Ancient Destroyer Thread, TOS-AU, G-PG13

[Gojirob]

I have begun to post the Ancient Destroyer story 'The Plague' to alt.startrek.creative . It is an NC-17 story, and so will not be posted here, save for a summary :

Summary : The generational problems of the Kirk family explode, the dead are restive on and above Deneva 3, and the AU events of the episode 'Operation:Annihilate' ensure that no one, especially Peter Kirk, will emerge without deep scars.

I will say that this one earns its rating, even by the standards of other ADU stories. Thank You

 

[Gojirob]

Down Through The Circles

By Rob Morris

“The Powers That Be, That Force Us To Live Like We Do; Bring Me To My Knees; When I See What They’ve Done To You.” – Chrissie Hynde w/ The Pretenders

The Present, 2278

Anticipation had seized the young soul of Saavik Kirk. Anticipation at finding Admiral T.E. Bunson and pounding her into sehlat feed was first on her mind.

Running a close second was anticipation of last meeting her adopted brother, Peter Kirk, ten years a prisoner at Admiralty Hall. Saavik wanted to find the one who was like her, a fellow freak of nature cursed never to die. To say that there was much she did not understand was the hugest of understatements.

She had thought about using stealth to approach the lowest of the Hall’s many sublevels, but threw that aside. The corrupt and in some cases, corrupted heads of Starfleet Command had made the entranceway to this underground hell the entirety of their defense.

This blunt strategy, combined with secretiveness and bone-deep ruthlessness had kept the son of James Kirk dead and buried for a decade. But as Captain Kirk had once warned a group of her classmates, dismissing the skills of his little girl was a fool’s bet. The fools in this case were the xenophobic Admirals themselves, who had no beeps or buzzes or surveillance to catch one who got through.

Saavik mentally conceded that part of this was logical; alarms were apt to be noticed by those not in the know about Peter Kirk, and ran the risk of someone somewhere catching on and not being dealt with in time. Saavik did not know that each successive entryway to the lower paths was fitted with doors that weighed many metric kilotons, secreted in the Earth itself and frustrating any scans that may have gotten through, were any such scans to be made.

An enemy or untrustworthy ally might know or guess that the Hall kept a treasure down below, but not its nature, and, in the corridors of power, who didn’t keep such things. Like the child-seeking and sometimes child-keeping sexual predators that were their true ancestors in many respects, the residents of Admiralty Hall depended on the denseness of both walls and people, and rarely had either failed them. After today, Saavik realized, that would change. Her victory here would be the wake-up call the arrogant fools would have no choice but to heed. This was an enemy she did not wish to make stronger or wiser. The loss of their greatest prize would surely have at least that latter effect.

The sound of a voice, though a great distance away, caused her to resume stealth and caution in her approach. The thought struck her that, while neither she nor her target could die, the presence of an innocent hostage, even Sarek himself, was not out of the question. She could hear the Ambassador’s voice within such a grim scenario.

*Logic dictates that you keep to your mission, Child. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one.*

*Unacceptable. How low would you have me sink, Father? Is this why you accepted the refused trash of another House into yours? Did you further the lessons of Surak that Uncle Jim began, even amidst the worst of it, only to place me in a situation that demands I reject them all? Peter Kirk may leave here. I fear I never will. Worse, I fear I never have. I am nearly a decade removed from Hellguard, and yet I am still there. My journey into the light was an illusion, a dream had by a demon who wished to torment herself with the thought of better things.*

Fighting off despair for the moment, Saavik questioned why a man who seemed as thorough as Colonel West had not prepared endless trips and traps for an intruder who had gotten as far as herself. Two answers came to her. He had been overridden by his superiors so often, the message she had found had been a bitter surrender to the inevitable, and an escape he would like as not be blamed for, in any event. The second answer startled her. Who else would have been able to give Sarek the information and technology that got her in far enough to even get within striking distance of a secret few even within the Hall knew of?

*If that is so, I hope that you are gone from this place, Colonel. I also hope that one day, my brother has the chance to thank you for your change of heart. I will be off somewhere, away from people who live calm happy lives.*

Crouching in areas with direct view of adjacent ones, making certain her footfalls did not betray her, and just plain moving with cognizance, Saavik at last made her way to the source of the voice. It was in the last level of all, the dead bottom of a place dedicated to a killing machine fueled by death and hate. It was where the forces of Hell kept one of the young princes of Heaven.

“There we are, Peter. You can still see this, can’t you? Does it make you want me? I know you do, and I know it does. We’ve studied your engrams. We’ve made a study of you. We’ve made a field of study of you. Do you know what we’ve expended, in blood and treasure, to find out what makes you tick? But you still won’t give us sustained contact with our Lord, Peter. Why do you persist? Why?”

There, on top of a cryo-stasis chamber laden with more wires and tubes than any jury-rigging dreamed of by Cochrane, Tucker and Scott, was Admiral T.E. Bunson. She was lying on top of it, looking into the frozen face of the figure inside. There was a robe and her uniform hanging on a hook. The Admiral herself was nude, and was pressing her chest against that same faceplate.

“Remember the day that I showed you to Nogura, Peter? You were so helpful, causing his heart attack through the simple shock of seeing you. You brought us to power, Peter. You placed Brock Cartwright in the center seat of Starfleet.”

Saavik ran forward and seized the vile Admiral by the back of her head. She repeatedly shoved her face into the faceplate of the chamber, rolling her off when she seemed unconscious. When Bunson struck the floor on her chest, Saavik noted a bounce that indicated artificial enhancements in that area.

“Yuck.”

She set about to deactivating and disabling the mechanism that held the figure frozen. When all was done, she opened the chamber, and saw the face of Peter Claudius Kirk, late of Iowa and Deneva Three. The controls indicated that he should be conscious, yet his breathing had not resumed.

“Whatever we are, we still need to breathe—I think.”

She pressed her lips to his, seeking to restore the rhythm of his body before proceeding. Yet at the mere pressing of lips, his eyes snapped open. Saavik took immediate note of this, and of one other fact. In cryo-stasis, he had not been issued a jumpsuit, or any kind of cover at all.

“Just great. Now had to be the time.”

She had seen all manner of medical manuals and other such literature, of course. But her life had lacked one minor thing in terms of real experience. On Hellguard, the boys were kept separate, to sate the sexual appetites of those who wanted them. The guards had a standing threat to gouge out the eyes of any who looked upon them while being used, and this was one form of defiance even Saavik had been unwilling to engage in. James Kirk had narrowly averted the curious child’s determined efforts to lovingly embarrass him, and however much Sarek departed from the expected norm for Vulcan males, states of undress around a child would never be among those departures.

“I will fetch you the Admiral’s robe. She seems to not be using it at the moment.”

Her blood was pumping, and thoughts came to her unbidden. Why, she wondered, did the first male she ever saw naked have to be her own helpless brother? It wasn’t a huge distraction, but it was still a distraction she didn’t need and couldn’t afford. Was he average for a male his age? For a Human Male? For A Vulcan? Her lack of experience in this matter made her feel very much like a little fool. It also left her wide open.

