Chapter One - The Hero Of Admiralty HallHe imagined her flesh pressed against his, then let the memory go. In order to complete their studies and not give their enemies a disciplinary excuse, Peter and his beloved Saavik were spending the remainder of their 'Junior' year apart. The coming year was too crucial to Sarek's long-term plans for them to be expelled for a kiss.
Accepting that there would be pain, they had walked away some weeks ago, seemingly accepting the Academy's hyper-antiquated policy of 'In Loco Parentis'. Both sides in this war knew otherwise, but appearances needed to be kept.
Another level of pain came for the seated Peter---no, Richard, he reminded himself--when Grand Admiral Brock Cartwright began to make a droning speech to the returning cadets. The man was truly evil incarnate, this he knew. But Brock was also a deadly boring man to listen to, when hate rhetoric was not part of his speech.
"So live out these wonderful days, for they will not come again. You are the future of Starfleet, except for those of you that aren't. Some of you will serve here on Earth, while others will be forced to seek space and its mysteries. Although I'm told that some people may in fact have joined Starfleet for that reason."
Peter heard Cadet Francis M. Burns mutter at this.
"What a ferret-faced geek."
Cartwright continued, as if anything could stop him.
"Now, I will introduce to you your hard-working Cadet Review Chairperson, Admiral Teresa Buns."
He added quickly.
"Buns--on! Its Bunson. Er, she who has taken a very personal interest in all of your careers."
If anyone had been free to speak their minds on this statement, that retort would have gone as follows.
"Ohhhhh---Brother!"
While humorous, this hypothetical retort would have been gallows' humor. No one was fond of Teresa Bunson's personal attention. Especially not Peter, who at 13 had suffered rape and a broken jaw from an assault by the older woman. But Cartwright, Admiralty Hall, and The Order Of The Ancient Destroyer liked her very well indeed. Until this day.
"Brock---people will talk. They'll think that I put my hands on your shoulders--like this."
As she did so, Cartwright grew nervous. She was a fabulous lover once she got frothed up from savaging her young charges, but her public persona was usually very staid and very proper.
"Teresa--what ARE you doing?"
In a flash, he found out, as her hands went from his shoulders to his throat. One Admiral was strangling another. She sang as she cut off his air. Cartwright's eyes began to bug out.
"You don't remember me...but I remember you...twas not so long ago.. you broke my heart in two...Tears On My Pillow...Pain In My Heart...caused by yoooooooouuuu!!!"
For Peter Kirk, it seemed a dream come true. The most brutal of his many rapists that horrible night was slowly killing the man who, while he had never used Peter, had taken unholy pleasure in beating the young boy to a pulp. This, while the others had at him. But reality came around.
Cartwright was a monster, but his death would destabilize The Order, and that would not necessarily turn out to be a good thing. Unified, the target was harder but had a definite location and structure. So while the thuggish security guards and preening Cadet Masters stood dumbly, figuring out what to do, Peter moved onto the podium in a heartbeat. Using his own disgust as an advantage in this case, he merely shoved Bunson away from Cartwright, holding out his opened palm as a guard against further attack.
In truth, Peter had backed this empty gesture up with a subtle use of his telekinesis, just enough to ensure The Grand Admiral's miserable life. Bunson, realizing her position, still just smiled, and sang yet again.
"Ti-iiiii-ime Is On My Side, Yes It Is...."
She then collapsed, and guards with phaser rifles quickly surrounded her fallen form. Cartwright stood angry and disgusted. A valued ally had tried to kill him, those charged to protect him had not, and the worst enemy he had excluding Peter's father Jim had saved him in public. He silenced the PA system.
"Take her into custody. Find out why she did this."
Ignoring decorum, and fully realizing that Bunson's arrest could also precipitate chaos, Peter Kirk let his stomach do backflips yet again.
"It wasn't her fault. She was possessed, Admiral. I couldn't scan her thoughts, til just now. And No---I didn't do this."
Bunson's now-stunned look was the same one Cartwright often saw after she went on a good drunken bender, so Kirk's story fit, no matter how much it pained him to admit this.
"Listen up, punk. I can't arrest you as I'd like. Sarek likely has some surprises if I do. You can't kill me, because I'm the enemy you know. But this force unknown wanted me dead and Teresa blamed. Are you up for some busywork?"
