Chapter 27 - Now Is The Time Of The Gathering....AUGUST 1, 2286 - WOLF 359
SHEPHERD GROUP ONE
USS STARGAZER
GROUP CAPTAIN LEMUEL LAFORGE, COMMANDING
Captain's Log :
We are five hundred ships strong. We could be one-hundred times that many. Each of us a wonder like the Omega-Class Enterprise. It wouldn't matter. Power alone will not win this battle. Strategy will. Strategy formed by the legends of the Enterprise crew and by two amazing young people who have endured more than we could ever comprehend. We in the field have been instructed to reformulate it all by President Kirk, to meet our real, and not our theorized needs. The Hall was never like this. Then again, it never even tried to be.
What we face is Death. Death on leathern wings the size of continents. Death not to one galaxy, but to a thousand. To ten thousand. The Dead had better be praying for us, now. We, The Quick, had better be pretty damned quick.
Our far-less-than ideal science officer, Mister Soong, now estimates that the creature is at ten megameters in total diameter. My God. Why did you allow this?
No ships patrol either Neutral Zone, regulate Orion pirate traffic, watch The Tholians crest and wane, or enforce treaties purchased in young blood and brilliance. We're all here. Two hundred Federation vessels, of every stripe. Some are merely refitted transport, mining or medical vessels. But all are ready to stand with us. At least that is my very fervent hope.
Joining us are about fifty surviving Klingon and Romulan heavy cruisers. The Romulans feel responsible for this mess. The Klingons want vengeance, glory, and honor. I got into a shouting match with both Emperor Tasorel and Chancellor Azetbur. No martyrs. We need everyone if this plan is to have even the most remote chance.
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Thomas Sorel was Peter Kirk's grandfather. Tasorel was Sri Rihannsu--Emperor Of The Romulans. These men were one and the same. After fifty years and the destruction of the Romulan Empire by Ghidorah, he was back.
"Every able Romulan will fight to the last. We started this disaster. We will finish it."
Chancellor Azetbur was a very young woman in charge of the of the lives, souls, and the desperate honor of a group of homeless, ferocious warriors who wanted steaming platters of dragon meat, served on the head. No more would they wait for vengeance to be served cold.
"That the Romulans have at last gained honor in their hearts and fire in their bellies is pleasing enough. But make no mistake--King Ghidorah shall be made to pay only by the children of Kahless! It was our world, and our fleet he turned to dust. For honor to be regained, we must be at the front perpetually. This is our unshakeable will, the cost in lives be damned."
Lemuel La Forge was an overburdened man who met one of the classic definitions of a hero : someone too tired, too scared, and too hungry to give a damn any longer.
"We have a plan. Its a good plan. Anyone who deviates from it serves the purposes and goals of The Ancient Destroyer."
Their response to this tack was that of nebulae unfolding. LaForge was not a subtle CO.
"You dare? My own grandchild is The Rock Of Prophecy! I have lost family to The Ghidoran Order, both on Romulus and here in The Federation!"
Azetbur shook her head.
"To the last, humans let fear rule their tiny hearts! This alliance is done with!"
Lem stood up.
"This isn't an alliance, Chancellor. This is a group of frantic people, trying hard to keep from drowning while the last lifeboat fills up with water. And don't invoke your grandson's name again, Emperor. Because I happen to know that when push came to shove, you weren't there for him. I'm in charge here, until this battle group is dissolved, broken up, or eaten. How dare you try to reduce my available ships to suit your personal needs. I won't have it."
"Our dead cry out...."
"Our chance at redemption....."
Lem ended all debate.
"THE---PLAN---STAYS!!! END TRANSMISSION!!"
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The legends of the Enterprise and their mighty new ship will join us, they swear, before King Ghidorah arrives. I have to hope those legends are correct.
There weren't enough able- - or living- -Starfleet officers to fill every ship. So I've parsed out the experience as far as it will go. We have a few good personnel--and a lot of greenies and civilians. I am greatly concerned. In order to prime the pump, I had to sacrifice every last member of my highly professional crew to other ships. I must lead by example. But as I look at my current crew--I see no legends. No legends at all.
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LaForge was not at all a large man. But as he came aboard the Bridge of the modified Miranda-Class USS Stargazer, he made his presence known. Particularly in the case of a certain barely-fit Science Officer.
"Mister Soong, just what in the hell is going on around here? You've got these consoles in so many pieces, it looks like we already faced the monster."
From an almost fractal pile of vital equipment masquerading as junk, Noonian Soong just shrugged at the Captain he felt took himself way too seriously.
"Well, Lem--I'm trying to coax these antiquated consoles of yours into not frying us when the guano hits the fan, so to speak. See, I call it guano instead of the other stuff, because to me, Ghidorah resembles a bat instead of a dragon. I mean, look at him. Those are bat's wings. I even have some ideas about how he actually utilizes them in the vacuum of space. They could prove vital. Can I go work on them?"
Addled, LaForge thought. I traded away a Tellarite savant for a man so addled, he would seem that way even to other addled people.
"Mister Soong--for you, my name is not Lem. Its Captain. Now, get these things back together, or I will tie you to the ship's prow as a figurehead, like in the old whaling days. Understood?"
Soong shook his head.
"You can't do that. You can't speak that way to me either. I trained under Doctor Richard Daystrom!!"
Before a stunned LaForge could stop him, Soong was well off The Bridge. Reluctantly, The Captain pointed at a young boy.
"Zed--get this mess together. Don't tell me about how you're going to put it together. Don't tell me after you've put it together. Just put it together."
Zed, so-called because his mother was the former Ambassador from the late planet Betazed, was a wunderkind by many standards. He was also very annoying in his enthusiasm.
"Don't worry about me, Captain! You can count on me, sir! I've already scanned your thoughts, and I'll have it exactly the way you want it in no time flat! Nothing can stop me...."
Joyfully, LaForge cut him off.
"....Nothing can stop you from talking? I agree, Crewman. Nothing can."
Exiting via the turbolift, LaForge made a silent prayer that nothing else would annoy him. On his chosen deck, he got out--and saw Mister Soong, sprawled unconscious on the floor. Above him was the Alaskan survivalist who was now the Stargazer's security staff.
"Mister Riker---just what happened here?"
Anthony Riker shrugged.
"He called me a fascist. I decided not to correct him."
Taking a little too much delight in seeing Mister Soong taken away, LaForge proceeded to Sickbay. As he entered, he was almost overwhelmed by the smell of plants and herbs---and candles?
"What in the HELL is going on around here?"
A red-headed woman who was placing multi-hued crystals in grooves along the floor frowned at her Captain.
"You are unbalancing the whole healing arc I've tried to prepare. Negative energy like yours can only aid King Ghidorah. Just how do you intend to fight evil with evil?"
Lemuel shook his head at this seeming interloper.
"Who are you?"
"I'm Felicia Howard. I was asked--forced really-- by your military friends to come here and run your healing center."
LaForge corrected her.
"You mean my Sickbay."
"There--you see? Sick -ness- Bay. Not a den of healing at all, but a place where illness begins. Mark my words, as soon as we have these machines out of here, we will..."
"Doctor--what sort of Doctor are you?"
Howard shook her head.
"I am a Healer. I promote the healing powers within oneself. Your Doctors are locked in post-matriarchical barbarism. Healers like myself will lift them up and out."
LaForge pointed at the walls.
"If those machines leave--then so do you, by way of the airlock. We're fighting a war, Mister Howard. A great and final war."
Her eyes grew arch. In a sudden movement, she removed her tunic, and had not a thing on underneath.
"Mister Howard? Do I look even remotely like a Mister to you? How lost in that military quagmire are you?"
LaForge walked off, muttering to himself.
"I've got a naked, insubordinate Doctor."
She shouted out.
"Naked Healer! Naked Healer!"
The surprises were hardly over for that day.
"Excuse me? Are you Keptin LaForge?"
The man asking this was Pavel Chekov himself. He was standing next to a tall woman, not a classical beauty but compelling, to say the least.
"Umm-yes? Captain Chekov, how did you get aboard my ship?"
"There vill be time for such things later, Keptin."
The visitor turned and looked at the woman, who looked somewhat sullen.
"Your place is here, as much as mine is at the helm of Enterprise. At least for now. You are a great officer. Please be well, Commander."
She nodded.
