behind collapsed rockfaces. They were stalking him on all fours, hissing at each other in their grotesque, bestial tongue, glaring at him with generations of pent-up hatred but allowing him to pass nonetheless. Movar wasn’t sure whether to find this almighty restraint of their base instincts comforting or terrifying.
Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, the “Viceroy” slowed. Movar could now see that they were in a very different part of the complex. The coarse bare rock had been replaced by smooth tritanium bulkheads, although any lightning outside of the one possessed by the Viceroy was still not forthcoming. Very faintly, echoing down from an unknown place he swore he could hear the low bass hum of some kind of power generator. Briefly, Movar imagined himself to be back on the bridge of a Bird-of-Prey. Then he saw the debased symbols and crude scratching that passed for the Reman written language daubed over the righteous emblems of the Star Empire on the walls in some unidentifiable fluid, and his comforting illusion was shattered.
They reached a door. The Viceroy gestured for Movar to remain where he was, and handing the light to him walked up and gently, almost reverently rapped on the door. Movar heard what could only be a response from the other side, presumably granting him an audience. Although he could not pick up what exactly was said, it didn’t sound Reman at all. In fact, it sounded oddly familiar.
The door swung open from the inside, and Movar found himself blinded by the light that emanated from it. It took all his extensive military training and inbred discipline to not shield his eyes, which would be a fatal sign of weakness. As his vision slowly began to recover, he could make out a silhouette entering confidently, purposefully into the passage. Now Movar was convinced his sight was betraying him as well. Only one man he had ever met walked with that much conviction and insufferable self-righteousness.
“No, it can’t be”, he thought, his mind desperately performing somersaults to rationalise what his damaged senses were telling him, “You can’t be here…”
The figure was almost upon him now, too close to be comfortable. It offered it’s smooth, unclawed hand. A human gesture of welcome…
“General Movar. What a pleasure it is to finally meet you. I trust you did not meet with any inconvenience on your way down here?”
“No, no, no, no…”
The light in Movar’s hand dropped and shattered into a million fluorescent pieces on the dull floor…
Last edited by OneEyedTeddyMcGrew on 2011-03-14 02:25am, edited 2 times in total.
"It is said an Eastern monarch once charged his wise men to invent him a sentence, to be ever in view, and which should be true and appropriate in all times and situations. They presented him the words: "And this, too, shall pass away." How much it expresses! How chastening in the hour of pride! How consoling in the depths of affliction!"
This is looking really good so far. Nicely-written, with good pace and good, clear description of what's going on. I like the little asdies here and there, such as "Such presumption!" They make me feel like I am inside the General's mind, which is always a good thing in this kind of scene.
Keep up the good work!
OFf-topic: Woo! 1000th post!
Baltar: "I don't want to miss a moment of the last Battlestar's destruction!"
Centurion: "Sir, I really think you should look at the other Battlestar."
Baltar: "What are you babbling about other...it's impossible!"
Centurion: "No. It is a Battlestar."
Corrax Entry 7:17: So you walk eternally through the shadow realms, standing against evil where all others falter. May your thirst for retribution never quench, may the blood on your sword never dry, and may we never need you again.
“Shinzon? Who…what…are you?” he said with as much authority as he could muster as he studied the emissary of the Remans head-to-toe, his sight now restored. That he was human was undeniable, albeit clad in the crude black hooded smock worn by all Reman labourers. (When they deigned it necessary to be clothed at all) There were no scars or barely-perceptible abnormalities that would suggest a facial graft or a more advanced genetic alteration, and Movar knew how to spot such things. But those eyes; those cold, dead eyes as dark as the caverns they had just passed through, and the feral, almost-mocking half smile set in a smooth hairless head couldn’t be anything but Reman. This…thing was the galaxy’s bastard child.
“I am the man that will give you Romulus”, Shinzon declared bluntly, his eyes never leaving Movar, “That is all you need to know. I suspect, my dear General, that is all you care about too”
In a smooth motion, Shinzon’s arm flew upwards and sideways, gesturing for Movar to join him in his sanctum, “Please General, we have much to discuss”
Movar hadn’t known what he expected to see when he walked into Shinzon’s chamber, but for a man who seemed to command the unquestioning loyalty and obedience of the beasts outside the spartan nature of Shinzon's dwelling gave him yet another of the numerous shocks he had suffered so far. The room was smaller than the living spaces of the lowliest ratings on a Bird-of-Prey, adorned with only a hard table and bed seemingly carved whole from the bedrock they were standing upon. A solitary light source was suspended from somewhere in the ceiling and what looked like an uncountable number of tiny crystalline sculptures were dotted haphazardly on the table and floor. Shinzon followed Movar through the entryway and moved to the "table” to pick up one of the sculptures, caressing it as he did so. Outside, the Viceroy, his immediate task completed gently pulled the door closed and gave the two men their privacy.
