Chapter Twenty-Eight - In A War With The Darkest Powers

WOLF 359

Stargazer made a double-spiral arc straight upward relative to the enemy's triple heads. Not being one of the high-caliber warships like Defiant or Enterprise, it dodged and weaved, but did not fire. While Ghidorah's great bulk belied its overall speed, it was yet limited by that same bulk's mass. So its golden lightning poured out at Stargazer while LaForge's more mobile group of corvette ships swam around the small lead ship on all sides, blasting an enemy too dedicated at its core to moving against the weakest foe first.

Aboard Stargazer, Lem LaForge stared out at the planetary mass of their target.  "C'mon! Keep firing at us, you walking fortress. We're right here."

Maurice Picard attempted to reassure his Captain.  "Sir, he is both a coward and a bully, and we are headed to school on our first day with a bundle of tied books and neatly pressed clothes. He will not be able to resist."

The ship was struck by the outer range shockwave of one of the smaller lightning bolts, and those not secured were thrown. Stargazer kept on course, albeit with a 10% shield loss. LaForge shook his head.  "Maybe he could resist just this once, Number One?"

At his station, Mister Soong allowed the M-5 cloned program to maintain thrust by keeping up with all readings relative to the main battle plan. The shockwave had briefly sent a charge through the consoles, burning the edge of his right hand. He stared down at it without comment, then got back to his work.

The six remaining Excelsior-class ships were next, followed by ten Soyuz-class. So like Chekov's Reliant these were, that seeing them from his vantage point aboard Enterprise's Bridge, he bristled almost openly. Certain plans that had seemed vague now seemed rock-solid.  "Kyptin, the Taneg ships are joining the Excelsior group. Approximately twenty-three vwessels. Formation is kept."

Kirk watched the ships, as he had little choice but to do while the strategy was working.  "Remember, people, ignore the goal and stick to the path. Its all we have right now."

Sulu felt his rage rise, as it had of late. The thought that the children were away evacuating the Earth both confused and irritated him. The irritation he would address later, once and for all. The confusion he tried to clear up then and there.

"Jim, why aren't Peter and Saavik here? They each posses more power than any fifty ships, except for The Enterprise-Omega. We need The Champions, our Rocks of Prophecy. Sir?"

Perhaps events threatened to at last overwhelm Jim Kirk, for he either did not see or wholly ignored the tone of challenge in Hikaru Sulu's voice as he responded.  "Evolution, Captain Sulu. Peter went all-out over Berengaria. Ghidorah is used to his and Saavik's energy patterns. Until they all three hit a new plateau, The Rock Of Prophecy and the Ancient Destroyer Of Worlds are each proof against the other's powers."

Uhura gulped quietly. Beyond her worry for the family she now at last had, she had thought that the kids could serve as a hedge in this battle. Worst of all, Jim had tried to tell her, but her duties in coordinating the remaining worlds and colonies in disaster response meant she hadn't time to hear of it. "Then we're on our own."

Kirk smiled at his still-new bride.  "Never, Nyta. We're hardly alone when we're five-hundred ships strong."

 Spock looked up from Sciences, as he did in days when only sectors or planets or single systems were being suddenly wiped away.  "Jim, the Excelsior Group is under heavy fire from the Mecha-Head. Death Head is not charging, that I can determine. M-5 indicates that enhanced shields can indefinitely withstand gravimetric attacks from the King Head."

Scotty seconded from his station.  "Aye, and our quantum mine fields are givin that devil hell when it tries to thrash about with its tails or hellbat-wings, sir."

Gaining rein over his rage for the moment, Sulu delivered happy news. "Stargazer group has completed the first three arcs, Captain. Excelsior Group about to finish. Signaling for Voyager and Excalibur to continue assault."

Jim offered first an unspoken prayer. *God, keep these ships and these crews well. And don't let that ugly evil bastard figure out what we're really up to.* Then came his reply.  "Good, Captain Sulu. Just so long as they seek to keep clear of the other paths."

Aboard Excelsior, renamed since the loss of the initial ship under Adam Styles, the like-named Paul Stiles watched his group perform flawlessly. An ensign at navigation, as green and over-eager as Stiles himself had ever been, grinned as the path neared completion.  "When he's gone, I guess this fleet will be the ultimate power in the universe, eh, Captain?"

Angela Martine chided the ensign.  "Suggest you stay on target, Mister."