“Oh No You Don’t!”

Saavik was struck in the back of the head by an enraged Admiral Bunson. Grabbing back her robe, she tried to move in on the reeling intruder.

“T’Pring trying to steal my little trophy? That’s a big No-No!”

Saavik pushed her back, and her glare could have melted neutronium.

“For the last time, I am not from T’Pring, and as to theft, you monster? That ‘trophy’ as you refer to it, is my Brother!”

Bunson seemed to puzzle at this, till she apparently did some mental math.

“The other one. Oh, there’s good news tonight.”

Bunson moved forward at a speed and with a strength that took Saavik completely unawares. Holding her down, Bunson began to tug at her clothes.

“There there, sweetie, Let Nana undress you, so we can have a party, before you join our dear Peter.”

Blows to the head were coming in such succession and with such ferocity that Saavik could no longer ensure she stayed conscious. Her foolhardiness in not securing this monster seemed like it would be her final regret in conscious life.

 

[Gojirob]

“Nana?”

A third voice joined the two previously heard.

“Nana?”

Bunson looked away from her intended victim, and straight into the eyes of her organization’s worst nightmare.

“Nana? That you?”

Bunson raised her hands slowly, showing she at least knew how to try and calm someone.

“Get back into bed, honey-bun. I’ll even tuck you in. It’s me. Its Nana.”

Shivering and unsteady, the awakened Peter Kirk looked at Bunson, and then laughed a chilling laugh.

“No You’re Not.”

Kirk’s right hand came up, and pushed her back to the nearby wall. His eyes began to glow silver. Saavik regained her full composure in time to see Bunson raised upward by the young man’s mental power. Her robe fell away.

“Nana?”

Bunson’s right arm came off, and fell to the ground below.

“Does it hurt, Nana?”

The left arm.

“Does it hurt, Nana?”

Bunson’s face made it very plain that it did.

“Does it hurt, Nana?”

The phrase was repeated twice more as her legs were removed. Saavik had heard the woman use the phrase ‘Does It Hurt’ in the vid made of Peter’s assault. She did not know whether to be disgusted or heartened at this grim justice.
Then, she noted something about the severed limbs.

“There is no blood. And they are still twitching. Cybernetic?”

Saavik looked at Bunson. She had seen no evidence in the horrid rape vid that Peter Kirk had taken her original limbs. Her mind reached a logical but still sickening conclusion, and she stated it right to the limbless monster.

“You did this to yourself?”

Bunson took on an absurdly defiant air.

“A sacrifice that gives me strength. I decide who is a victim. I never am. I…”

Peter Kirk dropped her to the ground, where she fell silent.
Saavik could still see her breathing, and decided that this was a regrettable thing within her power to change. But not before the Admiral suffered. She took the robe back, and gingerly helped Peter cover himself.

“Peter—I am Saavik. I am your—“

The carnal images that had bubbled up earlier came back full force. She did not feel sisterly towards him, in this moment, so she changed her words.

“—your friend. Sarek sent me here to get you out of this place.”

The boy could barely speak.

“Home?”

“Yes. Home. To Iowa, or to Deneva, if that is your wish. First, we must go to Vulcan. Then, we will tell Uncle Jim that you are alive.”

The boy’s eyes lit up, not with weird power, but with joy.

“Uncle Jim? Aunt Nyta? The crew? The ship? Alright? ”

Saavik realized what he was asking.

“They are alive. They are safe.”

Her own eyes teared as she added one more detail.

“They are all safe. Because Of You. Because you chose the path of self-sacrifice, and this has made all the difference.”

The boy actually smiled.

“Go home now?”

Saavik looked over at the silent figure of Bunson. How many days, Saavik wondered, had this woman compounded her crimes by her disgusting draping over what was in essence the coffin of a child she had raped and murdered?

“No. Soon. You must first revenge yourself on the Admiral. Hurt her---“

Saavik forced the dark words out of her brain, and out of her throat.

“—hurt her as she hurt you. Make her pay.”

Peter Kirk looked at his rescuer, and uttered a single word.

“no.”

Saavik grabbed him by the shoulders.

“You idiot. She is a monster! She has no concern for all those she has harmed. You must pay her back for what she has done. You must pay her back in kind. She has harmed others since you. They scream out for vengeance. You are a Human teen male. Do what comes naturally, particularly in light of her shaming and humiliation of you.”

Again, perhaps even more easily than before, the boy replied.

“No. No, Saavik, No.”

She pushed him back, growing ever more angered by his refusal.

“Despite her condition, she is comely. Despite her apparent tolerance for pain, you can deliver enough force to make certain she feels it. Do you not want revenge, for yourself and for our—for Uncle Jim? Is she not pretty in her way?”

“No. Because I’m better than her, and you’re prettier. Lots prettier.”

With rage in her heart, Saavik slapped Peter across his face.

“They are barbarians! Do you imagine if Nyta, Christine, Janice or any of those ladies who were our friends were in their hands, they would hesitate to use them, as they used you?”

He struck her back, sending her sprawling.

“Don’t hit me for no reason. They are barbarians. We choose not to be.”

Saavik rubbed her sore face as she got up.

“We are no better than they. Look at how many people you and I have killed. We are barbarians.”

Peter looked at her with pity.

“But not today. She’s helpless.”

“She is a rapist of children, and should be repaid in kind!”

He struck her harder with his next words than any blow he could land.

“Then you do it.”

“Fine, I can…”

Before her vitriolic statement could be completed, she at last caught herself. She at long last realized that she had been urging a victim of rape to become a rapist, and had even struck him when he showed the decency and wisdom she had abandoned. She fell to her knees, and began to weep.

“All well and fine for you, Peter. You are an angel, while I am a beast. I have at last arrived back where I started.”

He knelt down with her, raised up her chin, and then kissed her.

“You had a bad day.”

Suddenly, the fact that she was nearly sixteen, and that the boy was both thirteen and twenty-three, shattered and nearly her brother left her, and she kissed him back, full force.

History speaks of shots heard round the world. This was a kiss felt across the universe.

------------------------

ORGANIA

There were no lower-evolved beings about. Yet every Organian had fallen out of their energy forms and into the humanoid disguises they sometimes wore. Ayelborne looked at the stars above them.

“It would seem the last chapter has begun.”

---------------

BAJOR

Kai Bareil Menos stared in satisfaction, and yet also with a little trepidation.

“The Vedek Council will issue no statement in this matter. It could be misinterpreted.”

Before departing the forbidden area, the Kai stared one more time at the ice that had formed over what had been called The Fire Caves.

----------------------

THE CONTINUUM

Q watched as the dog began to bark, the ladies and gentlemen began to sweat and grow chill, the wind began to blow and even the pages of the magazine began to rustle. He made an observation.

“They’re Here!”