Peter knew without telepathic scan what it was Cartwright truly wanted from him. He recalled Churchill's words about dealing with Josef Stalin. They were of no comfort at all.
"I'm only a Cadet, Sir. I'll do as The Admiral commands."
If it was a trap, Peter had to trip it. If it wasn't, he needed to keep The Admiralty around, so their less stable designated heirs would not move into power, almost certainly to be followed by a bloody, species-based coup d'etat.
Cartwright was also disgusted, but he had a good idea of just who was after him, and knew that only this young man might keep him and his fellows alive for the moment. He turned the PA back on.
"Some---entity---just possessed Admiral Bunson. Only the quick actions of one fierce Cadet saved my life and Teresa's career. So I am now proud to present to you Cadet Richard Grayson, new Security Chief For Admiralty Hall and Leader Of All The Academy's Cadet-Masters. We've had our eye on you for a while now, Richard. Welcome Aboard!"
Peter felt the flesh crawl off of his hand as Cartwright shook it. For though it was for the sake of the larger, more valuable goal of wiping away The Order and all its many tentacles in one fell swoop, Peter couldn't help but think of these few words.
"I've Joined The Enemy!"
Chapter Two - Agent Of The OrderInstructing the self-important Cadet Masters on proper Security procedure was ten times more difficult and thankless than Peter had thought it would be.
"And while you're blasting away at the perimeter, the assassin has already killed The Admiral--possibly more than one."
The recalcitrant former First among the Cadet-Masters got in Peter's face.
"With all respect, Cadet Grayson, I just said that I blew a large hole in our assassin's chest. He's--a deader."
Peter would never get used to being called 'Richard Grayson'. Supposedly, he was a young relative of Lady Amanda Grayson, wife of Ambassador Sarek. With the exception of the perpetrating Admiralty and Jim Kirk's circle of friends and family, the galaxy at large believed that Peter Kirk had died in 2268.
"Cadet, how many bipedal species can survive having holes blown in their chests?"
No backing off was observed.
"I wouldn't know, SIR! I say---study Humanity."
A chant went up at that.
"Humanity! Humanity! Humanity!"
Peter caused energies to visibly well up in his hand. He placed it to the former First, shoving him well back in a heartbeat.
"The answer, Cadets, is 247. Not to mention those races that can be easily
enhanced to deal with such wounding."The fallen cadet tried one last time.
"Then I'd just vaporize the alien scumball entirely--sir."
Peter countered him yet again.
"Suppose he's a self-teleporter? Only made you think you atomized him?"
"There are no self-teleporters."
Smiling, Peter placed his two forefingers on his own head, and then simply vanished, appearing again behind the cadet, whose sidearm he seized. Peter put it up to the fool's nose.
"That you know of. Read and learn, Cadet. You all talk so blithely of this species war to come. But you know nothing of your enemies. You don't even know enough to keep yourselves alive. How will you protect the Admiralty?"
Remembering Uncle Jim's recollections of The Mirror Universe, Peter almost threw his would-be challenger down, before turning back to his class of unwillings.
"You Are Dismissed."
Peter felt his privates shrivel when a familiar voice followed his.
"Thank You, Cadet-Master Grayson. We hadn't realized how truly inadequate their training was, until now. You all are required to read and memorize those things Cadet-Master Grayson described. Failure to pass his next quiz will result in review, decertification, and expulsion. Now, get to it!"
When they had all mustered out, she turned and looked at Cadet-Master Grayson.
"You do good work."
Her smile was not a phony one, but one born of confidence that they had chosen the right man for the job. This only unnerved Peter Kirk more.
"Thank You, Admiral Bunson."
Without looking back, he assumed his job for that day---personal coverage of the security of a certain Admiral. For two months, he had rotated which one he was personally overseeing, the better to throw their mystery assassin off. But two Admirals, known to oversee treaties and alliances, had been killed just outside of Starfleet HQ. One more had only been stopped with Peter's direct intervention, with the cost being the life of a possessed security guard he was forced to kill. But once the Admiral in question was secure, the taunting assassin merely possessed another guard long enough to sing its now-trademark diddy of obscure origin.
"Tiiiiiime----Is On My Side, Yes It Is....."
Today, his chosen protected was one of what he called 'The Crowd'. Not by face, but by scent--Peter knew this was one of his attackers, on that long-ago night.