Checking the paths of the prior Stargazer Group on a mini-display, Stiles saw the ships complete their helix arcs around the mountainous beast, at times almost tracing the torso like a child learning to draw. His own group worked slightly further out, straight up and down from head to toe and tails.  "Angela, I think we two little rejects may have just hit redemption day. He still thinks he's just being blasted at by another useless fleet."

But as Martine formed an answer, likely a quip, the gold head suddenly sextupled its gravimetric output. Excelsior and several other ships were anything but ready for such a jump. The ship didn't rock, though. If anything, it almost seemed to glide. Angela was quick to find out why. "Paul, we have saucer separation!"

Stiles felt sick to his stomach, and for good reason. He'd almost felt that choosing the right side made him invulnerable. It had not.  "But this ship doesn't have that capability."

Excelsior had completed its task, but this was forgotten by every other ship as the heart-rending sight of the saucer section, like a cleaved head still seeking its decapitator, crashed into Ghidorah's single Mecha-Horn, turning to what may as well have been balsa wood as it went.

 Kirk did more than watch, but this was to be of no help.  "Excelsior Group! Get back from the Shepherd Leader's Hull and nacelles. Break Formation NOW!!!"

Yet as President Kirk must have surely known, the tight formation the plan called for was now the Group's wholesale undoing. The long nacelles of Excelsior, once compared to the fins certain ancient combustion vehicles sported, were welded into place by molecular technology, almost one molecule at a time. Yet now they shook and shimmied like they were part of a plastic child's toy. Three Soyuz-class that had flown in to try and aid the great ship before its loss was total were bludgeoned apart by those same nacelles. Their explosion took three others in turn.

The worst was yet to come. Another of the Excelsior-Class ships, renamed USS Sadat, felt itself drawn as though by a huge tractor beam.   "Captain, that's not any ship pulling us in!"

Aboard, the crew realized that Ghidorah had inverted its gravimetric assault, drawing them closer to the gold head.  "Sir, should I send a message to Enterprise by secure frequency?"

The Captain, a man who would now never be permitted to make his mark, fought off the urge to simply yell at the mustered-forward former cadet. "Tell me, crewman. Exactly who is left in this galaxy to secure messages from?"

The effect on their bodies was like that of a gigantic roller coaster, nearing its apex. But there was no fun in this, only terror, and the descent was one that led straight into hell. But the ship never entered the golden head's gaping maw. It lingered for a moment, while massive fire from Enterprise failed to break Ghidorah's beam. The Captain stared out, and then he knew.  "We're a god-damned dart!"

His words proved painfully accurate as the grav-beams altered yet again, firing Sadat forward at nearly sub-light. As it ripped to pieces, the other ships in the group didn't stand a chance. The very smallest fragments hit like neutronium rain, splitting the stoutest shields in ten, and imploding the ships behind them. On Enterprise, Uhura removed her ear-piece, the comm-talk of the dying being nigh-unbearable.  "Paul, Angela...all those people."

Spock had the tally in a heartbeat. In any other battle, such a loss would cause even Klingons to withdraw.  "Thirty-Nine ships completely gone, Captain. Estimating lives lost at nearly eleven thousand. Excelsior Group is lost."

One group, destroyed. More people dead than in any other single encounter Jim could recall, outside of the legends about Ghidorah. All this, and they were only on their first wave.  "Nyta, tell the other groups to resume the attack. There can be no pause. We still have our mission, and Excelsior did their job."

His features hardened for the fortieth time in as many minutes.  "We'll grieve later."

 EARTH, PARIS, UFP SUPREME HQ

As they materialized, the youngest among them asked the eldest a pointed question via telepathy.  *Peter, why am I here? I tried to kill myself. So why do you trust me?*

*Demora, because the genetic link between yourself and your father is so pronounced, you felt the Madness first. It kind of doubled up between you two, and you had no training as how to cope. Now you do.*

John Leonard Harris, McCoy's grandson, spoke next. *Saavik detected her breakdown. Why didn't the both of you detect poor Commander Decker's?*

Jessa Preston, Scotty's oft-recalcitrant niece, seconded this.  *Aye, that's one I have, as well. And why do ye speak of madness as a separate entity from all this general chaos?*

Peter Preston was in a rare position to give his sister an almost full answer.  *Cissy, I don't think Mister Decker was insane. I think he just made a choice, sad though it was. I saw him walking with a man I later learned to be his dead father, yet he looked like no spook or spectre. But its true. Why all this talk of madness in such a way?*

 They were nearly done, so Saavik finished up.  *You have all seen it. Andorians and Tellarites who held back from battles and who hoarded vital starships like misers. Romulans whose schemes were blood-simple, not the labyrnithe ones we've known. Klingons who let a foe stay within their home sector. Council members ever more insistent on privelege as all fell away. Starfleet's genocide of the Orion Presidium. And the worst is yet to come. You alone shall be immune.*

The transport was done, and David Marcus was the first to look around. His jaw dropped.  "Big brother? We got trouble!"