-----------------

WHAT WAS ONCE THE BETA QUADRANT

The devil shrieked, as it had before in 2255 and 2262. But this was different than the mere births of the male and female halves of its great enemy. This was an alignment.

Ghidorah The Three-Headed Monster, The Ancient Destroyer Of Worlds, was, as much as it could be, a very scared entity. It had good reason for this

--------------------------

Saavik found herself in front of the gates of a great city.

A small girl approached her.

“T’Shura?”

Little T’Shura, who had died shortly before Hellguard was liberated.

“But the beams took your head.”

“Sra Saavik, do you still remember T’Shura?”

The little one had called her Sra. She had called her Mother.

“Always, T’Shura.”

The little girl folded her arms.

“Then why does Sra think herself a bad person? T’Shura knows that Sra Saavik protected the littlest on Hellguard, and gave up her food for them. If Sra really remembers T’Shura in love, then she must recall that T’Shura did not love a bad person. Promise me you will not forget this, ever again.”

They held each other, and the near-woman at last recalled that it was the despair that was an illusion. But how had she spoken to T’Shura? The little girl gently pushed her off and smiled.

“Go and be with your brother, Sra. I have a brother in this place, too.”

T’Shura pointed to a boy who looked like a younger Peter Kirk.

“Hi. I’m Marc.”

As the children walked off to play in a garden just inside the city gates, Saavik felt herself pulled back.

----------------

A silent Peter waited for Saavik. She looked at him.

“You sent me there, didn’t you? You knew somehow, it was just what I needed.”

He seemed less focused than before. Perhaps the effort on her behalf had been draining, in his condition.

“Can we go home now? I want to see the sun again.”

When she found herself at a loss for words, he began to plead.

“Please. I—I can not remember the morning anymore!”

She grabbed him up, and they stood together. *What a pair we are, brother.*

“Yes, Peter. Let’s leave this place behind us.”

At last activating the network of boosters she had strung throughout Admiralty Hall’s environs, Saavik contacted Sarek.

“Father, I have him. Beam us out.”

No guards, nor ghosts, nor words delayed the freedom of two young people one second longer. From a savage past and to an uncertain future, the children of James T. Kirk were taken by the father of Spock to one of the few places on
Earth the Admiralty held no sway.

If not a happy ending, it was at least a happy moment.

--------------------

ONE WEEK LATER

Concluding Private Journal, Saavik Brianna Kirk

My brother has been nearly silent since his rescue, but he has a smile I now think is strictly for me. I still have not identified myself as his sister. Until my more hormonal feelings are able to be put aside, I will avoid dealing with this. Perhaps by the time we contact Uncle Jim, I will be ready at last.

The Shuttle Surak has taken a circuitous route back to Vulcan, out of Sri Sarek’s concern about pursuers. He seems out of sorts, but I ascribe to his burdens. Yet again, though, I did note that nearly all the furniture and equipment in his private office at the Embassy had been replaced. I have not addressed this, but feel like I should.

I have abandoned entirely the thought of leaving and hiding. Peter needs me. He will be as I was, so many years ago. He has, through the vision he provided me, and through his refusal to commit an atrocity, showed me more Surakian principle than an entire planet of eyebrow-raising sometime-hypocrites. I have spent this past week at last recording my journal. I conclude this hastily-assembled diary with these words to you, Peter Kirk.

For what you have given me, for what you have shown me, I swear, so long as Saavik can move and draw breath, no one will ever be permitted to harm you again. Brother or more, whether you adore me or cannot stand the sight of me, I love you.

---------------------------------------------------

With a steady hand guiding their voyage home and a fierce desire to protect their rescuer in each of their young hearts, the children of James T. Kirk slept the sleep of the just, and for that time, their dreams were all good ones.


----------------------

I have a dream, a fantasy; To help me through reality ; And my destination makes it worth the while; Pushing through the darkness still another mile; I believe in angels; Something good in everything I see; I believe in angels; When I know the time is right for me; I’ll cross the stream - I have a dream; I’ll cross the stream - I have a dream – Abba, I Have A Dream

 

[Gojirob]

Title:Whys And Wherefores

Author:‘Goji’ Rob Morris

Series:The TOS-based AU, The Ancient Destroyer Cycle

Time-Setting:Tarsus Four, 2249

Rating:PG13

Summary :Having scored several major victories against Kodos and his forces, Jimmy Kirk and Nyta Uhura come up against the law of diminishing returns.

Whys And Wherefores
By Rob Morris

2249, TARSUS FOUR, A WORLD UNDER SIEGE

He thought this little war had made him into a true master-killer. He thought the license he had been given to cut loose had made him sharper, smarter, and able to outthink any opponent.

This was exactly what James T. Kirk had been counting on, as the soldiers stormed the transmission tower.

“Sorry, gentlemen—and ladies. Listen To The Band!”

Next to him, Nyta Uhura used the transporter-recall device they’d obtained from fallen soldiers to send the overloading phaser directly into their midst. Jimmy found himself smiling at the explosion that followed. He found Nyta trying to smile, and failing.

“So, do we drive them before us, and listen for the lamentations of their significant others?”

Kirk got up, surveyed the area, and had them moving away from the site as fast as they could, towards a cliff overlooking a small valley.

“No. We live just long enough for Starfleet to arrest these bastards. We’re in good, Nyta. We can keep moving, and hit them at our leisure. And since we just sent out a distress call powerful enough to be caught by almost any passing ship in any surrounding system, we can even choose to sit the rest of this out. Maybe talk about when we get back home.”

She joined him in scaling down the Cliffside. He was at a good vantage point to see her ‘goodies’ as the hateful Sophie called such things. But by this point, they’d seen all there was to see, and groped about half of that.

“You seemed like you were headed for home last night.”

He placed himself on the lowest ledge before a sheer, but doable drop and sat down.

“Yeah. About that—I’m sorry.”

His habits becoming hers, she looked about before sitting down beside him.

“Hey—don’t get all hesitant on me, now. It was only my third ‘Stop’ that was full-throated, and my fifth that was really sincere.”

He managed a weak smile.

“I didn’t listen until your seventh.”

She rubbed up against him.

“I was ready to let you go until my tenth.”

At first, she had openly wondered what she was playing at, allowing him his way with her. Then, she came to an epiphany. She wasn’t playing, and it wasn’t his way. She felt older. Maybe she wasn’t mature, but she would never again be the girl she was before the ship was forced down. She tried adding a week to her age for each soldier killed in their campaign. She decided to stop when she reached Eighteen.

“Nyta, I was really close to losing control last night. I don’t ever want to frighten, or hurt you. You’re the one good memory I’m going to take away from this place. I’d like yours of me to be something other than me grabbing at your boo…”

She covered his mouth, not out of disgust at some euphemism, but out of concern for him.

“Jimmy, I want that memory, too. In fact, I want all the memories we can generate. I might as well say it. The instant we know this world is secure, and that the madskulls are locked away, on the run or dead, then I want you to find a quiet spot, and make me yours, and you will be mine. Maybe it won’t be perfect, or like some fairy-tale. Maybe neither of us will be any damn good. But what I want to give you was nearly taken from me. Never again, dammit. I choose. I choose the hero who saved me, and the sweet farmboy who wonders too damned much about going too far with a girl who obviously has no objections to what he’s doing.”

