"I am by nature not a glory-hound. King Ghidorah is simply another sentient being of aggressive bent. Our job is to capture him for study. His fate will not be the fate of the Sodiavore Of M113. His will not be the fate of countless species wiped away by the so-called Cowboy Explorer. We'll find out what makes him tick, and maybe even make a solid citizen out of him. After all, weren't we on the verge of peace with Q'onos, before the untimely destruction of The Klingon Empire? The creature showed it was intelligent by defending itself against a horrific attack. Certain Captains may view Ghidorah as some sort of phallic challenge. I do not."

With that, the man who viewed himself as one of a handful of true Starfleet professionals sat down in his center seat.

"Captain's Log : Twelve Excelsior-Class ships strong, this Group now proceeds out of our solar system, and will soon thereafter attain cruising speeds unguessable to relics like the Constitution Class. We'll have Ghidorah strapped to the hood quicker than old JTK can fire off a shot. As instructed, this group is ignoring all orders, save those from the Science And Exploration Committee. Because the creature we strap to our Hood will be a living creature. Imagine the looks on people's faces when we bring the dreaded Ancient Destroyer itself back home to Earth. Best of all, it is my own son and namesake who will operate the tractor beams specially designed to capture our subject. It will be he, and not some Admiral-killing terrorist, who forms the crux of the next group of up-and-comers. Starfleet will be reborn, xenophobes and maniacs both shoved aside--largely by my hand. I'll capture the god of one group, and the latest boogeyman wielded by the other. Styles, Commanding Excelsior Group--Out."

He beamed as he looked over his of-course spotless Bridge. His son tried to catch his eye. Adam had something to tell his absentee father, but for two months had no luck in finding five minutes alone. For most people, it would not have been real news. Then there was Captain Styles.

"Captain--a moment of your time?"

Styles nodded at John Harriman, his hand-chosen First Officer. The man was perfect in his eyes. No obscenely high score tests. No bucking of authority. Just a man who would do exactly what he was told. An officer for a new era--not a rebel rouser, like Kirk. A seeker of the Admiral's comfortable seat, not the siege perilous.*

"Of course, Johnny. Anything for the man who keeps this ship up for me. Are all systems up and ready?"

"Ummm...yes, sir. I have Mister...Tues from Engineering on rechecking all that, just to be sure. Should have his report soon."

"Fine, fine. Now, what's your concern?"

"Well, sir--the Captains of the other ships are calling in. The Andrea Doria, The Lusitania, The Titan, The Valiant, The Minnow, The Intrepid---and they all question the names they've been given. Something about bad luck, sir."

Styles raised his index finger, and shook it in the air.

"That, Mister Harriman, is exactly the sort of thinking this mission is set to put paid to. Kirk and his ilk believed in luck. They are the past. We believe in skill. So, XO, I dare the demons of bad luck to come and get us. But they will fail--because they don't exist. Permission to change names denied."

As the ships arced past Pluto, a planetary debris field was seen. Styles pointed out at the screen.

"Take note, people. We used to have a tenth planet here. But a certain terrorist named Peter Claudius Kirk decided to destroy this place, not long after taking the law into his own hands at Admiralty Hall."

The Comm Officer, silent until now, spoke up in disgust.

"I don't care if he took the whole solar system with him, so long as the Hall went down. Peter Kirk is a hero."

Styles turned like a shot.

"Miss, are you aware that Kirk and his wife killed over 10,000 fellow cadets? Many in recognized positions of authority."

She would not relent.

"As far as I'm concerned, Cadet-Masters burn one ring above the Admiralty. And if my daughter turns out to be one-tenth the woman Saavik Kirk is, I can then die very happy."

"Then I suggest you get off my Bridge. No--make that off my ship. Harriman, make her Paul Stiles' problem."

Offering no objection, the Comm Officer was quickly lead away. Others stared at this spectacle, wondering if they shouldn't follow suit.

"Sir--A News Alert, all frequencies. Respond?"

Styles regained his foppy composure.

"Of course. We must remain abreast of things, as they develop. The news determines the future. And the future is where we all going to spend the rest of our lives."

Making damned sure to whisper under his breath, the replacement Comm Officer gave his opinion.

"A simple yes would have sufficed."

The news came on, and Styles grinned like a jackal. Whatever it was, it would serve him and him alone. This was his time. The age of relics was done.

"Dad?"

"Propriety, Adam. Back to your post."

Adam Styles, Junior, lost his patience, then and there. He didn't know if his news would truly upset his father, but he now intended to find a way to make it do just that. Big time.

The news played.

"Our stringers have obtained this dramatic footage, taken from the shuttlebay of The USS Enterprise. The grayish equine creature is one of King Ghidorah's so-called 'local' forms, used by the monster to overcome the limitations of its enormous size. The glowing, floating human before him is identified as Peter Kirk, son of Captain James T. Kirk. Apparently, our researchers have uncovered prophecies concerning both Kirk's son and his adopted daughter, the half-Vulcan Saavik, who was recently revealed to be the daughter by blood of Ambassador Spock. Now watch as our slow-mo player shows this unbelievable battle play out."

Except for Captain Styles and Harriman, all gasped as the young human pulled back his fist and belted the 30-Meter beast directly through the shuttlebay exit, cutting the monster to pieces.

"My God...."

"What is he...."

"Did he just punch The Anc...."

"Ghidorah is real?"

"THAT was a 'local' version?"

"No wonder the Klingons couldn't..."

"The Prophecy Of The Rock."

Styles looked around, and he knew. Many of them were recent Academy graduates, and so automatically thought well of the Hall's bomber. But now? He would be nothing in their eyes. Nothing at all. Within an hour, his crew would be swapped out with sycophants and know-nothings from the other eleven ships. He at last had the crew he deserved. But before all that happened, Adam, Jr., had both his moment to reveal himself and pay back his father's neglect.

"So that's Kirk's son? And he's married?"

Adam, Jr, looked directly at Adam, Sr.

"Too bad. He's kind of hot."

And in the melee that followed, the officer of a new era revealed attitudes very reminiscent of much earlier eras.

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*Rabble Rouser and JK forgive me :) -- Rob