"Have you checked--everything?"
Peter felt that the man was an utter coward, and this surprised him not at all. But his next words did.
"Look, Peter is it? All that old business is done, right? That's what this alliance is about. I mean, I'm glad we're all on the same side, now. When the time comes, any information you have about Lord Ghidorah, you pass on to me. Brock worships him just a little too hard to see clearly, sometimes."
The man was friendly, avuncular, and had no clue whatsoever. Peter decided he had given enough clues, that particular day.
"Let's just stop the assassin first, sir."
A young man walked up, sheet in hand. Peter stepped in front of his charge.
"Stand away, Cadet. The Admiral is off-limits. You can speak from here."
The kid's thoughts were fairly gushing, but that was not at all unusual. The Cadet-Masters worshipped the older bigots in a nearly obscene manner. And that was only their figurative worship.
"But sirs---I've added new verses to 'The Cleansed Universe'."
The Admiral smiled, and pushed Peter aside.
"I rather doubt the holy song needs any more verses, Cadet. But I will be damned before I'll frustrate young talent."
Truer words.
"Yes, sir. They go like this----"
Twin pincers formed from the Cadet's hands had already bisected the unfortunate Admiral, whose top half fell off cleanly.
"Tiiiiime Is On My Siiiide---Yes It Is...Tiiime Is On My.....Oooooff!!"
Peter tackled the Cadet, and surrounded them both with a telekinetic field.
"You're not escaping."
The Cadet smiled.
"Neither are you."
Peter felt something force its way into his mouth, and lungs, and make primal contact with his very mind. That was the assassin's mistake.
"AAAAAAAARRRRGGGGGHHH!!!"
An amorphous, somewhat gelatinous mass oozed out of an exhausted Peter, having gained a small, hellish taste of what sharing a soul with King Ghidorah really felt like.
"Damn you, Kirk. Cartwright and his ilk did at least as much to you as they did to me. Why protect them?"
Not truly seeking an answer, the blob left the complex entirely, not to be seen again for a full week. In Cartwright's office later, Peter heard more stunning words.
"Security in that region of The Hall--was turned off?"
Cartwright nodded.
"Peter, you must have noted that Carlmann was not the brightest of fellows. We wanted to draw our enemy out--and then in. An acceptable sacrifice. You were doing your job too well, Cadet-Master Grayson. We needed a lead. As soon as we identify what species he is----"
Peter cut his alleged Supreme Commander off.
"He---subjective term---was a Founder. A shapeshifting race that once ran an immense Gamma Quadrant power known as The Dominion."
Cartwright shook his head.
"You said once. What happened to them?"
Despite propriety, Peter just shook his head and walked away.
"Teresa--what is he hiding from-----"
Sighing, Bunson whispered to him.
"Ohhhhh. Well, that makes sense. But why didn't he just say that? I mean, John Gill was the details man. I'm a Big Picture kind of man."
"Brock---there's an added complication. We believe our assassin's trail leads to Tantalus Five Penal Colony. We think his first victim might have been Admiral Garth Of Izar."
"Who do we have that's interrogated poor Garth?"
"No one--who's still alive."
At his now-single dormitory room, Peter received a call.
"Peter-Kam---I Have secured use of Uncle Jim's apartment. Care to join me?"
Numb inside from carrying out his deal to the best of his abilities, Peter shook his head.
"Saavikkam----I need to take a long shower, alone. Right now--I'm feeling this awful, awful stench and grime. I'm not sure I can get it off of me. Ever."
Chapter Three - Cadet-Master Peter KirkMost days, he would walk into work, and barely take note of it all. The lower-level Cadet-Masters were always happy to see him, feeling both more competent and safer while their leader was about. He always passed by Brock's office, and was amused by the befuddled look on his face as Terry explained the events of the day to him. He then received his report, and took note of incidents that were likely more than what they seemed.
"Check the first three personally. But the next five grids, do a passive sensor scan only. We'll let our friend believe that we are less than completely vigilant."
"Yes, Cadet-Master Grayson. Thank You, sir. With you leading the pack, we'll catch that alien monster yet."
It was then that Cadet-Master 1st Class Richard Grayson, aka Peter Kirk, felt it hit him between the eyes. He was in damned Admiralty Hall, surrounded by the forces of hate and avarice. But he wasn't a prisoner, this time. No, now he was merely a stinking collaborator.