Despite the affection in her words, he shook his head.

“Maybe someday, I can be the kind of guy who boldly seizes a woman’s apparent interest and runs with it. Now, I’ve seen too many incidents of people making hasty choices, and being forced into situations to not ask first.”

She kissed him, and then put her head against his shoulders. Her lies about her age were now believed even by her. In fact, Jimmy Kirk began to suspect, if anything, that she might be as old as nineteen, though he thought seventeen far more likely.

“Ask away. But understand that, if I say yes, I mean it, and I mean it for every last thing you can think of, Mister.”

He got playful.

“Even….”

He whispered a notion in her ear. She giggled.

“Well, not…that. I just don’t like the idea of anyone sitting directly on my chest. I like to breathe. But yeah…anything else.”

He looked into her eyes, and both became a little bit fearful of being lost there. Kirk broke their mutual gazing with a question.

“How do you suppose he’s doing?”

The ’he’ in question could only have been Kevin Riley, left behind for his safety at a remote household.

“Probably still taking it hard, Jimmy. But he’s away from here. That’s all that matters.”

Kirk nodded.

“We should keep moving.”

He said this because he feared he was about to climb on top of her, and that she would let him. She agreed to get moving because in this feeling, he was right, and maybe even a little conservative, because she also felt like doing the climbing.

*Mother, Father—get here soon. Just not *too* soon. Don’t make me just dream about being with him. I’ll be a good girl all my remaining days, if you’ll all come for me just after the fact.*

Jimmy’s thoughts were again a mirror of hers, except in no part of them was his mother Brianna mentioned.

-----------------

In his base of operations, Governor Thanatos Kodos assembled some guards that Kevin Riley was all too familiar with. They were one and all the men that had ended his childhood forever.

“Do you know these men, my boy?”

They smiled, and gestured, and not a one of them looked at all repentant of anything they did or might have done. Kevin knew them.

“They killed my parents. They hurt me. They laughed about it.”

Kodos looked at the men, and shook his head. To be fair, neither they nor Kevin saw what was coming.

“I put you men out in the field to kill people, to cull the wheat from the chaff, as it were. Not to satisfy your dark urges.”

The men all fell dead as fire from above took them. Snipers on the alcoves above them did their work quickly, and withdrew. Kodos pointed to the stains on the floor, and then to the positions from which they had been brutally eliminated.

“Rest assured, Kevin, were all my men of that quiet, deliberative caliber, you would never have suffered. I have standing orders, that, wherever possible, parents and children are to be eliminated outside each other’s presence.”

Kevin’s young mind was only able to partially process what was being said to him, and that part was crippled by mind-numbing fear. Some of it still managed to get through just enough to scare him even more.

“Jimmy Kirk’s gonna kick your ass!”

Kodos took two fingers and struck Kevin across his right cheek.

“Are you that ungrateful a cur? I have just delivered the fruit of sweet justice, the nectar of revenge, upon those that so badly wronged you.”

Kevin looked up, and while the fear never left him, he shook his head.

“But they worked for you. You told them to what they did.”

The boy was too scared to yell, and somehow his relative rationality in this awoke something of a like nature in the nearly mad man.

“Kevin, I freely admit that this thing of ours may seem to young eyes as having gone too far afield. But understand what I am burdened with. Tell me, my boy. Tell me truly. Do you think that you will always recall your parents’ deaths?”

“Yeah. Of course I will.”

Kodos placed his hand on Kevin’s chest.

“Imagine that you see laid before your vision not merely the deaths of two people, or a million, or even ten billion. Imagine that any number in our mortal counting is not sufficient to capture the death that is to come. I have seen the fire started, Kevin. I have seen the lights go out on Romulus. I have seen the Klingon Empire laid low. Life snuffed out as far as the Pleiades.”

Kevin saw the sadness in this man’s eyes, and it was enough to at least make him feign pity for him.

“That sounds really bad. I mean, really, really bad.”

“It is that bad, Kevin. Have you ever heard of a man named Howard Philip Lovecraft?”

Kevin nodded.

“My Mommy used to be a teacher before—anyway, she said he was a racist loser with a mental disease who used to be rich but ended up eating beans out of cans. He wrote some scary stories that other people made a lot better.”

Kodos seemed genuinely offended.

“Everyone’s a critic. The point is, he was the first to posit that we were not meant to venture forth among the stars. That out here lay coldness and oldness whose depths we are incapable of plumbing. And by that I mean exploring, not water pipes.”

Kevin had been about to mention plumbing like that, but stopped.

“Glad you said that.”

“In any wise, Kevin, I had, as a young man, been part of a pioneering effort led by Professor Lars Hansen. Not for us was something so simple as finding out the whys and wherefores of lost Vulcania Colony. No, not even the very edge of our galaxy was enow for we few, we band of brothers—and sisters. We touched the face of infinity, and there we found—the finite. The void, darker than black, bluer than indigo, had won out. Our final frontier had met its final fate. Because of a trick of how light travels, we here in this last bastion of life remain largely ignorant over the fact that we are alone in the universe, because we are the universe. There is nothing else left.”

Kevin tried like a trooper to take this all in, and failed.

“I’m just a kid.”

Kodos nodded in apparent understanding.

“Fear not, Kevin. The concepts that are far beyond your young mind’s capacity to take in also proved beyond mine. Mine, and all the members of our expedition. I brought up Lovecraft because one by one, each went mad and died as we made our long journey home. Professor Hansen remained the most sane, ere he opened the airlock, largely because he and his wife had chosen to leave their infant son at home in Sweden. I mistook an unthinking survival instinct for a blessing.”

Kevin made another effort.

“You were alive. Wasn’t that good?”

Kodos did a dramatic spin and pointed at the boy.

“There are times when death is a mercy. That is not dead which can eternal lie, and with strange aeons even death may die. I should have picked up the phase rifle, I should have let the matter-energy transport disperse me. I should have held up the knife to a tender part. I should have gone to impulse, minus inertial dampeners. Instead, I lived half a life knowing that all life faced a hideous final judgment, an monstrous behemoth Id Of Eons making space itself run away, till at last that judgment be invoked.”

Kevin made a leap of faith, hoping against hope that, whatever happened to him, this man would just stop scaring him before doing it.

“Something bad is gonna happen?”

Kodos actually made a curtsey at his young prisoner.

“Excellent, Mister Riley. You don’t know how many people I’ve spoken with, including scholars many times your age, who have failed to grasp that simple, brutal truth. You see, someone is coming to our part of space. A monster the size of a moon. A monster named King Ghidorah. He seeks his natural enemy, a boy who, according to seers and deep computer forecasts, will be born on this world in this time. Do you still understand?”

“I guess so. This boy can stop him, so King Ghidorah wants to get him first.”