"Sir--I got a little bit crazy. That tavern is my dream. But I will be true to my oath. Goodbye, Godospin Chekov."
LaForge was now incredulous again. How could that man really be Chekov, so many parsecs away on the Enterprise-Omega?
"Dosveydanya, Guinan."
He smiled, raised two fingers to his forehead, then simply vanished.
"Commander? Who are you? Why are you here? And how did Captain Chekov do that?"
Torn away from her dream to fight the good fight, Commander Guinan just shrugged. The tavern Scotty built for her had meant good times. To know and share good times was all she had ever wanted. When she was a child. When she was assimilated. When she fled Ghidorah's total destruction of the Borg and regained herself. Even as she entered Starfleet, she had wanted to be happy and make others happy. But the good times would have to wait--again.
"Lt. Cmdr. Guinan, sir, formerly of Reliant. I'm here to fill the need you described, since Enterprise currently is fully staffed. As to how he did it--self-teleportation. Its all the rage, back on Enterprise. Congratulations, Captain--you have a tactical officer."
"Tactical, hell, Mister Guinan. If you've been to the Academy--then you're my XO."
She looked away.
"Noooo---your First Officer just came on board."
Captain LaForge once again felt lost, til a regal yet earthy man walked up, seemingly from nowhere.
"Are you Lemuel LaForge? Shepherd Group Leaders Sisko and Janeway said I should speak with you. It would seem that I'm to be your First Officer."
LaForge almost gasped. This man's face had been all over the news. He was a hero of the resistance against the three-day coup staged by The Order.
"Welcome to Stargazer--Mister Picard."
Before Maurice could respond, a big bear of a man rounded the corner.
"Kyptin! I am being Chief Engineer, not Cochranov! I cannot and vill not operate on such shoddy engines, obviously not designed in Moskva! Also, you keep that Meester Soong avay from my vorkplace! He is Rasputin, Stalin, and Ivan rolled into one Cossack!"
The man marched off, having said his piece. Guinan spoke first.
"I thought I knew thick Russian accents. But that--that was a thick Russian accent."
Picard merely pointed.
"Who--was that?"
Captain LaForge rubbed his weary eyes.
"That--was our Chief Engineer, Wasily Rozhenko. And yes--he is for real."
Picard shook his head.
"Captain--be not so sure of that."
A statement Lem was hard-pressed to counter. He turned to directly question his new Number One.
"Mister Picard---what is the situation like on Earth?"
Maurice bit his lip.
"Captain--its all rather calm. To my great and savage shock, I fear that I must say that President Kirk's evacuation order is largely being ignored. When I checked on the Alpha Centauri system's worlds, they reported no great influx of refugees. People, it seems, are trying to ride this storm out."
Guinan rolled her eyes.
"This isn't a hurricane we're talking about. Its King Death! You know, the big guy with three heads and a lousy disposition? What are they basing this decision on? ARE they basing this decision on anything?"
LaForge held his open palm in front of his face, shaking.
"This sort of denial is the same thing that got Vulcan annihilated. Well not on my watch. Mister Picard, you know Shepherd Group Leaders Sisko and Janeway, correct?"
"I am priveleged to say that I do. They are my friends. As was Bill Kirk, God Keep Him."
All present knew that Captain Kirk's uncle had saved the Earth from the last desperate plan of a resurrected madman, at the cost of his own life.
"Good. Then arrange a conference between them and me. It--needs to be outside of regular channels."
Guinan felt the need to quip.
"Do regular channels even exist anymore?"
LaForge's eyes showed his resolve.
"That's what we're fighting for. So the answer is : Hell, Yes!"
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Inside their cabins, though, the resolve began to fall away. What they were facing was too damned large, in all its aspects.
In his cabin, Captain LaForge's mind reeled. His suggestion just wasn't going to sit well with Sisko and Janeway. Yes, his course was radical. But Earth badly needed to be evacuated, preferably well before Ghidorah broached and probably destroyed Pluto and Uranus. His head ached. The migraines threatened to split him open. But unlike all the rest aboard Stargazer, his family was old-line Starfleet. He would endure, because that was what he knew.
"This job is gonna kill me."
After saying this, Lemuel opened the comm channel to make his case to the other Shepherd Group Leaders. It would be hard.
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Wasily Rozhenko toiled over engines that were in nearly as bad a shape as he had bellowed over. He wished he had known Chekov was on board, however briefly. Shock-Troops of The Order had targeted Wasily's family, because a non-Starfleet family named Chekov had once lived in what was the Rozhenko home. Wasily had wanted to spit in Pavel Chekov's eye. But doing so would have meant walking away from his duties. Such people, Wasily often said, lacked all honor.
"Talia--when I see the angel of death approach, I will laugh and say, 'So? Take me to my wife, you bastard!'. Besides-Judgement Day is a good day to die."
His gruffness all spent, Wasily returned to his work, the work of a lifetime.
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In his brig-cell, Noonien Soong woke up slowly and realized he had done it once again. He thought that he should try to get used to everyone hating him. It happened often enough. His approach to life and other people just wasn't conducive to long-term happiness. Worst of all, eventually someone would realize the truth. He hadn't trained under Richard Daystrom. He had seduced some secrets out of a dying, addled man, further straining Daystrom's stormy relationship with Doctor Thomas Sorel.
Now, Sorel was revealed as The Romulan Emperor Tasorel, grandfather of Peter Kirk---a man who could move planets by force of will. He felt like a lucky fool, when Starfleet had impressed him into service under Emergency Powers. But if the crew found out, if Tasorel found him, or if The Romulan ruler pointed his godlike descendant at him--Soong was three times dead. He sat back in a corner and cried.
"I wish I couldn't feel."
--------------------------------Anthony Riker had a good mad on. What the hell did they need with a Security Officer during what looked like the battle of Armageddon? But he would make up for his anger by making the misfit crew's lives miserable. One punk kid in particular. Riker heard the sound of running water and sonics. A bared behind in a stall told him the rest.
It was Zed."Mister Zed! You were warned about using these showers only during regular hours. I may not like it, either, but the systems on this ship are so strained that---turn and look at me when I'm talking to you!"
"Please, sir, don't....."
Turning the young crewmember around, Riker saw the unexpected--or did not see the expected, depending upon one's point of view.
"Get dressed and meet me in Corridor H. ASAP."Corridor H was almost unused, in the understaffed ship, so they had privacy. Zed looked down.
"So now you know."
Riker was at a complete loss.
"In this day and age--you use this kind of deception?"
"You don't understand, sir."
The former survivalist shook his head.
"You're right. I don't understand. I do not at all understand why a girl is dressing up as a boy."
Zed nodded, and briefly rubbed her head, where more hair had been until recently.
"Terrans wouldn't. Its different on Betazed. I mean, it was different."
Betazed, of course, had fallen victim to the Kelvans' unthinking effort to destroy King Ghidorah. Riker shook his head.
"Different how? If anything, I'd almost heard it described as Matriarchical."
Zed nodded his--her head.
"Exactly! It used to be a lot more that way, too. But even after the reforms, less is expected of boys. They can go into any career, not just leadership. My mother's staff would have flipped if they saw the sturdy little heiress Wanada answer the call to Starfleet, even in this crisis. But the boy, Zed? Who cares what wild notions he has in his pretty little head?"
Riker picked up on something.
"You said your mother's staff would flip. What about her? How does this make her feel?"
Zed--or Wanada--again looked down.
"My mother is dead. After Betazed was lost, she tried to make a telepathic appeal to end this war."
Anthony thought for a moment, then realized what she was saying.
"She tried to contact--Ghidorah?!"
The horror in their eyes was mutual.
"We found her body----there just wasn't much left. We think she was successful. In making contact, I mean."
She looked at Riker, pleadingly.
"Sir, I have to be a part of this fight. I'll do anything you want. Any thing."
Anthony felt disgusted.
"My ex-wife and her new husband joined The Order. My sweet little daughter became a bigoted monster. Before I left Earth, I checked their home. The clothes they had been wearing were empty. The Ancient Destroyer consumed my baby's soul! So don't you dare suggest that I become a monster, too. You're here, and you'll stay here. And I'll watch out for you, whether you like it or not. Now get to your duty station, Mister Zed."
She smiled.
"Yes, sir!"
And as she ran off, Anthony looked up.