Peter Kirk had felt the tenor and tone of the thoughts emanating from Earth. He had braced himself for rioting. For viewing the aftermath of the reign of the cloned 20th Century madman. He had not prepared himself for what he now saw.

"V*Gh-Day?"  The banners were everywhere. The vid-screens all played the edited footage ad infinitum. "Peter-Kam? Is that us blasting at the monster? But we have yet to face him side by side in such a manner."

*GHIDORAH DEAD*, was the tagline that the small group saw. Peter shook his head.  "Vulcans, Saavik-kam, denied that there was a threat. A very Vulcan thing to do. Terrans are telling themselves the threat is over when its not. Not by a longshot."

"A very Human thing to do", replied David, without an ounce of humor in his voice.

Peter bit his lip.  "A man named Alexander Harris once told me I was too perfect to allow for human failings. Well, I'm not perfect. And I'm not going to allow for this failing. Someone call in the press."

Jessa looked about, and stared in surprise.  "Commander--there's no need for that. Those desert pigeons have already found us."

They were then surrounded by more reporters than were allowed for by common sense, Hawkingese Physics, Horatio's Philosophies and several laws of probability. One asked Peter a question without preamble. "Commander Kirk--how does it feel to have saved the universe?"

Peter looked at his friends, trying to draw unseen power to match the energies he wielded. But nerve was plainly on the side of the fourth estate.  "Ask my father and his crew. I have yet to accomplish such a thing. Ghidorah is still very much alive."

While murmurs went up among the throng of press, Demora fulfilled her promise and contacted her father mentally. Captain Sulu winced from the imagery, his own battles aside.  *Honey? Just how many reporters are there?* She looked and scanned about.  *All Of Them,  I Think.*

? A statement that was made only partway in jest, as the questions now came in a tidal wave.

"Commander Kirk--why aren't you with the Fleet?"

"Commander Kirk---do you doubt you father's ability to deal with Ghidorah?"

"Why is the battle being waged so close to Earth?"

"In what timeframe does your father plan to call for new elections?"

"What about the refugees?"

"What really happened to Berengaria system?"

"Just when will Starfleet Academy reopen?"

"Why did you operate in secret instead of exposing The Order?"

"How can any bipedal sentient wield such power as yours?"

"If the Council insists that you surrender this power, how would you go about choosing which Councillor received it?"

Peter's pupils turned green, and his hair took on a now-familiar illusion of gold, as energy spiked through it. "This power was not granted me by any Council. And where are they?"

The reporters only backed off a little, until Saavik followed suit and powered up. One finally answered.  "They--they evacuated to Luna."

David shrugged.  "What about the other eight billion or so people? What do they do, hold their breath when this planet breaks up?"

 One of the bolder reporters had pulled back a good ten feet, but she answered.  "But Doctor Marcus, everyone knows your father will beat Ghidorah. He's Captain Kirk. No matter how powerful the Ancient Destroyer is, if he's fighting James T. Kirk, he loses. I mean, he's always found a way in the past."

Peter sighed, and gestured at Demora Sulu.  "Demora, they need a demonstration. A radical demonstration of just how dire our current situation is. Do you see it?"

The little girl nodded.  "Yup. Toothpicks?"

Saavik nodded.  "Indeed. Toothpicks."

Demora moved the crowd away gently, and stared at a Paris landmark. "Toothpicks."  In the late Nineteenth Century, a construct of steel and girders had gone up in the City Of Lights. Parisians proclaimed it a hideous eyesore, and only its potential use as a radio tower saved it from the scrapheap. In time, of course, it came to roughly define Paris. All the child did was push forward with an open palm. No one was inside the structure. David had quietly made certain of that. But all present, save for the young heroes, screamed as if they had been atop it.

*Toothpicks* proved to be an accurate term. For when the directed blast was done, only metal shavings the size of such picks remained where once stood the Eiffel Tower. Demora turned and looked at the reporters. She pointed to one of her older friends.  "This is John Harris. Dr. McCoy's his granpa. His power is ten times mine."