It had become so easy, over the course of those four months, to see the crazed Ghidoran zealot Cartwright as Brock, a man with a powerful and clear vision, even if he was not a detail man. When Bunson nodded and smiled at him, or batted her eyes, the sick pedophile became Teresa, efficient and quite striking Chief Of Staff to the CIC. As for the other Cadet-Masters---they were his troops. He was their commander, and he would see to their lives as well as Jim Kirk saw to any member of his crew.
Peter felt surely he was losing his mind, and perhaps his soul, as well.
"God In Heaven, You God Of ShaKaRee, and of so many other names, show me that I am doing the right thing. I am lost and alone."
For Cartwright was a fascist, bigoted madman. For Bunson was sick, and evil, and enjoyed exploiting the Cadets, as well as showing others the joys of doing so. His troops were not worthy of breathing the same cosmic ether as Jim's crew. How many Cadets--alien and terranoid—had vanished in the night with their help? Unlike Peter---they never came back.
"Is this how this madness has been perpetuated? Is it that easy to forget?"
He stared down at his nice, clean uniform. It was always cleaned while he slept, every night. When he was just a Cadet, he had cleaned it himself as best he could, and had to live with the results. He just couldn't live with this much longer. Placing his fingers to his head, he vanished, and appeared in Saavik's room. She started when he touched her shoulder.
"Peter-Kam? Can I do something for you?"
He took his index finger, and raised it into the air. Saavik raised hers, and the fingers joined, just as the two had seen Sarek and Amanda do. The gesture was no less tender or special for their youth.
"Saavikkam--you already have."
Back at The Hall, he knew he was there, not as collaborator, but as reluctant ally. Nothing more. In touching his beautiful love, he had seen everything The Order wanted to destroy--and had destroyed, on many occasions. He would destroy them in turn, as he had always promised.
"Cadet-Master Kirk. Report to the office of The CIC."
In Cartwright's office, the Admiral presented Peter to a slender man of roughly middle age.
"Rene', this is the finest chief of Security we've had since you left, Peter Kirk. He's kept that bastard's numbers low, to be certain. Peter, this is Colonel Rene' West. An operative returning to us after a long absence. It was he who kept us apprised of Admiral Osborn's recent--activities."
West nodded, then spoke.
"I was also the last person to interrogate Garth Of Izar. So I also know from shapeshifters, CMFirst. Together, we should be able to move this killer along to his final destination."
With his resolve back, Peter did not shake The Colonel's hand. He would remind himself just who these people around him were.
"Thank You, Colonel. Admiral--I have other business, as you might imagine."
When Peter was gone, West turned to Cartwright.
"You think you have him. You're wrong. Even brainwashed, I think he would remember what all of you did to him."
Cartwright shook his head.
"Rene'---you're wrong. Peter is now one of us. I think the fact that he's here doing a damned good job of protecting our lives demonstrates that."
"Brock--trust me. All of you went after that boy. When you hurt someone like that--they will remember it forever"
With those cryptic words. 'Colonel West' left and entered his private room. Morphing his hand into a small axe, he tore out wiring from Central Region Security. The odd being then sang a familiar song.
"Tiiiiime---Is One My Side!"
Chapter Four - In His Three-Headed Majesty's Secret Service
That Colonel West knew his work was beyond dispute. To Peter's great shock, the older man merely improved on the groundwork he had laid without comment.
"Its all good work, Peter. But too much of it relies upon those Order-bred idiots doing their job."
"Aren't you of The Order, Colonel?"
"No. I am a patriot for Earth. I don't see the death of other species as necessary or desirable. But Ghidorah is coming, Order or no. Common sense dictates that we be ready to help Earth survive, first and foremost."
His words were not just window-dressing, either. Peter saw that no slogans left this man's lips. When he spoke of the assassin, the word 'alien' was not used. This somewhat thoughtful man only contributed to Peter's moral confusion. But he wouldn't do so for long. A mere three weeks after Colonel West's joining them, a small container of ashen material was mailed to Cartwright.
"West was your best bet at survival, Admiral. But now he's gone. Kirk can't help you. Send him away--then wait for me."
