Chapter 12 - Mighty Qo'noS.....The cursed thing had as many names as victims, it seemed. But the Klingon Empire called it King Death, and it waited within striking distance of Qo'noS, the homeworld and heart of all that was truly Klingon. One hundred Klingon heavy battle cruisers were arrayed against Khiterah, as the beast was also known.
They had not been idle, in the days since Colonel Worf's shuttle had arrived, with the news that mad Kruge wished them not to have. Even as the monster waited outside their home system, there had been endless battle drills, and all crew rosters were filled to maximum. True, there were boys among them, and girls as well. But they were all true Klingons, ready to fight and die. A great many people would be ready simply to get systems back online quickly, or to suppress fires.
Weapons systems log held in secret were now installed aboard the ships. The weapon-ship Terra-Cracker had done nothing but charge for many long hours. When Ghidorah moved, Terra-Cracker would fire a blast meant to flatly erase a fully-prepared Constitution-Class Starship. It had never been used for the oldest of reasons: if one had a weapon that could blank out an enemy, then reason demands that the enemy build one as well. There was nothing to be gained, there, so the advanced weaponry such as this was held in abeyance until such time as an invasion occurred. Looking out his viewscreen at the Beast Of the Stars, Kang shook his head. He spoke to his second-in-command.
"I had always hoped it would be Kirk."
"Why, Captain? Because Kirk is mortal, and can be beaten?"
"Heh. Don't be so certain our 'Beloved Nemesis' can be beaten, K'marq. In fact, I have always regarded the site of Enterprise over Qo'noS in battle to signal the end of all that is."
"Then I am confused, sir. Why wish for such a thing?"
Kang was experiencing what many warriors dread; a nesting instinct. A desire to say, "My battles are done, let me now bore my wife and my descendants with the tales of them". He found that he dreaded this instinct far less than he ever might have thought. Even Kirk himself once confided the existence of two sons, and a desire to be with them.
"Because, a Federation takeover would not be the end. Given their tactics, they'd leave us alone in ten years, after dismantling our ships. Mighty Qo'noS would continue. Our honor could be re-obtained. Now, that is not so sure a thing. How like a statue the left head of Khiterah is, K'marq. But it is death. Pure Death. Has Terra-Cracker targeted it, and all possible movements?"
To K'marq, proud young officer that he was, Kang's words bordered on the treasonous. But his Captain was Kang, and so no thoughts of mutiny entered his second's head.
"Rest assured that it has, sir. King Death falls this day. Mighty Qo'noS shall not go the way of Proud Romulus. In addition, Those For Sto-Vo-Kor flank the necessary positions. If Terra-Cracker does not wipe away the Death-Head, they shall. But sir, those ships are packed with criminals and dishonored warriors. Why are they given so choice a position in battle?"
Kang thought well of the uniquely Klingon belief that such a place of certain death was a choice position. But other realities weighed upon him, as they did on fellow battle-leaders Kor and Koloth.
"The truth, K'marq? We shall come through this battle, of course. But we shall not do so unscarred. I fear the living will have greater need of honorable warriors than will Sto-Vo-Kor, which will of course get them eventually. Let the condemned earn their chance back in battle, then, and so free their clans from shame."
"Sir, you speak often as though these were truly the last days. But on the other ships, our soldiers sing out of the coming victory. Who, then, is correct?"
Kang silently cursed himself for forgetting the role morale played in even the smallest of battles. This was not the smallest of battles. He laughed the kind of laugh he might have twenty years agone.
"Of course we shall know victory over Khiterah, whelp! Why, I now give you orders that say, any surviving ships are to cross the Neutral Zone and make a province out of the Federation. It is a good day to die!"
It was a small lie, and one meant to comfort before battle. Kang hoped the youngster would forgive him, when the time came.
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On Qo'noS itself, Chancellor Gorkon spoke with the Federation President.
"No, thank you. We are honored by your offer of aid, but if this fleet, with all its power, cannot rise to meet this challenge, then we do not deserve to live, let alone be called Klingons."
