In the later part of the 22nd Century, Henry Kirk and his wife Lorraine exposed the most incredible secret of the age, the existence of our solar system's tenth world : Planet X.

The two agents for the then-benign Section 31 attempted to report this secret to their superiors, back on Earth. But among those superiors were the very people who hid this world from view in dark and sinister ways. The Order Of The Ancient Destroyer ordered their small ship driven into the deadly gravity well of Jupiter, along with their infant second son, George Samuel Kirk.

Yet somehow, George mastered the gravity and energy storms, surviving to become a living over-man. With the aid of his older brother William and reporter Winona O'Reilly, he fights an unending war against The Order, bigoted servants of the demonic King Ghidorah.

It is a struggle he is destined to fail.

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2220, Starfleet Academy

The woman covered her face as she left the chapel. The flashes were bright, a deliberate and obnoxious reminder of a time when such things were necessary.

"Please! This phase of the wedding ceremony may not be recorded!"

The stern-faced younger woman pointed, her eyes lit up with the fire of the zealot.

"Cow! Does your family know you're marrying an animal?"

The bride's Andorian groom looked about.

"Who informed you provincials that a wedding was to take place, here?"

A man stepped forward, looking just as zealous as the girl-woman.

"This place is a known gathering hole for the legalized bestiality you aliens practice. Know that your images will be placed on scanvid, so your unholy union will know no peace."

Baraz, the Andorian groom, nodded.

"Because your bigots will shadow us, in that way. I've heard of this tactic. My dear--let's leave, to begin our new lives."

As they went, more hateful shouts were heard.

"Miscegenator! The Cleansing shall come!"

"Beast-Lover! He of six eyes sees your sin!"

"Let a real man place his seed in you!"

A voice came from behind them.

"A real man. Oh, I don't know. Will I do?"

Wearing the standard red-and-blue uniform of the Starfleet cadets and officers of that time and place, George Kirk was standing behind them. A tall, moderately built man with an expressive face and slicked-back dark hair. He looked the crowd of picture-taking bigots over like they were ants.

"I have an interesting proposal. Before you people go quoting the First Guarantee's Right to Free Expression, how about we all abide by the Forty-Fifth Guarantee of a  Right To Privacy?"

The same young woman walked right up to him.

"The Order will not yield to the strong-arm tactics of jack-booted Starfleet thugs! Go and move against us, by yourself or with an army! The whole shame will be recorded, along with the names and faces of those men and women who reject their humanity and choose instead to rut with descendants of the beasts of the field!"   George was in a quandary. He could easily move them away, and dispel the most telling evidence of how he had done it. But the courts had, sadly, decided that they had this right of protest, an odd interpretation of the First Guarantee. But he could not allow them to continue harassing mixed couples in this manner. He realized he could not remove them. He realized with an inner smile that he didn't have to. Moving at speeds no camera or eye could catch, he won the day by raising neither fist nor 'jack-boot'.

"All right, then. You have the right to expose the people you don't care for to scrutiny, I suppose. I just object to your extreme method of calling attention to yourselves. I know this is the 23rd Century, and that you're proud of your humanity. But have some small measure of basic dignity."

The angry woman shook her head. Something else shook with it.

"What are you babbling about?"

Slowly, she looked down. So did all the Order-members. After this day, the public activities of The Order would yield to more covert ones. For this day, everything was exposed as a smiling George sped away with a large laundry bag. Hands darted over sensitive areas, and 'Your Filth Will Be Cleansed' gave way to a far more understandable cry.

"Where Are Our Clothes?"

As the years went by, and the true depths of the Order's evil came to be known, days like this would briefly brighten the memories of what would come to be the rather grim life of adventurer George Kirk.