Standing together were : Cartwright, the relatively young usurper CIC; Bunson, whose peccadilloes and plain filthy private habits would have made her ascendancy impossible; And finally Bill Komack, who by rights should have succeeded Nogura as CIC. But The Order had co-opted him long ago, by means of extortion and brow beating. This made Peter object.
"Sirs--the three prime targets should not ever be standing together. As your Chief Of Security, I must ask you to disperse."
It was making him sick by turns, protecting the lives of these three. But Sarek had indicated he was doing the correct thing, however much it troubled him.
"Peter---Rene' West was a patriot. He asked that his ashes be spread by we three, over the floor of this Hall. We will honor those wishes. Besides--aren't we safe here, of all places--in the center of our power?"
Cartwright kept calling him Peter, as though the friendship shared by Tomas Cartwright and George Kirk extended through to their son and grandson, respectively. To young Kirk's mind, it most certainly did not. Peter placed his hands to his own forehead.
"As you say, Admiral."
He vanished, which puzzled Komack.
"I thought he only needed to put his forefingers up to teleport."
But that was forgotten as the ashes were spread on the center floor. Now, Bunson puzzled.
"They're forming---words?"
Cartwright choked---because now he knew the identity of the assassin.
TIME---IS ON MY SIDE---YES IT IS!!"
The words formed into a gelatinous blob--with a face. Cartwright tried to keep it back.
"Admiral Garth--please, sir--I've always admired you. We can find a cure."
He was batted away, striking the wall as he fell, hurt but not unconscious. The face sneered.
"You think I'm Garth Of Izar? Wrong, Brock! Really wrong! I am Rene' West."
Bunson tried to get away, but 'West' sliced open the top of her tunic. Her upper breasts were exposed, and although no more flesh was shown than one would see in a plunging neckline dress, the scars atop them gave a good indication of what she had been hiding since a vicious fight with Saavik Kirk. West cackled.
"So--someone finally had the guts to actually do it, eh, Teresa? Oh, to you-- that must have been like castration. Bet your pet surgeon had a time refilling them, eh?"
She tried to remember her training, and found that shock and humiliation actually made that easier to do.
"Why are you doing this, Rene'? We always kept you well. Even tolerated the fact that you never joined The Order."
The West-shifter sneered.
"Ahhh--but not all of you 'tolerated' that. I was sent away, remember? You all said that someone had to fall for letting Peter Kirk escape--even though I was on vacation when that occurred. So what did you do? You gave me to Norman Osborn, the one Admiral and Order-member so corrupt, none of you wanted him around. Do you know what he did to me?"
A phaser that Komack pulled was smashed, along with the hand that wielded it, as West's hand extended out without looking away from Bunson.
"Alright, I'll tell you what he did. He forcibly mind-linked me to that lunatic, Garth Of Izar. Wanted to know his shapeshifting secret. Well, I learned it. Something to do with an extinct entity called Great Link. But---I lost the ability to keep a coherent form. You people deprived me of my body---I'm just returning the favor. Tiiiime---Is On My Side---Yes It Is----Tiiiiime Is On My Side---Yes it Is----"
West lost his balance, and then felt himself seized and upheld by a vast telekinetic force. And now a voice taunted him, in turn.
"You're searching for good times----"
Changing shape constantly, West could neither get to his targets no escape.
"And you wanna be free, but you'll come running back---you'll come running back--you'll come running back to meeee..."
Peter Kirk, who had never left, now reappeared from behind his own telepathic screens.
"I looked up the words, Colonel. Its over, now."
West's non-face pleaded.
"You hate them as much as I do--more. They're monsters!"
Peter saw that he could, with his abilities, cure West's physical incoherency. But short of a total mindwipe, he would still be an effective, skilled operative seeking his targets with deadly precision. As a prisoner, his fate might be just as bad.
"I'm sorry, Colonel--but you have poor timing."
Sadly, Peter gestured, ending forever a tortured life.
Cartwright stood up, gathered himself, and activated a monitor.
"I knew we made the right choice in you. Now, its time."
The relatively large monitor showed five nude, bound female cadets. All were brunette. Three were Vulcans. Peter felt his soul shriek.
"Admiral--what is this about?"
"Why, they were culled, according to your obvious preferences, Peter. We're giving them to you as a means of cementing our relationship. You've shown us what we wanted to see. Now, take the next step and join with Lord Ghidorah. Take the soul-pledge---and join The Order."
