OOC: You have no idea how much fun this was to write.
~o~0~o~

[u][b]||Upper Earth Orbit_[/b][/u]

"Comrade Commander," the leytenant said. "The Premier wishes to speak with you." The bridge of the [i]Romanova[/i] was filled with blinking lights, dials, the green glow of phosphorous radar screens, oscilloscopes, thousands of switches, and wires going everywhere. Beams intersected the space at odd angles, forcing the bridge crew to duck constantly. The rare full-color computer graced the presence of a few stations. Crammed into the space, at the very center, was the pinnacle of Soviet command-and-control technology: a dual-screened, two-planar live-updating display of local space around the [i]Romanova[/i]. Radar, visual feeds, and magnetoferrous sensors all integrated their data into this display. The miniature [i]Romanova[/i] was marked with LED's, indicating the readiness and damage levels of various systems. In a suspiciously neat and tidy corner of the bridge, a circular two-way viewscreen the size of a small television had activated, broadcasting the ailing face of Premier Romanov. It was to this screen that Kapitan Venera Romanova walked to.

"Ah, Comrade Commander," the Premier said. "It is good to see you again. How fitting that as one Romanov lies ill, another spreads peace and love to the stars!" Lying ill was certainly correct. Rumor had it that although Romanov had personally written a letter recommending an illustrious commander (the very same that was instrumental in winning the Third Great War) to succeed him, an upstart general by the name of Krukov was edging his way toward the position. Venera couldn't help but be concerned for her position should either manage to become Premier. Especially Krukov. Something bothered her about him and his close ally, Cherdenko.

"This is your five-year mission: Explore strange new worlds, seek out new life and new civilizations, and introduce them to the communist ideals of peace and love!" Romanov paused, somehow still managing to pose dramatically even while in bed. "Comrade Kapitan," he said, sitting up, speaking more quietly. "Who knows what the Soviet Union will have achieved when you get back. I expect great things from you. Good luck." 

The transmission ended before a fit of coughing began. Venera reflected on the Premier's words with relief. Despite her distant relation to Romanov, he was still taking care of his own. Five years would be enough time for the political situation to resolve itself, and when she came back as a hero to the Soviet people, her position would remain secured. All she had to do was [i]become[/i] a hero to the Soviet people. She grabbed the ship-wide.

"This is Commander Romanova. The Premier himself has just wished us luck on our journey." She paused for cheers around the ship. "Comrade Zelinsky, please set the chronosphere for extrasolar orbit."

Several hundred meters away, in the engineering spaces, Dr. Gregor Zelinsky began the process of setting the chronosphere's coordinates, flipping switches and punching numbers into keypads. The chronosphere was captured technology from the Allied forces of the Third Great War. While Gregor was the expert on the technology, even he wasn't sure how the device actually worked. As nearly as he could tell, it created a bore-hole through space, enveloping the target and dumping it out the other side. Even if the Allied schematics weren't precisely clear or helpful, the basic operation of the device was simple - just enter the range and bearing of your target, and again for where you want your target to go. "The chronosphere is set for extrasolar orbit," Zelinsky said to his viewscreen.

"D'vai!" Kapitan Venera said, ordering the ship to engage.

Despite his certainty, Dr. Zelinsky paused over the large red "Engage" button. This would be the first time the device was ever activated by Soviet hands, and this was on a scale much larger than what the Allies had ever intended. Bracing himself, he pushed it.

The chronosphere activated much in the way Einstein and Tesla had designed it to: using a massive amount of energy, the device created the mass-equivalent of a black hole. Then the device ripped a small hole in space-time at the origin, curved the rip around the not-black hole, and flung it to its distant target. The space-time distortion around the not-black hole was such that to any and all outside observers, the entire process took a femtosecond. Therein lay the genius of the device: while creating the mass equivalent of a black hole for any length of time was impossible, creating one that lasted for a femtosecond was feasible.