“Very good. I’m glad you understand. Now, if we removed that boy from the equation, than the creature will take many more centuries to arrive. We will have time to postpone the Apocalypse, the Kali Yuga, and perhaps even give us time to reason with the entity, making it aware that we’ve destroyed its enemy. Gain certain insights, certain guarantees. Ensure that certain superior species of life prevail over other more bothersome ones.”

Kevin felt his stomach drop out.

“That won’t work, Governor. Monsters don’t keep promises, if they even know how to make them in the first place. Monsters, whether they’re good or bad, just smash things. Besides, even if he did keep his promise, how do you know you’re going to find this boy?”

Kodos walked the boy back to his holding room, and began to shut the door.

“Find him, Mister Riley? I needn’t bother. For you are that boy, that ancient Rock Of Prophecy made flesh. When you die, this very eve, Lord Ghidorah will be satisfied that his loyal Order attends his every need. So many deaths just to find you, Kevin. But only one death to stave off the trillions upon trillions that would have been lost had you grown into your power and battled our Lord. In the time we will buy, Humanity itself will act as the cleanser of the stars. When that far-off day that his three heads grace our shadowed lives…”

Kevin erupted in a fury.

“YOU’RE COMPLETELY NUTS! YOU KILLED MY PARENTS, YOU TRIED TO KILL JUST ABOUT EVERYBODY, YOU LET THOSE SLIMY MEN TOUCH ME ALL OVER, AND YOU TALK STUPID SCARY STUFF TO A KID WHO DOESN’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT!”

This time, Kevin did the pointing.

“Jimmy Kirk is gonna kick your ass!”

Kevin ran into his holding area, cried and thought about all the soldiers he had killed. He apologized to their ghosts, but only in the theory it would make them feel bad by making them think about all the people they’d killed. He had one last thought before sinking into a fitful slumber.

*Jimmy, take care of Nyta—and kick this bozo’s ass all over the quadrant.*

--------------------

“Its just over that rise.”

Uhura pointed, and Kirk saw an empty field.

“So this is what again?”

“I told you before, stupid. This is the property that Hoshi Sato bought with her husband, intending to move here, before the original Enterprise disappeared during the Romulan War. Heartbroken, he never sold the property. The story and his fictionalized exploits dealing with her loss formed the basis of one of my favorite virtu-mangas. This is the whole reason I wanted to see Tarsus system in the first place. Hoshi wasn’t this good girl sitting back letting every last relative define who she is.”

Kirk nodded.

“And, I’m reliably told, she was even better than you at making stubborn tech work, and almost as pretty as you.”

She shook her head.

“Was that for my benefit, or are you trying to fertilize these fields, Jimmy?”

“Well, if you want to re-enact her famous fall through that ventilation shaft, I won’t object.”

A smile conceded her point, and doubly confirmed it, as well. With their position secure and removed from direct view, he moved to more serious matters. That he didn’t want to do this was irrelevant. In this situation, every moment they stayed alive stretched their luck a little further.

“You were saying that we can’t pull too many more transporter tricks.”

Uhura held up the captured device.

“We can do several small ones, or one to three big ones. Each time I use this, the central computer gains a feel for my programming technique. Eventually, it will lock me out, and changing that around enough to fool it is iffy in the extreme. I can’t figure out why they simply haven’t locked the devices themselves out, and rebooted.”

Kirk had a theory.

“We’ve seen that most of Kodos’ field soldiers aren’t the best and the brightest. My guess is, they don’t want their favorite toy, the one that lets them strike like Iconians in the night, taken away. It’s possible that their low-level commanders aren’t letting the upper ranks know of our successes to the extent they can hide it all.”

“Okay. So what do we do now?”

Kirk came to a firm conclusion, one he had been building towards anyway.

“Nothing. Once we got Kevin to safety, and got that message out, we’d done our part. I want to help as many people as I can, but our faces are now just too damned recognizable. No. We’ve found our quiet corner of Tarsus. We make do as best we can, with what we have, and await rescue. Any further grand gestures on our part won’t really help and will likely hurt the situation. Anybody who helps us will either have to turn us in or face being executed, and that’s not something I want to see. We win the game in this case, by sitting the rest of it out.”

She was somewhat surprised to hear this, but also felt somewhat relieved. She decided that, between being caught naked, and running around with a target on her, nudism was sounding pretty good—particularly given the company.

“Things could get a little cozy.”

He chuckled.

“I know. I’ll bet you can’t keep your perverted hands off of me, lady.”

She jumped, grabbed him from behind, and began to playfully punch him in the back. When he groaned a bit too loudly and sharply at one of these, her suspicions grew and she peeled up the back of his shirt as well.

“Nyta, don’t…”

She saw scars and bruises on his back, virtually a whole sea of them. Some were so fresh as to still show signs of welting.

“Jimmy, who did this to you? Don’t tell me it was the guards, because some of these have been here awhile.”

As he hesitated to speak, Uhura realized that, in all the times he’d now bathed in front of her, she’d seen everything except his upper back in direct view. Then again, she realized, her attentions had wandered elsewhere on his not-unpleasing form.

“My…my Mother and I have a difficult relationship, Nyta. Its why I was staying with my grandparents. I can be a bit much sometimes.”

She shook her head. Was she really hearing classic abuse victim excuses from a man she’d thought of giving herself to?

“Jimmy, I don’t care if you drove her antique vehicle into the Grand Canyon, or off Kiliminjaro’s peaks! Your mother did this to you?”

Kirk closed his eyes.

“Brianna—she tries. Or—she tries to try—alright dammit, she’s a two-faced bitch who pretends to try just enough to comply with the court’s---“

“The courts? The courts had to get involved?”

“Do you think I’m weak?”

“Do I…? Dammit, Jimmy, you never once called me weak, and we met when you pulled those men off me. You think you’re not a man in my eyes? Well, I’ll change that.”

She bid him lie down with his back to her, and removed first his shirt, then her own. He felt her against him, and spoke words of caution.

“I can’t keep control if you do that.”

“This isn’t a prelude, Jimmy. Let my warmth heal the scars on your back, and on your soul. Let me do this. I’ve wanted to hit something since my parents made me take Sophie along as some sort of chaperone. Now I want to heal something.”

It was a moment so tender, his mind and body were actually able to focus past going further. They belonged to each other, and the simple act of holding was enough. He swore he felt those old wounds start to heal, then and there.

“What’s that noise?”

They rose quickly, and whether or not their backwards embrace would have led to more became wholly moot. An announcement was heard from the flying drones overhead, searching for the young fugitives.

*Governor Kodos has proclaimed that the former fugitive rebel Kevin Thomas Riley is to be executed this evening at 1800 hours, this in the name of The Order Of The Ancient Destroyer and our Lord, King Ghidorah, Ancient Destroyer Of The Unworthy. Citizens of Tarsus are directed to watch this shining event, as the Rock Of Prophecy is put paid to, and the True Humanity prevails.*

Their shirts were already back on. Uhura was already programming the transporter hub recall device, and Kirk was already forming a plan of attack.