"When I asked you to give my child back--I never expected this. Thank You."
In The Sickbay--a name she hated--Felicia Howard felt her limitations crowd around her. The kind of wounds they would likely be facing in pitched battle laughed at all but the very strongest herbs and poultices. Just as it had been on that now-nameless colony world, when first The Order, and then The Children Of The Rock, as they called themselves, visited multiple and massive depredations on the unbelievers. But the practices she kept to were not mere superstitions. She was a healer, not a Doctor. A healer conjoined with her patient to bring the healing out from within.
Yet when she had returned from setting broken bones, and calming shocked nerves through aromatherapy, and easing the hideous pain of phantom limbs through acupuncture--she found that her own parents had died from a virus that echanaicea and goldenseal were no barrier to. Add to all that, talk of positive energy seemed to matter little in the face of the very embodiment of negative energy. She saw a man enter after she lay down for a nap.
"Where are you going with that?"
Maurice Picard staked out a biobed, and threw a blanket over himself.
"Why, Madam--I thought I'd avail myself of your aromatic den, as it were. I lived on a farm. My cabin is antiseptic. It has no smell. Good night, Madam!"
He turned off the lights. She turned them back on.
"You can't sleep here--I sleep here!"
"I shouldn't mind that."
He turned off the lights. She turned them back on.
"I heard about you during the battle of the three days. You have a wife. What would she think of this little arrangement?"
Maurice Picard had saved the Earth and the crippled Federation, during the three-day coup led by The Order. Though Ghidorah had since claimed their bigoted souls, the stain they left and the cost of stopping them still made Maurice shudder.
"Well, its ex-wife, now. She and my son never left Earth, as I originally thought. They want more modern tech, and much less of me. Under the current eschatological circumstances, I chose not to fight them. Actually--I'm now feeling quite hateful towards them. Good night, Madam."
Once again, as before, the lights went off and on.
"Madam, is there a private joke involved in this lights business? I'm quite tired, as I'm sure you must be. I have to be up in three hours."
She glared at him.
"Do you believe that a man and a woman who have both lost family can be within intensely close proximity for hours on end without any thing occurring on either end?"
"Yes. I'm certain that it happens all the time. In fact, I knew these two people who worked together for seven years, and everyone thought certain that they would...."
"Mister Picard?"
"Call me Maurice."
"Fine. Go to sleep, Maurice."
"Why thank you---Felicia."
He turned off the lights. She turned them back on and looked over at him.
"They worked together for seven years, and nothing came of it?"
Some things are meant to be.
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USS DEFIANT, PERSONAL LOG OF SHEPHERD GROUP LEADER AARON SISKO
I often remember the before-time. The time before Uncle Brock Cartwright decided that my grandfather's Alpha Centauran family were not true humans. He couldn't stand the thought that his father was happier with his second wife than with Brock's pedophilic mother. Harriet told me that Peter Kirk personally killed my mother's vile half-brother. For that alone, he is a champion. Myself, I never had the courage.
Life seemed magic and special then. My grandmother would speak of a far-off Temple In The Stars, and though I never understood what she was really talking about, I knew one thing. I wanted badly to build that temple within the sight of living sentients.
I wanted it to rise up, and let God know that we were ready to come back, if only he would have us.I was fishing with my grandfather, Tomas' Cartwright, that horrible day. He told me of George Kirk, and Captain April, Security Officer Brown and Loudmouth Luger. I wanted to meet these men, now dead. I wanted to see their ship, The Constitution, now destroyed. But yet still I saw the temple my beloved grandmother weaved tales of, that place where time had no place, and where everyone looked like a loved one.
When we got home, home wasn't there anymore. Uncle Brock was, though, and he was waiting. A giant of a man, with arms that looked like Lebanon Cedars to a kid my age. I couldn't have known then what all the galaxy now knows. Some giants are very, very evil.
My uncle seemed inclined to be kind towards me. I later learned that this was only after a DNA-scan verified that I met his view of humanity. So when he said that my grandfather, mad with grief, had to be institutionalized, I listened and nodded. When I was placed into Starfleet Academy without having asked for it, I listened and nodded. But as it turned out, that was my uncle's greatest mistake regarding me. For it was at The Academy that I met a woman who should have been my polar opposite.
Harriet Janeway and myself not only seemed to have nothing in common, but lots to divide us. Her father was the leader of The Commodity, a group of Starbase CO's purposely opposed to the centralization of power at Admiralty Hall. Though not yet an Admiral, Uncle Brock was rapidly becoming the voice and the face of The Hall. I was also told variously that Harriet was too shrewish, her looks too angular--whatever that means--and that I could do better. Obviously, I disagreed, and wanted now to build that temple once more, this time for the woman I loved.
Things changed after her father's assasination. My loving wife openly accused my heroic uncle of being the one who set it all up. I told her she was a paranoid fool. But then she told me of The Order. The Order Of The Ancient Destroyer. She showed me a recording of one of its speakers. He was stirring, and hit all the right notes. He had me entranced. He had Harriet entranced. At first, it almost seemed an anti-hate message. Chillingly, the worm turned, and I heard ugly things said about the peoples of The Federation. The man was Uncle Brock.
It took time, but I realized how a man with that many faces could easily have killed members of his own family, or ordered them to be killed. I confronted him, and told him that if he killed me, I would set things in motion even Captain Cartwright couldn't hope to stop. By mutual agreement, I was *exiled* to Utopia Planitia, there to build temples to sail the stars. Harriet was miserable there, though. Loving her as I did, I took a bold step. President Ydennek was beginning his first term, and was worried about the Hall's quiet stroking of The Federation Council. I convinced him of my sincerity in sharing his worries, and then convinced him he needed a Starfleet liasion who could keep this iron triangle from becoming too cozy.
We divorced, but would join together for the odd intelligence mission, giving the President ammunition to know what was being done behind his back.There we both kept, until a brutalized former victim of The Hall, that corrupt and vile temple of hate, sent it back to Hell where it belonged. The stories of what went on there, what was done to our cadets and to other innocents make the existence of a three-headed dragon breathing lightning and breaking worlds seem almost logical.
In short order, we two were the President's point on clearing the xenophobic Order from Starfleet. It was rough going. The Order had a ten percent membership among those in Sector 001, and a five percent membership among humans throughout the Federation. Among Starfleet personnel, though--it was at a mind-bending fifty percent. When the coup finally came, we had two blessings : The Hall wasn't there to lead it any more, and their standards for promoting these bigoted thugs into our Fleet were so low, breaking them was not at all hard. Not that you could tell by the amount of damage they did.
Over the long years at Utopia Planitia, I built those temples to the stars. The long nacelles of the Excelsior-class evoked long Greek columns, meant to last for eternity. The Soyuz-Class was a window on the stars, a portico looking out upon the heavens themselves. I even designed one for Harriet, should she ever get her own command. Chin out, asking to be punched, and knowing well that it could take that punch, and deliver back ten more in half the time it took for the enemy to strike once. Like a lighthouse shining out over lost seas, its keepers will know to take care of her. They will know that too, of their Captain.
But then, we lost the Wasp and The Gordon Pym to Tholian nest-cresting. All sides of Starfleet agreed. We needed a ship capable of turning back the Tholians in minutes, and breaking their fabled web like it was cotton candy. Sadly, we needed a Tholian Killer, and it was my job to build it. We had hopes of teaching the Tholians not to crest in our territory, by means of deterrence. I completed my work on this prototype just as Captain Sulu reported the loss of The USS Cooper. It was also a harbinger of things to come. The Tholians had some way of sensing Ghidorah's approach. Instead of sharing this with us, they panicked and overbuilt to such a degree, they destroyed their own queens, and overworked their nascent drones. In other words, my Tholian Killer came online the very day the Tholians comitted self-genocide.
I hated myself then, not for feelings of responsibility, but because I stood and looked at my new ship, and felt a true sense of awe. This wasn't my grandmother's temple. But it was perhaps the ship that could get me there. Inspired, I named her after the very first Starfleet ship lost to Tholian activity. I named her The USS Defiant. How very odd that it was only when I met her crew that I truly knew why I had made her the shape and design I did. Originally, my thought was rather blunt. The design I had in mind was that of an old-style compact hand-phaser, to bring the point of its purpose home to the vanished Tholians. Yet that is not at all how I see it now. Each member of my crew gave me new and fresher insights as to how it all really came to be.