Einstein, however, had modified his plans for the device when he realized that Soviet victory was inevitable. His sabotage locked out any possibility of temporal-displacement, and prevented the device from being used on anything other than itself. Dr. Zelinsky, clueless, had targeted the origin on the mass-center of the [i]Romanova[/i], not the chronosphere. That is why, an instant later, the N1-B [i]Romanova[/i] reappeared in another universe entirely. 

[u][b]||Tatooine Orbit_[/b][/u]

A spherical cage of blue-white energy tore its way into existence, neatly deposited the [i]Romanova[/i], and disappeared. There would have been spectacular sound effects, if this wasn't space. Immediate warning klaxons sounded all over the ship. The XO, Kapitan Yevgeniy Utkin, ran off to obtain damage reports.

"Put Zelinsky on screen," Venera ordered.
"Comrade Commander!" Dr. Zelinsky shouted into the engineering viewscreen. Sparks flew in the background as an engineering spaceman ran for a fire extinguisher.
"Dr. Zelinsky, where are we? What happened?"
"We appear to have travelled much farther than intended-"
"Good! Clearly our superior Soviet engineering has improved the second-rate Allied technology!"
"Yes, yes, but we've gone beyond known space. There are no familiar constellations here, anywhere!" An enormous fuse exploded in the background. Another spaceman ran to extinguish yet more fires with a fire extinguisher.
"Then reset the chronosphere. Take us back!"
"No! No! We cannot do that until we have determined what went wrong! The instabilities in the space-time could cause a chrono vortex, ripping apart anything in its path!"

Yevgeniy returned, giving Venera a crisp salute. "Comrade Commander, damage control teams report structural damage in the ionizeable materials pipes. We've cut power to the primary tesla coil, however-" A distant thud marked the sudden tear of a hole in the side of the ship, which began venting unionized plasma gas. "...the ducts are expected to burst from the buildup of pressure." A spaceman handed Kapitan Utkin a clipboard. "According to new reports, the unionized plasma has severely burned and melted the force field generator. Repairs could take a while."

"See to it that they're completed quickly! We cannot remain defenseless!" Venera turned back to the Leytenant managing the viewscreen. "Leytenant, inform Kapitan-leytenant Volkov that he is to take a flak of Cosmonauts on a recon mission around the hull. Report all potential hostiles as well as external damage."
"Da, Comrade Commander," the Leytenant said.
"Radar contacts! Bearing 090, 173, 251, close range!"
"Incoming radio traffic!"
"On bridge speaker." A curious mix of what sounded like Greek played over the speaker. It was followed by another transmission, this time in some form of Arabic, probably. Venera weighed her options. On the one hand, she still had sublight drives, missiles, and sentry autocannons. On the other, intelligent aliens would likely have more, and be equipped to help. Damn it all.
"Broadcast a class 3 pre-recorded distress signal," she ordered. They were in over their heads. "You there, spaceman!" she pointed to a random spaceman.
"Da!" he said standing upright from his console and giving a crisp salute.
"Find someone who knows Greek and someone who knows Arabic. Get them to report to the bridge immediately."
"Da, Comrade Commander!" the spaceman said, before disappearing down the hatch.

[u]||Exterior, CCCP N1-B [i]Romanova[/i]_[/u]

"Flak One, away! We shall flak them up!" Leytenant-kapitan Volkov shoved off from the airlock. He was followed by a flak of 75 Cosmonauts. "Maneuvering thrusters, engage!"

Cosmonauts, strapped into maneuvering packs, armed with laser rifles, spread out in a small cloud around the ship. Directed maser transmissions guided the flak into a neat formation around the ship, studiously keeping away from the highly-radioactive fission fragment rockets. The suits were, of course, rated to withstand such radiation, but even Volkov wasn't that crazy. The scene was strange. Several large alien vessels hovered nearby. Two of them had fighter wings spread out in defensive formations. The planet below was entirely desert, and Volkov could just make out small glints of distant spacecraft travelling to and from the planet.

The fighters concerned him marginally. "Flak One, initiate maneuver patter alpha." The pattern was modeled after the flight patterns of gnats on a warm summer day - constant, seemingly random movement within a general cloud.