“Jimmy, those people we left him with, the Nagins—they must have turned him over in a heartbeat.”

“And probably still got killed for their trouble. I wish I felt sorrier for them, whatever drove this choice. Do I need to say it, Nyta?”

She shook her head, as they began a desperate attempt to save their young friend.

“Change in plans, sir?”

He nodded.

“Change in plans.”

 

[Gojirob]

Summary : Life outside of the greater conflict means doing what you have to. When the Kirks, the Enterprise, and Admiralty Hall are all distant forces, Starfleet officers still have to get by, and in such an atmosphere, doing things your own way is just doing what you must.

Fortunate Son (It Ain’t Me)
by Rob Morris

THE TREATY-CREATED DEAD ZONE, 2275

You don't mess with The Order. Not the natural order, nor the group of bigots who sat around agreeing with each other, back on Earth. Mess with the natural order; you could lose your life. Mess with The Order Of The Ancient Destroyer, and you could lose your career--and your life.
Being so Terracentric, Admiralty Hall had stopped being a real place for many it had exiled to the edges of the final frontier. James Kirk, the sworn and named enemy of The Hall, was also less than real. They couldn't touch him, unless you counted two dead parents, a brother, and a nephew. No one had ever found a trace of that kid. But for all that, Kirk was a hero, CO of the Flagship. His career was safe, barring cosmic catastrophe.

In theory, the allied string of Starbase Commanders, mostly Commodores, should have been real to those out at the fringes of claimed and explored space. They called themselves The Commodity, and kept the ideals of Starfleet alive. The problem was that they obeyed rules and regs that those in service to The Hall didn't even recognize. So while the noble Commodity's domains remained static, The Hall's influence expanded, as they slowly but surely replaced vets with their milk-fed hate-mongers. Space would eventually be explored by those who utterly feared its every mystery.

So, to ships like The USS DaiGo Fukyryu Maru, or simply, The Maru to its crew of 100, the only things that were real were themselves, their ship, and their wily Captain, Ranjar Bogadasarian. The Captain had once been a member of The Order, but quit, proclaiming it was too much work remembering who to hate and why. He never mentioned to anyone what he had witnessed, as a Commander. A boy, seemingly dead by that point, had been the subject of a so-called 'Bacchanalia'---a brutal gang rape. Those Admirals, so staid and self-righteous in public, never stopped coming at him. Perhaps if Cartwright hadn't pulped the kid's face by the time Ranjar saw all this, he could have helped the boy's family, whoever they were, find peace, if not justice. Intervening on his behalf would have been multi-tiered suicide.

Despite all this, the Captain eventually figured out who the boy was. Speaking that name would also have been a life option Bogadasarian was unwilling to embrace. So he kept his rank, but got a decidedly lousy assignment. His public and private reasons for this downturn coincided nicely.

But while he was real, rumors were sometimes even realer.

"The Hall's sending a spy."

Said The CMO.

"Since Cartwright took over, he's been sending in agent provocateurs, to get good crews' court-martialed."

Said the Engineer.

"We'll have our own Political Officer. Keep your thoughts, pure, Boys!"

Said the Science Officer.

"They're going to bump us all down to an even lower assignment, assuming one exists."

Said The First Officer.

The Captain, a man whose ancestors in Scotland, Wales, Ireland, Semitia, and India had all fought English occupation at some point, took this invasion far more in stride than his crew.

"We are not being reassigned, or broken up. There will be no spy, nor political officer. Our expected arrival has no experience in either overt or covert ops. That's the good news."

The XO nodded.

"Then what's the bad news, sir?"

Again, the man seemed far too relaxed.

"I'm being replaced by Admiral Watters' nephew. It’s a standard tactic, when a new administration comes in. From now on, I'll be your XO. It’s a policy as old as Earth's Cold War in Asia. Replace the unknown with the known. Well, I have to prepare for our new Captain. Now keep to your duties, people. You know them well enough."

For a full minute, a stunned crew said nothing at all.
For the Order's hand now seemed to have infinite reach.

Watters, their new young Captain, arrived on an almost ornate shuttle that seemed more like a yacht. Soon-to-be-demoted Captain Bogadasarian kept his noble bearing, wearing a mask of serenity about the whole thing that went deeper than some knew. He greeted his replacement, who notably would not take his proffered hand to shake. It was a sign that everyone knew.

On his way up to The Bridge of The Miranda-Class Vessel, he passed Augur, a Tellarite who had failed his debate finals. In fact, he was an accomplished debater and could always win on points, even back home. But he invariably lost on gruffness. In short, he just wasn't obnoxious enough about his presentation. That was alright to him. It wasn't like he'd been banished or anything. Augur always preferred to argue with his Engines, whose back-and-forth and refusal to budge exceeded any sentient challenge.

"The man who refuses to give you his hand is usually holding a knife, and sometimes--it’s not a gift."

This was a professional crew, and any little differences had long since fallen away. So it was that the Tellarite Augur got on fine with the Andorian Science Officer, Tharls. Now, the man was of Andor's upper-crust, and that meant warrior, by definition. But declaring war on Augur seemed kind of pointless, out this far, and so they agreed to a state of total conflict, then agreed upon a cease-fire, so all the relatives back home were satisfied. On occasion, they would invent treaty violations to write about.

"Augur. How's that lacerated leg?"

"Well enough, Tharls. Was your arm successfully reattached?"

"Just as though it had never been off."

"Humph. Your overwrought opinion of our new Captain?"

"We-hell. Either he is giving a knife as a present, or we'd best watch ourselves. Say, what was the best knife you ever received?"

"Eh, my family was celebrating my first mating---everyone just HAD to be there. She was unremarkable. But the knife--- that was a Noloahdtef!"

"Myself, I never received anything as good as a Noloahdtef. The serv-hants did the buying, and had no taste. Still, I did get an Hanuwq, one WinterMorn."

"Then you got the better one, in my opinion. My Pa made it clear---ceremonial use only for the Noloahdtef. On Pain."

Tharls started.

"Then wa-hy even give it?!"

The CMO had caught part of this, but was busy bringing her Sickbay up to 150% of Starfleet specs. It was an old trick. If everything was thought to be 50% above the best rating, then at the very worst something missed might be at 3% below standard, more than enough to survive any inspection.

Valentinia Honor was Alpha Centauran human, and like Captain Bogadasarian, once a member of the hateful Order. She had seconded her medical studies with a secret course on non-human physiology, the better to kill and spread disease among those her family taught her to hate. But unlike The former Captain, she had not quit the Order. It had quit her.

One day, Valentinia, her brother Justinian, and their friend Caius went to attend the local cell, and found nothing at all. Speaking to others, they found that Alpha Centauri 3 was suddenly a place free of The Order's touch—a complete impossibility. Finally contacting a cell on Earth, they found out something astounding. Due to concerns about the DNA-purity of humans transplanted by The Preservers, the residents of AC3 had been reclassified on Terra as 'potential non-humans'.