John said one cryptic word, just as Demora had done before him. "Chiefs."  On the North American continent, they watched in stunned silence as the carvings came down from The Dakotas. Through the air they flew, and most viewed it all as another sure sign of the Apocalypse. In fact, it was part of a frantic attempt to stave that off. John Harris showed more strain than Demora, but what the people saw made it worthwhile.

"In this order, folks. Twenty-Six, Sixteen, Three, One."  In the name of the love of life and the living, a labor of pure love and true patriotism was demolished in a heartbeat, to wake up a complacent world before the end came.  "Roosevelt."  "Lincoln." "Jefferson." "Washington."  The faces of Mount Rushmore were atomized, their great hewn weights popping like lead balloons.

John looked at Peter Preston. "This is Scotty's nephew. His power and mine are about equal. But his sister Jessa? Well, her power is twenty times that of myself, her brother, and Demora. That's a combined figure, by the by."

Jessa Preston raised a single finger. "Seven. And I dinnae mean the deadly sins or that depressing old vid I found in library."

Peter Preston whispered to the man of the same first name. "Pete, what was the big deal about this vid? She won't let me watch it."

Kirk almost welcomed the distraction. "Nothing, Pete. Like our three-headed friend, it was just about another killer who crowed about their cleverness, yet remained merely another killer, and who met a killer's end, after killing many people horribly, and that's what killers do. Whether they are programmed to or use obscure literary passages for guidance, they kill and then they are killed. End of story."

But Jessa's story was yet to finish, as her seven arrived. They were like the find from the ultimate treasure hunt, and they filled the very sky all around the dumbstruck crowds, watching and present.  "Those great slabs you see were once the roof gardens of Babylon. The rotted stone pillar once used its light to guide ships into the port of Alexandria, Egypt. The two largish statues are painstaking 22nd Century reproductions of ancient tributes to Zeus and Apollo. The grim ornate building is the first great mausoleum. The bright happy one is to the Goddess Diana. Sure'n these are six of the seven wonders of the world."

Roughly ten greater shadows stood above the rest, all monuments to ingenuity and brutality in equal parts. Like perfect 3-D triangles, they hovered as though in a pharoah's dream.  "These beauties are the seventh. But no longer."

The objects swirled in the sky, kicking up terrific winds as they went, and being drawn together by an anger that had seen what The Order had done to her Scotland. At last, they collided, centrifugal force drawing them into tighter and tighter arcs. Within five minutes, a hyper-dense ball no larger than one used for bowling hit the ground and caused a small shockwave. Jessa then psychokinetically ground the ball to powder. "Tis but a dog and pony show. Doctor David Marcus' power is forty times my own, even when combined with the others ye have seen."

Marcus played his role. "Wall."

Above them, instantly this time, the gasping crowds saw a wall--1500 miles in length. It had never kept out Mongol invaders. But it was the next to last stop on Peter Kirk's brash plan to prevent another needless tragedy like Vulcan's. David spoke again.  "Sand."

Though Jessa's load had been heavier, David's had been transported instantly, and quite intact. But a shower of pulverized brick and mortar put a quick stop to that. David also continued the mantra.  "Peter and Saavik's power is a thousand times my own--yes, combined, etc."

To eliminate the last shreds of doubt, they who were the Rock raised up twin waterspouts behind them. Wife, then husband, spoke.  "Atlantic." "Pacific."

The waterspout's were thousands of kilometers wide and long, and soon the incredible news was confirmed. The world's two largest oceans were bone-dry. Yet just as quickly, the water was replaced, and Saavik spoke once more.  "Ghidorah possesses power over a hundred times our own. You must evacuate."

The thoughts of staying changed to thoughts of flight. Peter almost smiled. But in the sky, something was wrong. A man cried out as Earth's natural satellite was cut apart by a beam from behind it. He was soon joined by billions.  "PLEASE! You've made your point. But there are people on the moon!"

Peter Kirk felt his heart grow very cold.  "Its not me. Its not us."

As self-serving politicians and those who in turn served them died screaming for help and then for relief, chunks of Luna fell into a gaping, spiked maw. The power of the Enterprise's young people kept Terra steady. But in that Hell-Maw appeared the beginnings of another murderous beam. Peter Preston confirmed the savagely obvious.

"Its Doomsday."

Next- Chapter Twenty-Eight A- In A War With The Darkest Powers