As planetary batteries went on-line in every province, Gorkon was gambling the fate of life itself on the ability of his warriors. He mainly refused his counterpart's aid to ensure that Ghidorah did not take out the entire quadrant in one fell swoop. That other fleets would survive if his did not was a small comfort, but it was far better than no comfort at all. The Federation President responded. Gorkon had already taken notice of how well he bore the loss of his arm.
"Gorkon, I wish even my offer was more than it was. But Andor and Tellar won't release the bulk of our fleet in their space til Orion and the Barrier Alliance are undone. Gods above protect us if some use this disaster to settle old scores. If we cannot stand united, now, then when?"
"My friend, people call we politicians petty. But we are creatures of their interest, after all, and we respond to their demands. How stand the Romulans?"
Some had said that the Federation President was soft, but Gorkon had always known there was duranium in his spine. He saw it now.
"Well, with our 'nullification' of the Orions, the Romulans have pledged much of their surviving fleet to help us if the creature breaks your lines. Gorkon, please do your damnedest to make that pledge unnecessary. I shall introduce a bill personally congratulating the Klingon Empire for its victory, and acknowledging our debt."
Gorkon managed a smile.
"Mister President, tell those Romulans to stay home, and get your legislators in midnight session. We shall make a present of Khiterah's golden carcass to the Federation Council."
Both men knew how little words meant, now, and paradoxically, how much their willingness to say them counted in the clutch. As Gorkon signed off, he sighed in quiet resignation.
"It would have been a good peace."
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B'Hai Master Kor addressed the fleet. His tone was sober, somber, and free of all histrionics.
"As typical with Terrans, they once declared one of their greatest military geniuses to be a madman. His name was Patton, and he said that no dog-son ever did his people a favor by dying for them. You die for your glory, when there is nothing left. For Qo'noS, I require you to live. Above all else, Khiterah must be destroyed. King Death must fall. Do not ram him. The Death Head can erase with a touch, if you have no shields. You have extra crew aboard to keep your ships running. Use them. Let Khiterah know that the sons of Kahless are The Rock upon which his fangs will break. Qapla'!"
All over the fleet, his words resounded. Five hours later, energy streamed toward Khiterah. It poured right through the ship of the fool Sybok who was part of the Order of the Ancient Destroyer. In fact, all members of the Order, all over the Quadrant, now felt their fetid souls pull away their bodies. As they entered oblivion, the damned now served as new energy for the monster. As each of six eyes lit up in turn, the creature began to move at long last. The hearts of all true Klingons cheered at this, and yet also they knew it might well be their final challenge.
As what once seemed a statue came back to life, the energies of its motion caused all to hear the weird astral wailing said to be its trademark. Kor ran through his plan of attack once again, and judged it to be a good one. He looked out at the approaching menace.
"It begins."
As the last of the vast network of mobile planetary batteries came online, Chancellor Gorkon was given the news. Khiterah had begun to move against the fleet.
But the three-headed obscenity's worst weapon, the head that was called Death, was targeted by the so-called Terra-Cracker. Flanked by five heavy cruisers, the weapon had but one purpose: To charge to so high a level of power, that one shot could do what would normally take a thousand scattered hits to accomplish. If it looked like a large disruptor, that was no accident.
The mountainous wings that could not possibly cause movement in the void started to do just that. The battle fleet called Those For Sto-Vo-Kor were given the signal to act. Tractor beams, some of them reversed, held the great wing by the Death Head still. This in turn set another group to work.
Kor's main battle group fired heavy-rad torpedoes, a seemingly endless stream, at the middle head, the machine, called Mecha. Kor marveled at the size of the beast, taking up almost a megameter when heads, body, tails and wings were counted as one. For all that, he hoped he could trim that size just a bit.
Normally, such hard-radiation torpedoes were forbidden by treaty and foolish to use, despite the havoc they played with machinery like the Mecha-Head. Rad levels around the Qo'noS system would be up for years. But if Khiterah were destroyed, the Federation would not complain, and the rad levels would be livable for a time, considering what they accomplished.