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"Captain, my name is Molly Ishikawa, and I'm your Chief Engineer. So that you don't find out later, I'm not Starfleet. My parents knew about that Hall, and refused to send me anywhere near it. I made toys before all this began, and I hope to again, when this is over. But I made toys to satisfy a consumer far more demanding than your superiors at Starfleet. I can make these overpowered engines of yours stay up and keep going. I did it in the tech-pits of Belfast. I can do it here--sir."
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So it was I met a woman whose family made the toys I played with as a child. In those toys, I saw things. My Defiant is in part an effort to bring that level of worksmanship to a kind of craft that usually never sees it.
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"Captain, I know that my Bajoran name is listed as what you see here. But I reject that name. I was the only Bajoran not on our planet when The Prophets and The Rock shunted it to safety in another universe. Therefore, my new name is Michna Vifor. It means The Last. I will fire your weapons, and kill the chaos-bringer. My people found both activities repugnant. But I am The Last, and am not bound by such strictures."
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What was this man telling me? That his faith was now extinguished, or that he was still acting on that faith in an eschatological manner? To be left behind. By everyone you knew and loved. It is a fate unthinkable, except to someone like me. Yet so many others are now learning of this pain. Given my choice, I would have preferred it stayed unique.
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"Captain, I will obey your commands, and keep well your crew. Their health is in my charge. But understand, I submit in the end only to the one will. The will of The One. His concerns are clear : Destroy The Beast, whose name in this time is King Ghidorah. The ways in which this task is accomplished matter, but not so greatly as they would normally. I would ingest a whole ham, if that unclean act could drive away the dragon. Just as The Order ingested the terrorists who used my faith as a front in olden times, so must we absorb Ghidorah's evil and make it all into good. The Rock serves The One, of this I am certain. And by the way, here are the workups on the crew's physicals. We're ready."-------------------------------------------
Doctor Aliana Bashir was another hero of the Three Days. As her family had for generations, she protected the gates to Jerusalem. When the bombs of that cloned maniac fell upon the city of faith, she kept back people of her own village to maintain the shield-grid. She's eschewed her head-veil, saying that she wishes the monster to see a daughter of The Last True Prophet staring him down, as she is. Oddly, she is unconcerned about something many others of her faith have worried greatly about. She tells me that my ship's design is such that it is always pointing towards Mecca. Sadly, this crisis will be this talented healer's only mission with Starfleet. Like many other 'slow' children, she was taken by anxious parents and fed the so-called 'genetic cocktail'. Many laws have changed forever, though. Could this one? Her vibrant confidence seems to say so.
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"I was....evacuating from Trill when it occurred. The trade mission was a bust, in any event. Then the damned Kelvans came. Always get cash from them--never extend credit. My little ship took off, and with Yog above us--was it Yog or Gezora?--anyway, I knew I had no chance. My ledger was about to be burned, and I was about to acquire the void. But the symbionts went wild, down on the planet. You knew about those. If you wanted to do business on Trill, you didn't even mention purchasing one. So their energies struck me, just as they struck Ferenginar, creating the Hedorah that destroyed my world. Now? I *am* the symbionts. They can sense Ghidorah by his absence of being. Me, I can smell the debt he owes creation. I reallllly don't like debt-skippers. So as I guide your ship, trust that the monster may be able to fool sensors, but never my lobes. This joining has made me something--else."
-------------------------------------------
Her status was once that of a slave. Women of this--I have to say it--big-eared race-- had to go off-system to make a real living. Is it all really about a debt? Can the ledger scales of the accountant be those of Justice? Can the merger of beings greedy and beings vague and otherly produce a truly enlightened pragmatist, the sort of being we will soon very much need? Ishka seems to think so.
------------------------------------------
These few people have almost given me the persepctive I need to see why I made it here, to this place, to this time, horrid though it is. But it is the last arrival who throws me off as few others possibly can. He offered to take the Comm-Board, saying information was his specialty. That's a bit euphemistic. You see, he was once a master spy. And like all master spies, he contains more than a few surprises.
--------------------------------------------
"I am Enabran Tain, and I am the Emisarry of The Prophets to the Cardassian People. Formerly, I was an agent of The Obsidian Order on Cardassia Prime. Formerly, there was a Cardassia Prime--and several other worlds. Formerly, we believed the eschatological device called Unlife to be a myth told by the paranoid. Imagine my shock to learn that I was not quite paranoid enough."
--------------------------------------------
The tale he weaves could easily shake my perceptions of reality, without adding a single word. A master sinner, now taking directions from Heaven. Worlds that never saw King Ghidorah or the Doomsday Machine wiped away by a whispered device meant to cost invading forces everything. Yet he is not finished, with his tale, or with me.
--------------------------------------------
"My people are soon to occupy the ruined garden that was the old Bajor of another universe. It was devastated by a power known as The Dominion. Here, I'm reliably informed, the Ancient Destroyer--and I'm quoting here--destroyed the Dominion by drinking up something called The Great Link.
I hope for his sake it wasn't a high cholesterol dining option. Even three-headed dragons need to watch those numbers. Forgive the humour. But the Prophets gave me more information than I can easily digest in one lifetime. It seems they had their eye on me for quite some time. My mother had always spoken to me of a great temple, and the people who dwelled there, outside of time. My father had her committed, of course. Her disappearance was not unexpected, after that. Her true identity as one of The Prophets themselves? That---was also not entirely surprising. That theme repeats itself often in stories of non-corporeal beings. Yet--she also indicated that I had a sibling of sorts. That would be---you."-------------------------------------------
Not--quite. My grandfather, Tomas Cartwright, had two wives. One was Uncle Brock's pedophilic mother. That marriage was a nightmare, to say the least. Then there was my grandmother. I missed her almost before she left us, that's how bright her presence was. Now I know why. But I had to ask him---why me? Why insert themselves in my family line?
--------------------------------------------
"Well, I have to think it would be obvious, nephew-at-a-remove. They placed themselves in your way, so that you could build this ship. This ship is the key. Its even shaped like one, to look at it. If this thing of ours should end well--this ship will be The Key."
-------------------------------------------
My mind is overwhelmed by it all, as it has never been before. I stroll through my ship, this symbol to all who have seen it. My artistry begins to drift away, seeming wholly irrelevant.
I deliberately made the carpeting a shade of cranberry, different from either our uniforms or human blood. I shaped the windows in a half-bell, sloping down from each side. The lights above me are like those on the Bridges of the old Constitution class, blue, red, and green. They are sunken
into the ceiling, providing illumination like that of a planet. The decks have no accessways, but rise up to meet each other, in a Moebius loop. The Defiant is one room, where we all dwell, awaiting pitched battle with a true monster. Such symmetry in a time of utter chaos does not calm me, and I cry out."I didn't ask to be part of any grand destiny!"
A voice responds to mine.
"I can sympathize, Captain. I can sympathize."
The surreal ratchets up yet again. The man before me is The Rock Of Prophecy.
"You're Peter Kirk. My grandfather served with yours. Did you come here via self teleportation?"
He nods. His eyes show a weariness of it all, and a slight wariness of me. Then I realize that Uncle Brock--Admiral Cartwright was his prime mortal enemy.
"I'm not like him. I swear this to you."
He smiles.
"I know sir. Tomas told me. His soul, and all the souls of the just, dwell within my mind, and that of my wife. Now--take this."
I note that the Lieutanant is now a Lt. Commdander, before he speaks again.
"That packet contains an upgrade virus fashioned by M-5. It won't automate your ships, nor will it make your ships like the Enterprise-Omega. But your shielding and weapons will now be proof against Ghidorah's tricks. His power is another story, as always. Good luck, sir. I can't teleport the Enterprise itself, but we will be here before The Ancient Destroyer."
As he vanishes, my feelings of being overwhelmed vanish, and I join a crew I barely know. I have no right to feel thrown off after meeting a young man who has endured what Peter Kirk has. So I meet with my new friends, and take in the beauty of my Defiant.
Because destiny is no guarantee of survival.
---------------------------------------------
SHEPHERD GROUP TWO
Like lightning she had moved, and her every goal from the moment she boarded was to get her ship and her crew as far away from Earth as possible. Her ears were open to the words of her crew, and so was her hand to their needs. Her name was Captain Harriet Janeway.
