Star Trek: Starbase 777 - live-broadcast

[Channel CW: non-graphic descriptions of mass murder] “And now, we now go live to the Senate Chambers’ official broadcast, where D’Tan is about to make his address.” (edited)

Finally, the screen shifted from standby to a live feed of the room. Mounted on the wall was the symbol of the Republic, magnificent wings spread and head held proudly high, the lights of various off-screen cameras bouncing off the metal as photos were taken. The room was a chaotic buzz of noise and voices, various hushed conversations reaching a fever pitch due to the sheer amount of people present, moving around, finding their place, trying to get the attention of the senators for questions. Pillars of green-tinged stone framed the center of it all; a podium, empty for the time being, with a smaller replica of the Republic’s symbol mounted on the front. Undoubtedly, this is where D’Tan would make his speech, and was the central focus on-screen as a result.

“Are you feeling like betting yet? Merik and Ael have a bottle of vintage RPA each on less than a minute, I’m saying it takes longer,” a voice asked from under and to the side of the camera, not currently in view but close enough to be heard. It rose barely above the clamour, denoting its proximity to the camera.

A gentle, hearty chuckle rang out in response, coming from the same direction as the first voice: ”Can I stick somewhere in the middle, then? One and a half.”

“One and a half, understood. If you get within thirty seconds, I’ll share one of the bottles of RPA with you,” the first voice promised, cadence level but clearly not taking things too seriously.

The bustle of the Senate chamber fell quiet as the senate windows became obscured and directed by giant blinds, the natural light being focused onto the central podium. A man standing at the front near the podium, wearing ornate robes befitting of a person fulfilling such a ceremonial role, struck a large gong three times, the sound reverberating through the hall. The senators of the Romulan Republic, struck to silence by the imposing sound, stood in front of their seats, expecting the man of the hour. D’Tan walked in through the side, and was met with applause from the benches. Behind him, the event’s security detail flanked the doors to the chamber, in case any uninvited journalists tried sneaking in. The proconsul walked up to the central podium, accompanied behind by the vice proconsul. D’Tan waited for the applause to subside, steadying himself and approaching the podium’s microphone to begin speaking with confidence.

“Thank you, for the warm welcome," he started as the silence paved the way for his words. "I in turn welcome you all to my first formal address to all of you in quite some time, my colleagues of the Romulan Republic Senate. With the state of the nation as strong as it is at our current moment– D’Tan’s demeanour briefly switched to one of humour as he paused for dramatic effect, “something I will elaborate on for the next forty-five minutes,” he mused, his statement met by some chuckling that subsided as quickly as it came, “it is of utmost importance to keep our gaze locked firmly on the future.”

13:49

Rapidly schooling his expression into one of comfortable professionalism only attributed commonly to strong orators, D’Tan continued. “When I use the word ‘strong,’ I mean that in so many different ways. Since the Republic’s founding firmly six years ago now, we have cemented ourselves as a powerful, respectable political power on the interstellar stage – be that through establishing this very house of senators, working every day to counteract the corruption so commonly associated with our roots; through establishing strong alliances through the Jenolan Accord and our entry to the Khitomer Alliance, whose efforts in defence of our young nation and the fight back against ancient enemies who would see what we’ve built toppled; or through our unceasing efforts to liberate more and more people from the iron-tipped talons of the Free State. Every time he provided a new example, D’Tan paused for effect as he pressed his finger into the podium– to really hit home the Republic’s achievements in its brief existence. “The Republic’s strength can be felt in everything: not merely in the freedoms enshrined in our founding documents, nor does it end with the determination and vigilance of the Flotilla; it is most fervently felt among her people. Her people, who work tirelessly to support this young nation in whatever field they choose. They are the backbone of this nation, and it is my greatest honour and privilege to have been allowed to lead them for these foundational years. As he spoke, D’Tan glanced around the half moon-shaped chamber – though when specifically referring to the people, he lifted his head to look at the balcony above the camera, where the seats would be filled with reporters and guests and non-senators who were there to hear him speak, addressing them directly.

Turning his gaze back to eye level, D’Tan continued, his voice steady and full of conviction. “These last seven years, I have worked endlessly to show our Vulcan kin that we, despite our lengthy history of rule through fear, can lead peacefully. That we can govern ourselves without resorting to the violence of the tyrants of old. I think in this moment of the words of my mentor, Spock, who impressed upon me this belief, which I believe embodies the past three decades, but especially the past seven years of Romulan history: ‘Change is the essential process of all exis–”

A flash of light from above, entering the frame from the top of the screen, managed to set the room alight with chaos with only the unmistakable noise of disruptor fire. The shot reached across the Senate floor as it aimed true for D’Tan’s chest: a killing blow so powerful, it sent D’Tan’s limp body falling backwards where perhaps with a regular shot it would have slumped over the podium. Someone could not afford to have to shoot twice.

Immediate pandemonium filled the room, the long seconds filled with the vision of D’Tan’s body disappearing behind the podium as the people on the balcony and in the senator’s seats erupted in indignant or fearful shouting, depending on the individual. More shots rained down to take out the vice proconsul, and then what had assumed to have been security guards collectively unholstered their disruptors to shoot into the crowd of senators. Explosions started going off, out of sight of the camera but loud enough to be heard and bright enough to overexpose the footage, before inevitably smoke filled the screen, making it hard to see anything else; the only useful thing being broadcast now was the yelling of those still alive, and the terrible screams of those meeting their demise.

“They’re locked! The doors are locked!” One terrified high-pitched voice called out into the smoke, encouraging a new cacophony of people driven like cattle to slaughter all trying to drown one another out in their misery. The noise didn’t lessen as the people making it did, continuous explosions still wreaking havoc on the room. “The audience!” another voice called as the balcony began to crumble stone down over the camera. “They’ve evacuated!" a disgustingly cheerful voice rang out from the left in response. Another explosion punctuated the sentence, sending the camera glitching and distorting whatever was left visible. A dull thudding started being heard over the noise, small clamourings accompanying it until the crashing of wood could be heard, a small cheer and “over here!” following. The silhouette of a turbaned figure passed in front of the camera in silence, moving towards the call, before a slender figure approached him and, with the distinctive shape of a dagger, took one more life with such a perverted cackle even the static camera seemed to shudder. The turbaned figure fell to his knees, and raised his arm up into the air as if trying to grab hold of the suns themselves. This final action proved to be in vain, and the turbaned figure slumped over to the side, motionless.

14:23

When the noise, and with it the smoke, cleared incrementally, the implication of carnage became visible, bodies slumped over each other in seats, not yet recogniseable through the smoke but their forms clear enough to be described, broken beams and bits of stone littering the foreground. Then, a figure stepped in front of the camera, broad-shouldered and mean-looking, a wicked grin splitting a scarred face in half. He looked into the camera for a second as if admiring himself in the dark lens, before rearing up, revealing the front of a bloodied shirt in the split second it took for him to wind back the already soaked green fist that broke the lens for good.