When the residents of a nearby Vulcan Science Center picked up Mertrich's Syndrome, a still-stunned Valentinia decided to screw The Order back by saving those they hated. Over time, she discovered her efforts to destroy those different from her had made her a prime expert on xenobiology. She no longer hated non-humans. But part of her mission in life was to rub the Order's face in its own purges. This was what placed her aboard The Fukyryu Maru.

"Raemon---what's the positive bacteria reading?"

Raemon Jarushlm was a Berengarian, or he would have been, if any bipedal sentient lived on Berengaria 4. None did. His people had long ago left that pristine world, so as not to interfere with its fragile eco-system. Part of their goal upon leaving was to amass wealth, power, and position, so that Berengaria's beauty could always be maintained against encroachment.

Captain Jarushlm had used his personal fortune and position as a hero of the brief Gorn conflict to stop at all costs a Terran settlement from being allowed on Berengaria. This settlement had been approved by Starfleet officers who were members of The Order, and that was why Captain Jarushlm became First Officer Jarushlm. When asked whether or not it had been worth it, he would shrug and reply quite simply:

"Is Berengaria still beautiful?"

In the present, he nodded at the CMO, mindful of the fact that Doctor Honor would soon outrank him, as he was demoted yet again.

"Yes, sir. All factors except total air quality at 163%. Best to leave that one variable, though. Sometimes Augur needs a quick nitrogen fix."

"Belay that sir stuff. You should still be XO. Did you hear that Captain Watters refused Ranjar's handshake?"

"Val--not all of us are as peaceful as the dragons of Berengar. Some of us are like their sickly cousins, the vampiric Gyaos. But even for such as them--sunrise comes. Sunrise always comes."

On The Bridge, now-XO Bogadasarian handed a pad to Captain Watters.

"Sir--the current bridge assignments, and major crew assignments."

The punk almost threw the padd back, uninspected. He took on a sneer. He wasn't even 30 yet, and Ranjar correctly guessed he was one of those promoted early to supposedly egg James Kirk-- who the grapevine said couldn't have cared less about the youngest etc, etc.

"This is wholly unacceptable, XO. You'll do better in the future. Now, get me a list of all Terran-born Human Crew. Do it smartly, and with dispatch. Because the first piece of business---is removing these animals you had roaming your former command. Am I clear?"

Ranjar nodded, looking to Watters' untrained eye almost servile.

"Yes, sir. Crystal-Clear, sir."

Ranjar now knew two things about his replacement. He was utterly unqualified, and quite full of the usual Order-bile. In fact neither of these things were a surprise, so the former Captain gave voice to neither of them.

"Captain Watters, it is customary on these occasions for the senior crewman to inform the new CO of the ship's history."

Watters was re-checking the list of Terran-born humans that Bogadasarian had provided as directed. He had not yet even looked up.

"It’s not a Constitution-Class. It has a puny compliment of animals, mongrels-----"

Watters looked at his predecessor.

"...and of course, race-traitors. What more could I possibly need to know?"

During his entire time on that ship, Watters would only once get something approaching a rise out of Bogadasarian. This was that time.

"Tradition will be maintained or disaster will follow."

Perhaps the sudden shift in the older man's otherwise wholly subordinate tone was enough to shake the man who was literally appointed by way of nepotism.

"Uh....Tell me about the ship's history, by all means, Number One."

"I shall. The USS DaiGo Fukyryu Maru is named for a Japanese fishing boat from Earth's 20th Century. In early 1954, Old Earth Counting, it and its crew of seasoned fishermen were caught in the wake of a Hydrogen Bomb test. All aboard died, quite horribly, some after they returned to port. The name 'Lucky Great Dragon Number Five' is an ironic one, and a reminder that we patrol the Dead Zone so that new and deadlier weapons don't need to be made and tested where innocents could be hurt. We are a Miranda-class, less populous than a bigger starship like a Constitution, but for our size better armed, better armored and more fully staffed on average. That is all, sir."

The fool actually chuckled.

"We're named after some dinghy that got radiation burns? Soon as I can---that changes too. Lot of changes, XO. You-- may not be a part of them. Take the Conn. I have to speak to certain members of our crew."

Ranjar indeed took the Conn, and Watters departed the Bridge. The now-XO surveyed the inexperienced, yet all Terran human staff. One looked at him, nervously.

"Now, sir?"

"Yes, Mister Tansen. Now."

From the emergency access ladders emerged the experienced crew. Some were still human. A few were even Terran, as well. One of those by birth. One ensign gave her post to a Tej, and shook her head.

"I tried to tell him I have no clue on this thing--I do replicator maintenance, for pity's sake!"

"Patienzzz, Aaanie. We'll work it all ouut."

But the woman called Annie and all other female Bridge personnel of Terran human extraction were called down to the Briefing Room. There, Captain Watters gave an even truer accounting of himself.

"Humanity is facing race suicide. So I'm taking steps to keep our little portion of it alive, here on this poorly named ship. So it is that you ladies will be avoiding landing party duty and all such hazardous work. Only you can recreate our species' future, as we are outpaced by every crawling worm on Q'onos, and every pig on Tellar, and every bug on Andor. But I'll need far more from you. Help our Terran men not to stray from the one true genetic path. When I direct that you go with them to their cabins--you go with them. When I wish to punish them--then you withhold your favors. A great galactic change is coming. Humanity alone will survive, if we play our cards just right. I myself need to be kept pure--and I'll expect your help then, too. Don't let me and the others down. Help us up!"

He left, and when he did, the room was sound-dampened for obvious reasons. Laughing out loud at one's Captain is impolite, after all.

"Captain Watters to The Bridge."

With the staff switchover done once again, Watters returned and saw Bogadasarian.

"What is it, XO? I'm not through ordering up the right DNA tests. They'll be critical, you know. Verification of Humanity levels cannot be reasonably delayed."

"Aye, sir. I wouldn’t dream of causing that. But a Klingon ship just fired on an Orion Narcolot runner. Suggest we pursue and destroy."

Watters smiled.

"Now, you're talking my language. What class is the enemy ship?"

"Standard Orion Dekat. Built for close-in-hits, all speed."

The smile faded.

"You idiot! I was talking about the Klingon ship! So the stair-heads want a rumble, eh? I knew this Dead Zone Treaty crap was crap."

Bogadasarian made a choice. The former Captain gave his orders.

 

[Gojirob]

"Fire on and destroy the Orion Freighter. They signed this treaty, too."

Before current Captain Watters could react, let alone countermand his now-XO, the orders were fulfilled and the Orion runner obliterated. By The Dead Zone Treaty, no non-patrol ships meant exactly what it said. The Orions wouldn't even be able to have the Tellarites protest on their behalf. The document was that explicit.

Needless to say, Captain Watters was both explicit and livid, as well.

"Commander Bogadasarian--you will, prior to placing yourself under arrest and in the brig, explain your actions!"