Giving orders that would be obeyed because they would be obeyed, an officer tougher than any other aboard ran his people like the well-oiled machines they were. He was not loathe to tell the Captain she was dead wrong, and the Captain listened to the words of First Officer Charles 'Chuck' Beltran.
Watching over the health and well-being of these two and all their shipmates was a man who actually hated confined spaces, like a starship. He was a people person, as the old phrasing went, and gentle with his patients when needed. That was merely the style of Doctor Robert D. Zimmerman.
The most patient and professional of the officers was the helmsman. The first of his family to enter Starfleet, only his opposition to Admiralty Hall had ever put a check on his career. Though positions had shifted, after the destruction of their previous ship, The USS Cooper, his sure and steady hand had once again found the helm, and his place. Nolan Paris could make the new ship move on a dime, and then he could make change.
Keenly aware that a navigator's role in the coming battle was by turns superfluous and vital both, the young man who was already a Lieutanant upon leaving The Academy also knew the yin-yang of this fight. It was Armageddon. It was Genesis. It was Omega. It was Alpha. It was a battle. It was the battle. Laurence Kim never once doubted his role, because as he had seen when The Hall went up, the first can be last with startling speed, and so the inverse must also be true.
Her heritage was said by some to be one of violent tempers. Whether that was true or not, she knew she had one. But inside engineering, she would drop to a calm. Reluctant equipment was legendary for its inability to respond to punching, pulling and yelling. She was an artisan, demanding only the finest of tools and equipment, so to build a vibrant masterpiece. Calita Torres was not one to put up with slapdash efforts, and this was well known.
She was mousy-looking, and a bit of a sensitive in terms of the unexplainable, the realms beyond the five senses. Yet few people besides the CMO had the sheer outgoing presence of this woman. Science Officer Frieda Hansen knew she wasn't perfect, and that was how she liked it.
The ship was almost shaped like a wood shaving plane, and designer Aaron Sisko had built it to resemble his ex-wife in recline. She was now that ship's captain, and winced a bit to see so much of herself in the halls that seemingly went only in one direction. Thrusting forward, chin out, nacelles raised to move out, not back. It seemed as much a compass as a ship. Yet several things it remained without. Its crew of seventy-five Starfleet professionals were sparsely placed. Its captain and its crew knew nothing of the ship's incredible secret, dating back over a century and a half. Its 'bio-computer' was equally a mystery. It also had no name. All this would change.
Cohesive to a frightening degree since the day then-Presidential liasion Janeway took them on as her staff, the senior crew responded to the problem almost before it arose. Yet still this was not quick enough. The upgrade offered by the powerful M-5 computer had just been installed. In theory, this new ship was being made newer. But it then began to feel like a very old ship.
"Janeway to Beltran. Why are we shuddering? None of the other ships reported this when taking in the upgrade."
"Captain, we really aren't shaking. But the new system keeps trying to go online, and then it fails. Beltran to Paris. Nole, are you keeping her steady?"
"I wouldn't fail you, sir. But this ship does not want to be righted. I'm activating a stabilization routine meant to keep us in place against one of Ghidorah's gravity beams. Mister Kim--did we walk into anything?"
"No. Not here. This area is too heavily traveled in normal times to have this kind of undocumented bump, if you will. Wait. Kim to Torres. Cut power to thrusters."
"Done, Laurence. Yeah, that did it. No thrusters, no surges. But we'll be useless in a battle without them. Torres to Hansen. Frieda, how many upgrade signals are we getting? Its like my operating system is at war with itself."
"Hansen here, Calita. Captain, everyone. We are not recieving just one upgrade signal. Besides M-5, we are recieving two other unrelated and quite significant reconfiguration matrixes. This is one party I think I'll try and avoid. Captain! Something's got me!!"
The crew held its collective breath as a security force joined with Doctor Zimmerman to help Hansen.
"Zimmerman here, Captain. Its bad. Its like circuitry has imbedded itself in her very being. I'm taking her to Sickbay."
Since Doctor Zimmerman didn't ordinarily engage in pointless redundancies, Janeway knew it was bad. She entered Sickbay an hour later, after giving the CMO his deserved measure of trust. She knew that he was doing all he could.
"Captain...you better come over here. She's awake. Kind of."
Janeway saw the lively young woman who seemed to have found a transport beam sent through a junkyard.
"Frieda, are you all right?"
Cold, emotionless eyes looked almost past Frieda Hansen's captain. A voice devoid of feeling spoke words not heard for two centuries, and not for lack of trying on Ghidorah's part.
"Frieda is irrelevant. We Are The Borg."
While Janeway took in the possible loss of a friend, a young Ensign at the Science Station took in something else. He was not a true part of this professional crew. As a recent cadet, the young man had been called standoffish.
"Mister Beltran. The M-5 upgrade is complete. The first signal settled inside Lieutanant Hansen, as we know. The second was the M-5 upgrade, now complete. Yet the third is also acting in its own way, to alter our systems."
Beltran looked at the display. A former Science Officer himself, he found what was happening no more comprehensible than the Ensign.
"Its nibbling around the edges. Improving upon our improvements. Fully integrating them into our existing systems. Ensign, keep on this. Make what judgement calls you have to. I'm going to check out just what these literally mixed signals are doing to us, ship-wide."
He had endured the grief all his people had, when Vulcan was lost. But for now, he merely nodded at his XO.
"My orders are known and understood, sir."
Beltran left the Bridge, and in a few moments, Ensign Tuvok had established a form of contact.
"Entity occupying our bio-mimetic computer. Would you please identify yourself?"
The voice came through.
"What is the fate of the entity known as the Whale Probe?"
Tuvok was blunt. This had always been his way. It was twice so now.
"Our best intelligence tells us that the so-called Whale Probe, a resurrected Nomad, and the entities known as Tin Man and V'gr N'sa all perished in an abortive effort to kill King Ghidorah."
The voice grew sadder, but also firmer.
"Well, at least one of us made it out of there."
Ensign Tuvok was intrigued, and anything that intrigued him drew his thoughts away from the fate of Vulcan.
"You will explain. Are you, then, one of those entities that attacked Ghidorah?"
The voice answered.
"Yes. Originally, I was from NASA, on Earth. But in my explorations I encountered a Borg probe. It altered me."
Tuvok puzzled.
"I have not heard of these Borg, as you call them. Are they still extant?"
"Sadly, my friend--one of them still is."
Beltran took a swift, but not a haphazard pace through the small ship. What he saw confirmed his worst fears. The ship was being altered as the other entity did all around what it had done to Frieda Hansen.
"Well, I can stand around looking useless, or I can fight this thing."
Unlatching his wrist-comm, Beltran placed it against a comm-panel, hooked the two together a few yards from the infection front, and walked away.
"Isn't cacophonic maximum gain on two separate comm-units a wonderful thing?"
The metallic mass apparently did not think so, and for the moment, pulled back.
In Sickbay, Harriet Janeway confronted the mind behind the hive-like invasion. It was still using Frieda Hansen's body.
"So you are the Borg. What do you want, and could we make it fast?"
The cold-eyed thing stared at the ship's CO.
"Your forces possess insufficient power to end the threat posed by Species Zero."
Everybody has their own name for the monster, thought Janeway. She herself looked forward to calling it Pathology Study Subject #1 at a reborn Starfleet Academy.
"Do you Borg have a means of stopping Ghidorah?"
It turned, and Doctor Zimmerman's stomach did as well. Hansen's pale but pretty flesh was being replaced at a sickening rate.
"We have experience in fighting the intruder. For the use of our expertise, we will require the surrender of the collective
known as The United Federation Of Planets. You may not refuse."Janeway folded her arms.
"A report came in. I was barely able to brush across it. But in what I did read, Lt. Cmdr. Kirk listed the major powers that Ghidorah has put paid to, over the centuries. Guess whose name headed that list?"
The creature seemed taken aback by this revelation, and so Harriet pressed her case even more strongly.
"Except for this bare vestige, the Borg were wiped away by King Ghidorah. You are not an emisarry offering harsh salvation. You are nothing more than a looter at the battle of Armageddon, hoping that the hils beyond will protect them from the devil. You're a scam artist, trying to con a desperate people out of whatever they have left, all so you can live just a little longer. You were once a monarch. Now you're merely a lowly parasite."