He scanned the minds of those present, and saw that they were completely sincere. He had done well for them, and they honestly thought all 'old business' was settled. Like he could forget who he was and everything they had done. Like a brief moment of common cause could erase lifetimes of pain and suffering for so many.
In that moment, Peter Claudius Kirk, the male half of The Rock, realized fully the harsh truth of The Order Of The Ancient Destroyer. More, he realized his mission was not merely the result of slightly differing agendas between himself and The Hall. This was now a fight between pure good and purest evil. This wasn't a cold agent versus colder ones. By offering him other young people to violate while they watched, Peter Kirk found that they had cleared his vision. And in that moment, he declared Holy War on the Ghidorans.
Chapter Five - I Tender My Resignation....
IDAHO
William S. Kirk couldn't believe his eyes. There was his great-nephew Peter, standing in the company of five young, comely, naked brunettes. He felt sorry for Saavik, but was glad that Peter was finally deciding to play the field.
"Uncle Bill--I just teleported myself and these ladies straight out of Admiralty Hall. I have to go back. Get them clothed, and get them home. No---funny stuff."
With that, he vanished, and Bill Kirk shook his head.
"Ever since Nyota Uhura domesticated Jim, this whole family's been going downhill. Ladies--there's clothes in Saavik's room."
One of the three Vulcans stopped in front of Bill, and asked a question, uncaring of her state of dress.
"Sir---are you not pleased that your nephew ended our imprisonment? Does that not speak well of you and your family?"
"Young lady--of course I'm proud of him. But he's been seeing the same girl since he was 13. Neither of them ever look around. Its---odd. I mean, he didn't even gawk at all of you."
"Should he have? Are not he and your niece Thy'la?"
"I've heard them use that term, yes."
"Then for them--there is no one else. If Thy'la are also lovers, then they are as one always."
"Kid---go upstairs and get dressed."
Back at Admiralty Hall, Peter appeared before a fuming High Council.
"Cadet-Master Grayson----"
"SHUT UP!!! We---were not allies. We shared common cause for a brief time. I am not like you, so don't hand me your talk about who's killed who. You are The Enemy. That is all. Goodbye. I'll have my back school-work ready before you can pull anything, rest assured. YOU LOSE--- SIRS!!!"
Cartwright's face showed that only Peter's strength was giving him pause.
"I thought you had grown up."
Bunson's was one of honest disappointment. Perhaps she had entertained thoughts of herself and Peter.
"You just can't leave the past behind, can you?"
Komack was a man bitterly resentful of someone who had the courage to leave that place.
"Peter--when I see you, I see a young man who has pissed away the best opportunity he will ever have."
Peter teleported right behind Komack, and punched him in the jaw.
"Admiral-when I see all of you---"
He whispered in his ear.
"----I See Dead People."
Bunson held a phaser, which Peter turned to steam--superheated steam.
"Oh, please."
"My face!!! You've burned my face off!!"
Before Cartwright could strike him, Peter broke the same arm he had—15 years before. Before leaving entirely, he added a refrain.
"Tiiiime is on my side....."
---------------------------------------------
As per Sarek's standing offer, Peter had the computers at The Vulcan Consulate churn out his homework. No longer working for The Hall, he was expected to have an entire semester's work in one week. That was possible for him, but his motivation was gone. He felt weak, and dirty.
So he beat up on The Admirals--again. What had he truly accomplished? They apparently thought he really was working for them. How dare they feel betrayed?
A message from Bill indicated the ladies were okay. They promised to keep quiet about how they were rescued, and one or two of them even made a pass at the perennial dirty old man. Yet still Peter felt nothing. He had helped the Hall. Knowingly. Every cadet he did not rescue from them would be on him, from here on in. With the semester done, he packed his things. Saavik was waiting, to join him at the transport back to Vulcan.
"Peter-Kam---the transport is late."
"Yeah--I guess it is."
"There is an unused shower station a few hundred meters away."
He knew what she was proposing, and he welcomed it.
"I feel so filthy, Saavik. So--slimy."
"Then let me cleanse you."
An assassin was dead. The hero had learned how bad the villains really were, and the villains had learned nothing at all. But as he kissed his Saavik in private, Peter decided that perhaps some things were best not contemplated.
But even then, The Hall planned and plotted its revenge against an enemy who was now seen also as a traitor.
But that is a story for another day.
THE END