Already on edge, Movar startled as Shinzon’s other hand produced a small curved blade so brutal looking it would have given a Klingon pause, but Shinzon merely scraped the blade along the surface of the crystal sculpture in his other palm, presumably shaping it into yet another bizarre design.
“Waste dilithium, my dear General”, he said by means of explanation, taking a small measure of satisfaction in Movar’s discomfort, “It is usually disintegrated, but I take great solace in creating beauty out of it” Now he put down both the crystal and the knife on the table and stared straight into Movar’s eyes, his voice as cold as an Andorian blizzard, “And there is not enough beauty in this realm of mine? Do you agree?”
“Enough of this!”, Movar commanded, attempting to wrestle back control of the situation, as much out of pride than a desire to get to the point, “I did not come here to discuss aesthetics with you, Shinzon”
“No”, Shinzon replied, his voice sounding like that of a predator lecturing it’s prey on how and why exactly it was to be eaten, “You are here because you feel the Romulan Star Empire, in its infinite wisdom, has become enfeebled and corrupt. You are here because you saw your Senators and your Commanders make common cause with the Federation against the Dominion. You are here because with the Dominion scurrying back to their own corner of the galaxy, the Cardassians and the Breen bombed into the Stone Age, and the Klingons weakened and unstable an opportunity existed for your long-cherished final confrontation with the Federation to become a reality, only to see it snatched away by the greed and short-sightedness of the Imperial Senate when they deigned it appropiate to reopen normal relations”
Shinzon was close to Movar now, very close. He slowly circled the Romulan, snarling through bared teeth into his ears. The coldly rational nature of his words paradoxically gave them a bloodthirstiness that even the most animalistic Reman would have struggled to match. And still, his eyes had not left the General.
“You are here, General Movar, because you feel that such times will never come again, and for the glory of the Star Empire they must be grabbed by the throat. You are here, General Movar, because you need my help and the help of my Remans to make it so”
Last edited by OneEyedTeddyMcGrew on 2011-03-15 10:23am, edited 3 times in total.
"It is said an Eastern monarch once charged his wise men to invent him a sentence, to be ever in view, and which should be true and appropriate in all times and situations. They presented him the words: "And this, too, shall pass away." How much it expresses! How chastening in the hour of pride! How consoling in the depths of affliction!"
OneEyedTeddyMcGrew wrote:1) I have absolutely no intention of treading on the toes of Valdemar's (awesome) Voyager rewrite. Indeed, if this story turns out to be a tenth of Valdemar's I'll be a very happy man indeed.
Might be worth noting that the awesome VoyReWrite was conceived, designed, and executed by RedImperator; direct your fellatting there.
Er...bollocks...I was just testing to make sure people were actually reading this, honest.
"It is said an Eastern monarch once charged his wise men to invent him a sentence, to be ever in view, and which should be true and appropriate in all times and situations. They presented him the words: "And this, too, shall pass away." How much it expresses! How chastening in the hour of pride! How consoling in the depths of affliction!"
I was hoping somebody would notice that. Shinzon as I'm writing him is a very fun challenge. I want him to be recognisably human and Picard-esque, but equally it has to be very clear that there's something not quite right about him. Striking that Reman-Human balancing act in Shinzon is going to be a big part of whether this story pans out the way I want it to.
Assignment season is upon me at university, so I may not be able to get around to updating this for another week or so. But I'm glad to see the comments appear to be positive so far. Anyone else who wishes to comment, please do so.
"It is said an Eastern monarch once charged his wise men to invent him a sentence, to be ever in view, and which should be true and appropriate in all times and situations. They presented him the words: "And this, too, shall pass away." How much it expresses! How chastening in the hour of pride! How consoling in the depths of affliction!"
Almost certainly not. Ticking clocks are no substitute for good drama.
"It is said an Eastern monarch once charged his wise men to invent him a sentence, to be ever in view, and which should be true and appropriate in all times and situations. They presented him the words: "And this, too, shall pass away." How much it expresses! How chastening in the hour of pride! How consoling in the depths of affliction!"