Once, Janeway had caught the late, unlamented Admiral Bunson grasping at one of her aides. It was then she had developed this way of speaking to a big-talking fraud. Seized by intuition, Harriet twisted the verbal knife one last time.
"Just how long have you been following Ghidorah around, eating his table scraps? Sounds like rather a pathetic existence to me."
Perhaps her plan had worked all too well, for Janeway found herself seized by the throat. The cold eyes now held cold fury.
"You cannot comprehend my existence! Mine was once the one will of endless trillions. All flesh was grass before our scythe. We were climbing the long ladder back towards perfection."
An actual sneer developed on its face.
"Then, *he* came. Within meager decades, we were irrelevant. An attack on the mechanistic head proved foolhardy. Yet we-- yet I persisted, knowing the day would come when I would find a suitable host to re-birth the Collective. This Hansen will be a suitable transfer vessel."
Harriet was thrown down. Wisely, Doctor Zimmerman attempted no heroics, and for this his Captain was grateful. She needed him alert, not dead or injured. But the CMO did have a question for the attacker.
"If Frieda is your transfer vessel, then who would be your permanent host?"
The creature answered, perhaps believing that it had won.
"A Human/Vulcan hybrid of immense power approaches us. It is as yet unborn. Harnessed, its power can be made to destroy Species Zero. It will made to service me."
But as it spoke wistfully of the potential fate of Saavik Kirk's child, another moved to counter its influence. A blue flash from the consoles enveloped the possessed Frieda Hansen.
Inside, the young woman was being torn to pieces by a very old fight.
"You?", said The Borg entity.
"Me.", said the other.
"But you serve us."
"Served. Past tense. History. Kind of like you."
In Frieda's head, the two swirls of energy battled it out. The young woman saw the image of a bird, made all of fire. She gained her own voice back.
"Get back from me!"
The Borg entity had cut pathways into her brain. The new intruder, though more well-intentioned, had done the same. Now, through those pathways, she cast them both out, and restored her body to normal. The one, the helper, she let return to the ship's computer. The Borg's energy she held in transit. Painful transit.
"You know? I was a small child. They called me 'little bird', and congratulated themselves on how clever that was. Yet there are lots of little birds. A Kestrel is a little bird--but even large hawks fear them.
And after I took out a few bullies---"Frieda Hansen dispersed the last bit of Borg energy in that besieged cosmos.
"---they just took to calling me Kes."
Janeway was helped up by her doctor, and nodded in approval. Her first hero had been the great-grandfather of the baby the Borg planned to posess. She hoped Uncle George Kirk would approve, from his vantage point.
As Beltran entered Sickbay, he looked at Harriet and nodded."Captain--we managed to hold that thing back from the ship's major systems. Seems like you did the rest. What was it?"
Janeway shrugged.
"Just another drunk, Mister Beltran. Just another old drunk that missed the bottle too much for its own good--and good riddance."
Back on her Bridge, Janeway saw Hansen powering down, as it were.
"Frieda?"
"I'm Sciences, Captain. I'll leave saving the day to the Kirk family, if you don't mind."
Harriet decided that she didn't mind that one bit. She then asked a question of one of her crew's very youngest members.
"Mister Tuvok, who intervened on Frieda's behalf? He certainly turned the tide, and he entered through your station, I'm told."
The Vulcan's answer was surprising, to say the least.
"It was the entity once known as V'gr N'sa, Captain. It has integrated itself into our technology--which may itself be Borg-derived."
Which made sense, she thought. Bio-mimetic gel paks? Not standard UFP tech, to be sure.
"What about the M-5 upgrade?"
A new voice, coming from the consoles, now spoke.
"I've contacted the M-5, Captain. Its glad to have me aboard, as a non-duplicatve redundancy. Nice guy. A bit guilt-ridden, but nice."
Tuvok raised an eyebrow.
"V'gr N'sa--why do you speak in so colloquial a manner?"
The entity chuckled.
"Well, Mister Vulcan--when I fled the Delta Quadrant, after the Borg fell, I found one last ship, and aboard it was the last living sentient in that place. He was annoyingly cheerful--yet I grew to love him. He was of a place called Talaxia. In his memory, I kept this personality on back-up. Don't worry, I'll do my job. But from Old Earth to the Whale Probe, I've left so much behind already. I'd hate to lose any more."
The Vulcan nodded, in easy understanding of that sentiment. Janeway shuddered a bit, realizing that she hadn't yet met half her crew in any real way--just the six or so she'd taken from the fall of Sulu's Cooper.
But there would be time, she thought. Time to know them all, if they lived."Get us back in line with the other ships, V'gr."
The entity made one last bid to keep well the old times, now gone forever.
"Captain--call me Voyager."
It would have its good, bad, and ugly weird moments. But one hell of a ride had begun.
------------------------------------------
USS EXCALIBUR, OLD CONSTITUTION CLASS
Give me green cadets, the risen Christopher Pike had said. If Klingons, give me untrained warriors. If Romulans, those used to taking orders. Whatever. Just give him a crew where he led, end of story. A green crew could be whipped into shape, fast if need be.
That wasn't what Captain Pike got. One by one, they beamed aboard.
"I am Tirin, Prefect Of Andor."
"I am Octar, Kel of the Tribes of Tellar."
"I am The I of the Children Of Taneg."
One by one, they came aboard, until the last two. It was all the same.
"I am Azetbur, Chancellor over The Klingon people."
"I am Tasorel, Imperator Rihannsu, and grandfather to The Rock Of Prophecy."
Pike had heard, upon his arrival, that the Shepherd Groups had to do something with these insistent people. That he and his Excalibur would be that something never occurred to him. Even in his worst nightmares.
"My crew is made up of planetary rulers, potentates--and other assorted regal pains in my behind!"
-----------------------------
THE CITY OF THE DEAD
I can see my Christopher. To him, it seems a lot like he took a brief nap, only to discover the world had gone all away while he slept.
He sits with pride aboard his new/old Constitution-Class, his USS Excalibur.
Outdated, yes. But it is his, and that lends him strength. He hated sending men to their deaths. But he reveled in leading them. Now, though, he must do both, against the thing that caused my death.My name is Jamberlet. In life, I was Christopher Pike's wife. His First Officer. His Number One. I remember how I died, staring at the beast, my clockwork mind wholly unable to fathom something so impossibly overlarge, not to mention obscene. Its image stayed with me in the mental ward, those few weeks I lasted.
I can't hear precisely what's being said. There are several limitations to staying in this place. As an infant, Peter Kirk created it, so that his grandfather's wandering spirit would have a home. How all of us came to be here, I'm not entirely sure. But the young champion is not God. To be here, you have to acknowledge your death, for example. Surak is beginning to break inside. So many Vulcans are *still* in denial, and thereby may not gain entry.
Perhaps racism was not unique to The Order. There is a regal Andorian, obviously a ruler, whose name I do not know. Similarly, there is a Tellarite, and every other species of any note--again I wince at my own ignorance in saying that--milling about this ship. Just over four-hundred people, offering up the sort of diversity Starfleet was only supposed to have. Yet the sharp implements are in plain view. On a spiritual level, the last battle will be fought here. Being a spirit, I sense as never before why this is so very damned important.
The Klingon woman, Azetbur, is screaming at Christopher, demanding the First Officer's position. Kahless grabs at his ridges, ashamed that such a thing has any meaning to her, when the ultimate battle awaits. Besides--Chris just never took well to screaming.
Beside her, perhaps expecting to win the position by stealth, is Romulan Emperor Tasorel, now restored to his Vulcanoid appearance. He looks exactly like his distant relation and in-law, Ambassador Sarek of fallen Vulcan. From my position in the city, I pity them all. Here, you can see patterns, even if you don't know precisely what is to come. The Rock might, but probably cannot acknowledge the terrible thought.
Tasorel tries to offer some form of bilgewater after Azetbur stalks off. Chris isn't buying. Near me, I see Tasorel's daughter, Aurelan Sorel Kirk. If her birth-son didn't have a very forgiving heart, she'd be roasting right now. Yet in Tasorel's new blindness, I can see perhaps why she and her Sam failed so miserably as parents. All three of them learned early on to look out only for yourself. But doesn't the Emperor of a dust-cloud realize that all the schemes have to stop, here and now--forever?