Koloth's fleet brought up the rear, circling near the gold King head. Again, theirs was a planned attack. Beams lanced out from these great ships, phasers laced with anti-graviton particles. By inundating nearby space with them, the gravity beams would have much less effect.
Another part of this group was tractoring and firing upon the great tails, each as long as a nacelle unit on most heavy cruisers. Aboard each and every ship, a legion of men and some women raced to keep every last system up and running. Since there was no chance of personal combat in this fight, the duty of a warrior was to equipment, and to balanced parameters. There was no disgrace in this, and Kang had given orders to execute anyone who thought otherwise.
At this time, Kang held forty of the one hundred ships in reserve. Yet they still had a battle-function. Positioned at the far rear of the other fleets, they would occasionally fire in support of the others, an extra blow on each front to keep the monster from breaking out.
Then, all was ready. With suppressive fire hitting each head, each tail, and each wing, Terra-Cracker and its escorts fell into position. The hyper-weapon searched for the underside of the Death Head's neck, and found it.
The left wing was bound. The right was being punctured by an endless phaser barrage. As the creature wailed its ghostly song, Terra-Cracker fired. Its blue-white beam struck its target. But its target was not to be destroyed. As pure and as hard as it struck, that was how hard, to the shock of all assembled, it bounced back. Terra-Cracker and its escorts were gone in a heartbeat. On his command vessel, Kor refused to let this break him.
"Move, you dead bowls of gagh! We knew that this battle would not be decided in one shot. Herd the honorless sack of garbage toward Qo'noS batteries!"
This, of course, was easier said than done. While Ghidorah did not utilize its energy weapons, it showed that mere physical presence can be enough. Four ships that had held the tails with tractor beams were now sliced apart by them, in a maddening motion that seemed almost casual. But that motion fell within the dance-like movement that Kang, Kor, and Koloth had planned. Klingon operas were not meant for mere listening. The music was arranged to show a warrior how an enemy might be brought low, if each blow landed brings that foe closer to the precipice. But this was no mere foe.
The ten ships of Those For Sto-Vo-Kor regained every last bit of their honor that day. Each one fell. But as they did, they kept the Death Head in so agitated and weakened a state that it could not lash out at the other ships. Whether it was truly wounded was another story. But as those ships with weakened shields self-destructed right on top of the gray, undulating nightmare, it was clear to any that Ghidorah was irritated. Irritated, it did not alter its course. Soon it would be at the best possible spot, and the sons of Kahless might well know victory.
Nor did they forget that the creature had two other heads. In a vicious move, the Gold King Head lanced out and actually bit into the hull of a cruiser that came too close. Koloth cursed his wife, who had forced him to put their nephew in command of that ship, then just as quickly withdrew the oath. There was no sense in offending anyone's ancestors on this day.
Twenty cruisers moved in against the wings, ten on each side. Of those, two on each side fired upward at the King and Death heads. Like distance, one of the few laws Ghidorah seemed bound by was pure physical force. It might not be harmed, but it could be pushed back. The ships saw the energy-production moon, Praxis, in the background, and many cheered. The time drew nigh for the great attack. Chatter was constant on all frequencies, since, unlike an actively intelligent enemy, Ghidorah could gain nothing from their communications. Coordination was a must, and it was shifting every minute. Kang, Kor, and Koloth were as stoic as Vulcans, putting one set of ships forward, and repositioning others. Nothing could be left to chance. They could not permit themselves to glory in the battle, nor allow the situation to remain static for more than a few seconds. Seemingly wild flying and firing all had the purpose of continually re-shifting Ghidorah's path.
"You by the wings! This is Force Commander Kang. You must draw in ever closer. Somehow, those wings are yet providers of movement for Khiterah. They must not be allowed to alter his current path. Respond."
"This is the Blades Of the Arena, Force Commander. Take heart. We are the wind that drives King Death, now. Moving closer."
