[h1][u][b][color=red][i]Romanova[/i], Soviet N1-B[/color][/b][/u][/h1]

The [i]Romanova[/i] shot out of the wormhole into empty intergalactic space. The ship groaned and popped as thermal and structural stresses sorted themselves out. Ionizable materials leaked out of a hole where the ship scraped on something in the wormhole. The thick gas crystallized into a pale blue snow in the vacuum of space. One of the external lights illuminating "C.C.C.P." flickered. 

The bridge wasn't roomy. The [i]Romanova[/i] had been built in space, and, with exception of the small corner to shoot propaganda videos, every surface of the bridge was covered with storage compartments, green-tinged computer screens, blinking lights, diagrams, dials, toggles, valves, wires, pipes, and reels of magnetic tape. Collapsible acceleration seats - little more than metal poles and fabric - jutted out wherever Soviet engineers could cram them in. Most of the storage compartments were on what would be the floor when the ship was under acceleration, but that was the designers' only concession to a concept of "up" or "down".

Kapitan Venera floated near the central status display, two of the four color monitors on the ship that displayed an aggregate of radar and magnetodynamic sensors. The central status display had the monitors placed perpendicular to each other to provide a facsimile of 3D space. Next to the displays was a diagram of the ship full of LED's - red for damaged, off for nominal. 

There were a lot of red LED's at the moment.

Venera pushed a toggle. A rounded vid-comm monitor came to life near her head. It was linked to the engineering section of the ship. Dr. Gregor Zelinsky was talking to someone offscreen, signing something with a pencil before turning to the monitor. A spaceman in the background was spraying something with a fire extinguisher, feet hooked into straps along the wall.

"Comrade Commander! Hello," Zelinsky said.
"Comrade Zelinsky. You have five minutes to get the weapons systems online," Venera said.
"No, Commander, I'm afraid that's quite impossible; we don't even know the extent of the damage to the ionizable materials tanks-"
"Do it, or find someone who can." A large fuse exploded in a shower of sparks in the background. The technician working on it ducked, and then gingerly began taking it out.
"But, Commander, I really must protest; there are several more important-"
"Comrade, you may have had leniency back on Earth. Now you will function in a military chain of command. This ship is like a pyramid. Take out one block and it all falls. I will not repeat this lesson, Doctor."
"I- alright."

Venera cut the video feed. Somewhere to her left, down a narrow, twisting corridor of equipment and consoles, a phosphorous green radar screen pinged.

"New radar contact! Ship emerging off the starboard bow," a spaceman said.

Venera let out a frustrated growl. This was exactly what she was afraid of. The [i]Romanova[/i]'s tesla coils were offline, leaving only the point defense cannons (never before tested) and inaccurate missiles. She didn't have a choice, really. She pressed the vid-comm switch to the cosmonaut ready room. The image immediately faded out with a small pop. Great. Another vacuum tube blown.

"Comrade Commander!" Volkov's disembodied voice said. "Is it time?"
Venera repressed a sigh. This is what she'd come to.
"Da. Two flaks only, comrade. Defensive formations. Eight hour rotation. And inspect the hull for damages."
"Hahaha! This is wonderful news!"
"Two flaks only, Volkov. ...Volkov?"

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Below the bridge, just above the crew quarters, two flaks of ten cosmonauts each sealed up their suits, checking each other over for missed seals. [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x72w_69yS1A]It was a noisy affair[/url]; they were singing the Soviet national anthem at the insistence of Boris Volkov, cosmonaut commander. Volkov stood on a podium at the front of the room. His face was obscured by glare on his helmet, and he was conducting the anthem with his rifle, waving it wildly in the air. The men strapped on their personal, one-use missile launchers, and proceeded to the airlock, fueling their maneuvering packs from a port in the passageway.

The first flak cycled out, led by Volkov, still singing over the tightbeam maser comms that linked the cosmonauts together. The second flak got stuck in the partially-depressurized airlock due to a slightly bent restraining bolt. They couldn't use the manual repressurization lever due to the bulkiness of their suits, and, only being equipped with tightbeam masers, they had no way of radioing for assistance until someone noticed they were missing.

Volkov's flak rapidly spread out in the local space around the [i]Romanova[/i], insignificant against the background of space. When Volkov attempted to contact flak two through a relay on the ship's exterior, he was assured that the busy engineering crew would make the Lieutenant's request for an airlock repair their top priority.

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On the bridge, Kapitan Utkin, XO, finally handed Venera the crew status report.
"At last, thank you comrade," Venera said, taking the clipboard from him.
"No casualties reported, comrade Commander."
"Good."
"I took the liberty of conducting basic psychological assessments. The crew is content to follow ordres, despite the extreme circumstances. However, I do not recommend we stay at high alert for much longer."
"Thank you, comrade. Zelinsky is working on weapons repairs; see that he accomplishes them."
"Da, comrade Commander."

Utkin snaked his way back down the ship's central ladder. Now that the repairs were off her plate, she could finally worry about the other vessel. Venera pulled her way to the propaganda corner, motioning for the communications man to follow. A desk with a wooden facade and oversized red leather swivel chair was bordered on either side by flags of the U.S.S.R. A large portrait of Premier Romanov hung above the desk, bordered on either side by a picture of Stalin and the ship's nameplate. It was all designed to look like something out of the Kremlin. She buckled herself to the chair, checking to make sure that the wires holding the flags in place were taut. The commsman fiddled with the wires going into the back of the camera. A red light lit up on the front.

[quote="Broadcast via UHF and VHF Radio/Television][color=red]"Greetings from the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. I am Commander Venera Romanova," she paused as the commsman shuffled cue cards. Her message was being recorded on tape before broadcast. "We were on a mission of peace and love before being thrown through a passage in spacetime. Make no mistake, however, this ship is armed, and we are capable of defending ourselves." She tucked a stray black hair back into her regulation bun. Hopefully the camera wouldn't pick up the hair waving in the lack of gravity. "So. Prove yourself friendly, and we shall be friendly in kind. Prove yourself hostile, and we will bury you." She emphasized this last sentence with her fist against the table.[/color][/quote]

It wasn't quite on-script, but it was definitely on-spirit.