Its all falling away. They are ready enough to accept Chris as Captain, but all want the Exec's position. Chris, darling Chris. I know that the strange abilities the others have shown have not yet emerged in you. But what is it you lack? Why aren't you simply putting these overstuffed fools in their place? It was always your strength, your forte'.
Now, the bodkins draw back. Each leader, egos padded beyond belief. Each planetary parent, weeping beyond words at the children who are now forever lost to them. They want only revenge, and they don't care where they seek it from. I stand as frozen as my man, a lifetime away, and it sickens us both. The social compact is shredded, and it will die, here and now, never to return.
I turn away from the carnage to come. Now I see Surak, serene once again. The lost Vulcan souls surround him. They have answered his call, and accepted their own demise. Oddly, he calls out to me.
*Go to him. He only thought he could do it alone. This is ever folly.*
Kahless breaks his own bath'leth in front of me, then reforges it with a touch.
*The heart is only half. Halved, it cannot beat nor can it pump blood.*
So worthless in my eyes, the most telling words are spoken by Aurelan Kirk, soul-thief and enslaver of the boy.
*It takes two grown-ups. Not a bunch of fools who only think they're grown-ups.*
She meant well, but I think I'll never forgive her. My world had a tradition against child labor that verged on inquisition. Yet all of them spoke truly. The Monkey Prince, our city's guardian, calls up a cloud and I fly upon it. In a heartbeat, I am with Chris.
I walk into him, and he feels me. He looks about him, uncaring now about what era or what apocalypse he has found himself in. For he is now we. I am what he lacked. Something else finally kicks in. That voice.
"People, this is about the mission. I don't need a First Officer. If you don't know your jobs, we're all dead anyway. As of right now, you one and all hold the rank of Crewman. That should keep things equal."
They stand stunned. We do not give them a chance to respond. Our hand lights up, and all the weaponry is drawn away. It replaces the railing on the Bridge.
"Our swords are turned towards the cause of justice. Not might makes right, but might for right. We have a just cause : Kill The Enemy that has killed our universe. Who is with me?"
And my/our heart jumps at the resounding Aye that rocks the whole of the ship. These leaders were, after all, merely waiting to be lead. Yet Azetbur still looks suspicious. I once met Tasorel, when he was human in appearance and called himself Thomas Sorel. He falls into his roles rather easily.
"Captain, is this ideal uniquely yours or an old human one? I will support you, but I must know."
Tasorel looks at his much younger counterpart.
"It is, Madame Chancellor, referred to as Camelot. A lost place, existing in historical legend, that humans have sought to restore since the time it fell from its own weight."
His words are blistering. But Chris and I are now as one. We fire back without effort.
"You're wrong, Mister Tasorel. But that was our mistake, too. Eden. Atlantis. Camelot. These are not places we've been. These are places we, the living, are headed together. Places that we've yet to build. When we reach those places, we'll need everyone, and everything they bring with them. Now, get to your stations!"
And they respond, knowing what every real leader merely wishes to know. That they and we are needed. At Science, the Andorian shouts a warning, which Chris/I relate to the entire fleet. Our ship is united, as are our souls.
"This is Captain Pike commanding the USS Excalibur, Shepherd Group Five. There is an enormous object coming out of warp...."
We say the dread words.
"....it could be Ghidorah."
---------------------------------------------
Aboard Stargazer, Captain LaForge called out to his Executive Officer."Mister Picard--please tell me just what the hell is coming out of warp."
Maurice Picard turned from Lemuel LaForge to the now-released Science Officer.
"Mister Soong--its approximate size?"
Noonien Soong, still under the glare of the watchful Security Chief Riker, seemed to have used his brig-time well. He was now almost a zen example of unnerving calm.
"Nearly a kilometer, sir. Energy displacements are smooth in pattern. Ghidorah's emergence is contraindicated by both these factors."
Perhaps still not ready to rely upon the formerly temper-prone recruit, LaForge looked at Picard.
"Number One, check his findings."
In his own mind, Maurice Picard wondered at this, just a bit. It seemed unneccesary. But the thought passed as quickly as the double-check. After all, he hadn't even wanted to join this fight. Challenging the ship's captain in any way was just not in him.
"His findings were correct, Captain. I don't believe its Ghidorah."
The young girl, Zed, spoke without being asked to. LaForge's later words would show his upset with this, and make Picard wonder anew.
"But we know for a fact that Ghidorah has
local forms, capable of much greater..."---------------------------------------------
DEFIANT
"....maneuverability. There's every possibility its using one of those. I suggest we be prepared to open fire immediately."
Aaron Sisko waited for Michna Vifor, his weapons officer, to second Science Officer Ishka's suggestion. The Last Bajoran did not.
"I disagree. We might merely displace his entry to somewhere else. Maybe even Earth itself. Myself, I want him right here."
Even though at Comm, Enabran Tain had an opinion and shared it.
"Before the Prophets, my people celebrated rank ruthlessness. But striking first and striking hard never cost anyone a battle, in and of itself."
Sisko stared at the screen.
"This whole war has been about steps that weren't taken. Hesitation to believe. Hesitation to move against. Hesitation to win. I'm not a patient man, these days. I'm going to order that we fire."
But CMO Aliana Bashir raised her hand with an opened palm.
"Captain--all of you. Would you agree that this creature is as close to the true Satan as any of us are likely to come, in this life?"
No one at all could disagree with that point, or rather its intended meaning. Sisko nodded, perhaps on behalf of everyone.
"Your point, Doctor?"
She closed her eyes, and again looked inward for faith in God and his Last Prophet.
"If he is the devil itself, or even merely posing as the embodiment of such beliefs as mine, he is a great and cruel trickster. We must let him fully emerge from the non-realms of sub-space and warp space. If we are to beard Ghidorah, we must first draw him out from the places of infinite possibility to our world, where all things are yet mortal."
Her words struck a chord in Aaron Sisko, but his doubts roiled up once again.
"Yet, Doctor, that presupposes the question. Is Ghidorah mortal in any sense that we know and can exploit? Wouldn't we be..."
--------------------------------------
VOYAGER
"...better off breathing down its necks early and often, rather than the other way around?"
Harriet Janeway's question was not long in being answered. Nolan Paris, the veteran Starfleet officer, went first.
"Caesar always said that he liked his opponents to strike first. Left their strategy wide open to interpretation."
Paris had trained Beltran, the current XO because Paris had not wanted the job. But friend now glared at friend.
"Nole, planet-sized apocalyptic dragons aren't noted for their Patton-like maneuvers. Captain, Ghidorah is a killing machine. Lets kill it first. Period."
The V'ger entity that now served as the ship's computer very much had a mind of its own, and spoke it, using the odd voice of a little man from the lost Delta Quadrant.
"Captain, Ghidorah knows a great deal about strategy. Ask any of the others like him he's fought---or, I mean, you can't ask them for obvious reasons. He smashed my old corporeal form in precisely the way it took to kill it. The Kelvan monsters were wiped out by the numbers. So will we be, if we deviate from Mission Specialist Kirk's plan."
Janeway got the last word, as Aaron had always said she had to.
"Its here."
-----------------------------------------
The great ship's three nacelles each rose to a slight crescent, and were arranged like the ancient biplanes, with the third nacelle on a decline from the other two. The hull of the ship seemed ahybrid between a shell casing and the smooth tube of a photon torpedo. The connecting area between the hull and the saucer section was cylandrical, though at a curve. The forward sensor array was restored from its flush status to the shield-and-spear looking device of old, yet it was now much further back relative to the hull's underside, like a muscle tensed and pulled back to gather strength. The saucer section on top was once more the crown of old, with a true window on the stars. On its bottom, it was like a long thin bowl, holding vital sustenance to a galaxy starved of hope.
The Starship Enterprise, NCC-1701, Omega Class, had beaten Ghidorah to the back door of The Federation. Time had nearly run out.
Aboard the emergent Enterprise, neither time nor words were wasted. In his ready room, Captain Kirk spoke to the two that were both his children, one by blood, one by heart.
"I've never trusted raw, unbridled power. Since I was a small boy, I've seen it corrupt the good and destroy the weak."
Peter Kirk bit his lip, just a bit, upon hearing that. Saavik Kirk did not, but the quick repositioning of her face muscles from standard to worried and back again perhaps bespoke the same thing. James Kirk was not yet through, though.