Behind Ghidorah, beyond the reach of his snaking heads, were thirteen more ships, firing constantly. Some fired and passed, while others made a chain of their barrage. But this was war, and an enemy may come up with an infinite number of maneuvers in an effort to counter a well-laid plan. If the Klingons had made a single mistake, it was in thinking of this maneuver as the herding of a large targ. But the Ancient Destroyer was no source of food or wax. Ghidorah was quite literally a killing machine. In all our universe, there were exactly two things it could be said to truly fear. Sadly for mighty Qo'noS, the Klingon fleet was not one of them.
As the three Force Commanders watched in horror, Ghidorah, unable to use its wings to move out, simply folded them back in upon themselves. Like some demon mother smothering her young, the creature crushed the ships that had forced its direction. Bits of them floated in space, their comrades' denied even the sight of their final explosions. But Kor took notice of a small cut that did not heal, where a wing-talon had scratched the torso, during the folding-in.
Any doubts about the middle Mecha-Head being robotic faded as it began to spin in place. Its trademark red beam never came out of its lighted green mouth. But a cone of energy struck the thirteen rear guard ships that fired upon it. They ceased to move or function, and were taken between the tails and broken like toys. Koloth gave a desperate order to eight of his ships.
"Go beneath Khiterah. Position yourselves around his legs and lower body. Push him into position. I-I swear to speak well of you to your clans."
"We are heartened, Force Commander Koloth. But our clans would be dishonored, to think we needed such urging. Tell them merely - that we were Klingons, and that we bore our burden as warriors should."
Gigantic feet kicked, razored tails thrashed, and engines imploded. But the crews of those eight ships spent their lives well. When they were done, Ghidorah was finally in position. Kor slammed down his fist.
"Sixty of us! Sixty of our best. But now King Death falls. All units, position and open fire! Let there be no pause."
As the ships quickly found their position, they opened fire on all but two sides. On Praxis, huge laser batteries found the beast, while the punishing fire of surface-to-space missiles from Qo'noS pounded the only other avenue of escape.
Not since the first Klingons killed the gods who made them had there been such a play of light, heat, and energy. Caught in the ultimate crossfire of the ultimate warrior race, the Ancient Destroyer seemed destined to fall. But with King Ghidorah, little was ever what it seemed. Exulting in their seeming triumph, the Klingon forces did not see the machine Mecha-head charge up, then fire off its red beam. Like ball lightning, it bounced around, first between Qo'noS and Praxis. The gun-batteries turned to slag on both. The machinery-killing beam then came back, and bounced between each and every one of the forty remaining ships. Before his comm system went dead, Kor shot off a message to an address in the Federation, and prayed to Kahless that it arrived in time to help.
When all ships had stopped functioning, the Death Head fired out its green ray. It struck the three command ships. Kang, Kor, and Koloth ironically all died with the same question: When his time came, would their old foe James Kirk fare any better against the beast? At the moment of death, a Klingon's thoughts are often of their House, their careers, and a handful of truly great foes. Kirk had served as 'Beloved Nemesis' to three of the greatest warriors who had ever lived. As the men and their ships were wiped completely away, they decided that their old foe just might be the one to show this monster up. This last thought provided a comfort to weary souls no human could understand.
The remaining ships were struck by the gravity beam from the King head, and became attracted to one another, forming a huge jumble. The gold head fired again, causing the jumble to fall upon Praxis. One last gravity beam created an intense attraction between Praxis and Qo'noS. The last thoughts held by Chancellor Gorkon as the moon grew larger in the sky were of his daughter Azetbur, whom he had sent to the distant colonies against her will, and of Emperor Kahless, wondering if the once and future ruler could come back if his world was dust.
Praxis was an energy-rich moon. Qo'noS was a world full of powerful weaponry. Together, they served as matchstick and gunpowder, flint and coal. Twelve hours after the collision, an explosion felt well into Federation space occurred, and a space-born demon rode a shockwave such as none could remember. Mighty Qo'noS had fallen in pitched battle and was no more. The Klingon Empire had been destroyed. But on Earth, there rose not a single cheer at this fact, for it was a supreme tragedy and coupled inextricably with another fact: King Ghidorah was now in the United Federation of Planets.