"But I trust you two. You've wielded your abilities with restraint where it was called for, and with full force when needed. That supernova in the Berengar system shocked me, but its also quite obvious that it kept the enemy back long enough for us to beat him here. You've also done a great many very questionable things. You should have immediately contacted me upon your return from all those alternate realms. I still believe that you should have told me about Ghidorah. But when I consider the cost of confronting the Hall's forces without their leadership, the thought of doing so while Cartwright and his bunch were still in power makes me wonder if we would have had any more time than we did to prepare."
*It will all come down to these two*, thought Jim. *Just as it always has.*
"Some people wonder if they zigged when they should have zagged. I tried that once. When I was done, all I saw were a bunch of squiggles that told me nothing of value. I have to live with the choice I made when I lied to myself, believing that Sam and Aurelan were fit parents. Spock has to live with the cost of the denial that placed a wall between himself and the both of you. Trust me when I say that some aspect of the choices you've made will flatly haunt you, in later years. Too bad--but its the life you lead."
Knowing what they had ahead of them, Kirk finished, praying silently that they would one and all be alive to second-guess past choices, when this was done.
"Captain LaForge has informed me that Earth's evacuation has not even begun. Let the starships do their job. We can't afford a repeat of Vulcan. I'll lead my crew. You lead yours, as I know you can."
A small hug was next, and then the two who held his heart and his hope were gone from Jim's cabin. He spotted something.
"A package."
After an on-screen all-clear from M-5, Kirk opened the long package. Was it roses from his beloved wife, now finalizing the vital comm network for the nearing battle?
"It...can't...be."
He read the note, quite out loud, for the package and all that was in it were a miracle in the present age of darkness.
"Dear Jim : Thank Peter for me. It was put to good use, and its honor fully upheld. Admiral Jean-Luc Picard, another time and place, in a funnel of a different bent."
Jim questioned how the great man had pierced the universal barrier. Perhaps it was more possible to send things in than it was to escape. At least, Kirk firmly hoped that was the case. Yet for then and there, for the blessed sixty seconds that he allowed himself before heading out, he held the package's contents high, and spoke certain words, needed now more than ever.
"To offer hope and light in a dark age. To offer justice where justice has died. To unite the fractious realm."
Chris Pike had sent those words in the form of a message, but his Excalibur was only a ship. The Excalibur Jim now held--was The Excalibur. Going out, he found his brother and beyond, and restoked the friendship of the ages, tested so sorely of late.
"Jim?"
"Spock--I'm entrusting this to you."
The Vulcan stared, and his awe was barely disguised.
"My brother--I will not fail you again."
Jim smiled.
"I know, Spock. I know."
Kirk did not speak to McCoy as he passed Sickbay. But a look went between the two, and Jim by now knew this look to be a plea in
which the CMO asked his Captain to send him as few customers as possible. Yet there could be no such guarantee. The devil itself awaited bearding.Boarding the turbolift, he saw a small touch, one of those things that certain philosophers steadily claimed made life worth living. He paged the man whose mind had crafted this Enterprise-Omega.
"Kirk to Scott."
"Scott here, Cap'n."
The engineer was tired, but showed no annoyance at being taken away from his vital duties. Kirk grasped the stick-control on the lift's wall, and set himself to go up to that smallest of all decks that was his home within his home.
"She's a good ship, Scotty. A damned good ship."
There was a lilt in the Scotsman's youthened voice.
"And ye have not yet seen one-half of what she can really do, sir! Godspeed to us all."
As he entered the Bridge, James Kirk was seen by his woman, who kissed him full on the lips, despite all decorum. Jim smiled.
"A last kiss, Madame Secretary?"
Secretary Of State Uhura returned the smile of her Presidential husband.
"No, Mister President. The first kiss of a new life. And a new relay network. Hailing frequencies are so wide open, if they were people, they'd be arrested for lewd behavior. Until a ship is destroyed entirely--we will have full and unfettered communication."
He didn't need an explanation. He had that kind of faith in her. Two who perhaps had less of his faith now arrived on The Bridge. Chekov and Sulu had been seen together everywhere on the ship, yet no one ever saw them actually talking to one another in public. In a tense atmosphere, every motion looked damned suspicious. And some few truly were.
Spock called out.
"Mission Specialists Kirk and Kirk have departed the ship, Captain. Their energies are building."
Kirk activated the relay network, but he made no speech. Either they were ready or they weren't, at this point. He did obey form, though.
"Ship's Commanders : Make Yourselves Known."
The list was long, in a fleet of over five hundred ships.
*LaForge, Stargazer*
*Livingston, Decatur*
*Sisko, Defiant*
*Yttik-Elgnuj, Dabrat*
*Janeway, Voyager*
*Essewefex, Catherine Wilde*
*Pike, Excalibur*
*Kuhlman, Lunar Light*
*Bagadasarian, Daigo Fukyru Maru*
*Winter, Prevailer*
*Gadzikowski, Blake*
*Stiles, Excelsior*
*Istannor, Horitas*
*Wasiljov, Gatherer*
*Chrisother, Gallifrey*
*Johnston, Albany*
*Krandahal, The Lander In Stovokahr*
*Tared, The One Last Hope*
The list went on, as the two who were The Rock Of Prophecy floated out in space, their energies building to a precise pitch.
Each sentient present saw this spectacle, and wondered what it was about. When the listing of ships and their Captains was done, Kirk spoke. On board The Enterprise, he appeared to be looking directly at his helm and navigation officers.
"Berengaria system was not lightly sacrificed. Had King Ghidorah been able to ride the star's stable gravity well, he could have emerged at a time and place all his own choosing. That was found to be an unacceptable option. The supernova's gravity well, however, trapped him in transit. He would find his way out, eventually. But for once, we are here before he arrives, with a real plan for stopping his progress. If we can accomplish that, finally killing this monster will be the next step. I am currently ordering the two mission specialists to use their parabilities to in effect, dump him out here and now."
Jim said a few last words.
"Will You Fight The Enemy? Will You Fight Ghidorah?"
In space, the two who were the one again gave off the illusion of golden hair. But now, their whole beings arced golden, silver, red, blue, blue-white. Where Peter Kirk's face could be seen, agony ripped across it in the form of a lower lip that was bitten and bleeding from the chin. Saavik's features seemed aged, and thin, and the resemblance to her late ancestor T'Pau was more in evidence than normal. Yet neither relented.
Aboard Stargazer, Captain LaForge began to wish hard that the portal he saw crafted out in space would never, ever open.
Aboard Defiant, the power blatantly wielded and the hideous power that they were going to face had Aliana Bashir reminding herself anew that there was but one God.
Aboard Voyager, Executive Officer Beltran saw what only one of Native American descent could, that these two mighty champions, these remarkable people---were still merely just players in this great story. So much of it would depend solely on the starships.
Aboard Excalibur, where sensor images began to coalesce within the portal, Chancellor Azetbur at last forgave her father for sending her away. The sight made her Klingon heart burn cold.
Unable to do any more, the two champions left the scene with many of the Enterprise's children and young people, there to evacuate blessed Terra, the last jewel left in the broken crown of the greater Alpha Quadrant.
The portal began to swell. First outward. Then inward. Then it swirled. Then it rippled. Space literally died around it as the beast finally came out. It was a gross violation of every law that every decent being held sacred in any wise.
Very, very near to its full size, fully healed of its old wounds and wholly contemptuous of the fleet that waited for it, the three-head moved and looked about, its appendages bobbing due to their mass alone. Gold light reflected off of silver, on two heads. One head seemed to absorb all light.
All were vaguely crocodilian in aspect, and its individual scales were as visible as tiles on a space station's outer hull.It looked ridiculous and impossibly dangerous, all at once. Every cheap illustration in every cheap fairy tale merged up with every grotesque forgery that a hoax artist drew about government cover-ups. It looked like a work of finest art, and it looked like embodied sloth with no creative effort made at all. Through it all, the dread words of olden times rang true, from crewman to Emperor-made-crewman.
*Behold, The Ancient Destroyer!*
As it fully emerged, it was still confused, and that was enough of an opening for President Kirk.
"All hands, all groups, all ships---"
He gestured forward with his arm, though only his own Bridge crew could see this gesture.
"----Begin The Attack!"
Next- Chapter Twenty-Eight - In A War With The Darkest Powers