Ranjar briefly eyed CMO Honor, former XO Jarushlm, former Chief Engineer Augur and Science Officer Tharls, before he responded. The crew knew that their true CO was on the verge of squashing this bug, once and for all.

Just not yet.

"Captain--your orders were to attack and possibly destroy that Klingon vessel. Well, sir. How am I supposed to do that when their Orion allies are at our backs? I needed to clear the field."

Watters became and looked confused. It seemed his natural state, when the huffing and the puffing were done with.

"But you said that the Klingons were attacking the Orions."

Doctor Honor spoke up.

"Perhaps one betrayed the other in their contraband trading."

Despite the Captain's stated bias against non-humans,
Tharls chimed in.

"Y-hes. Classic behavior, on both the Klingon and Orion part. On Andor, we have a saying about these situations."

When he stopped there, Watters shook his head.

"So what's the saying?"

"Oh, yew would not be interested, sahr. It is after all, an Andorian saying."

Watters nodded.

"Good point. Ok, let’s be fair to our turtle-headed friends. XO, signal them to surrender. They never will, of course. It’s that Rihannsu pride."

No one spoke, but mentally, one phrase was common to all but Watters.

"Klinzhai. Klingons are Klinzhai. Romulans are Rihannsu, you idiot----"

Bogadasarian gave the signal.

"Klingon vessel. This is the USS DaiGo Fukyryu Maru. Under Code 15 of the Dead Zone Understandings, we bid you surrender or be destroyed."

The response message was quickly given.

"This is The Seventh Generation. Under Code 22 of The Dead Zone Understandings, we say that we shall not surrender. Our ship is too well armed, and has no weaknesses. No weaknesses at all. If you look for any weaknesses, you will not find them. You will doubtless search for these weaknesses which we do not have, but then you will feel foolish, for not only will you not find the weaknesses which we do not have, but then you will remember that I warned you that you would never find the weaknesses that we do not have."

Watters slammed his fist on the console.

"Get me a schematic of that ship!"

Bogadasarian did just that, shaking his head.

"Sir, that ship has no weaknesses. We've checked it on several occasions."

Watters scanned the readout.

"Everyone has a weakness, XO. You just have to find it and exploit it---HERE!!!"

Tharls looked it over, and feigned a stunned look.

"Oh, my. It seems our foes have a small thermal exhaust port that is shielded against phasers but not torpedoes. Myself, I think that's where we should strike them. But then again, I am just an Andorian."

Augur nodded.

"And I'm just a Tellarite. But I say--attack them at their weakest spot. Then maybe attack them again."
Watters was growing more full of himself by the minute.

"Then it’s settled. Even the aliens agree. XO-target the exhaust port---and FIRE!!"

Ranjar shook his head.

"Sir---to so ruthlessly exploit an enemy's obvious weakness---"

Watters ran over and pushed the buttons himself. He didn't even look at Bogadasarian.

"This is why you left The Order, isn't it? You didn't have the nerve, the daring to be part of the prevailing race."

Ranjar hung his head and looked whipped. On screen, the missiles struck true. The Klingon ship rocked, and then just drifted. A message was delivered.

"This is---The Seventh Generation. We surrender. We are ready to be boarded."

Watters smiled.

"What a prize! My Uncle may just call me back to The Hall--as a peer. XO--prepare a landing party---you're on point. In case this is a trap, I don't want to lose any worthwhile officers."

Ranjar now stood straighter.

"Sir, I can guarantee you that this is a trap. But you have my word that we will not lose a single worthwhile officer."

"A vow I'll hold you to, XO. Take care, people--we--might not make it back."

Augur saluted his Captain.

"My compliments on that precision shot, sir."

Tharls seconded.

"Ye-hes! One might even go so far as to say--It was one in a million."

Watters nodded.

"You know what? I like you two. You are both going to get the prime lower deck postings, when I finish the reshuffle."

The lift doors closed.

"I know what you're thinking, XO. But don't worry. I've still got my eye on those two. Aliens are not to be trusted."

Ranjar shrugged.

"I'd go further, sir. Nowadays, it’s probably a very bad idea to explicitly trust anyone."

"Now you're speaking my language, XO."

Aboard The Seventh Generation, Klingon Captain Kardif awaited his captors, weapons on the bridge floor. Captain
Watters quickly drew his weapon.

"Yeah, that's right, bold warriors. You back away from those. We've got you cold, you horseshoe-crab rejects!"

And at that, the line was crossed. In a single motion, former Captain Ranjar Bogadasarian disarmed the young bigot and shoved him against the wall. Former XO Raemon Jarushlm held a phaser to the man's head, as well. Ranjar looked over at the Klingon Captain, and nodded.

"Thanks, Kardif. We couldn't have done it without you."

The Klingon smiled.

"Oh, Ranjar--it’s been so long since either of us called a Code 15, I wasn't going to pass this up, even for a gagh-queen about to pupate."

Watters reaction to all this was as predictable as anything else having to do with him.

"You mutinous, traitorous mongrel pack of---"

Jarushlm slapped him hard across the face.

"Show some respect! At the end of your life at least, show some respect to your betters. Captain Bogadasarian has maintained the peace on our end for five good years. No Orion or Kzinti ship gets through--period."

Watters tried to shake off the Berengarian's grasp, but it was like an ironwood locust tree's roots.

"But you're in bed with the Klingons and Romulans---the real enemy."

Kardif looked at Watters.

"You really are a fool, aren't you? The Dead Zone has nothing my people want. Nothing the Romulans want. Each side has enough firepower for TWELVE 'Last Wars'. Why would we worry about each other? Out here, boy, it’s who you can stand to be around--not who's your own kind. Captain Bogadasarian is a great man. When the Kzinti were attempting to rearm by our border, he not only informed me, but joined in the strike force."

Watters continued to shake.

"Why? Bogadasarian, imagine the damage those Kzinti lions could inflict on the Klingons. You cost the Federation a golden opportunity!"

Ranjar shook his head.

"Watters, Kzinti don't rearm against Klingons, Humans, Vulcans, Romulans, or Leprechauns. They rearm against everyone. If every Kzinti had a phaser rifle and every Kzinti world just three ships of moderate size and power apiece, then they would be set to expand once again. Kzinti fight until they are destroyed, and they never make that cheap or easy."

Kardif threw in once again.

"One Kzinti light cruiser took out eleven of my people's capital ships, and it was not because we were being merciful."

Bogadasarian continued.

"The Kzinti have been in a constant state of attempting to rearm, from the first day the great powers declawed them. The Orions spend half their runs trying to help them do just that--gratis. They want to prime the war-pump, as it were."

Ranjar then looked Watters in the face.

"You don't have to die. Continue on as Captain. We'll show you how it is, out here. How we all get by--sometimes even get along."

Kardif snorted.

"Don't get mushy on me, Bogadasarian."

The answer, sadly, was also quite predictable.

"You---will all die. The Order will prevail. Humanity Prevails! I fall, but under a real man like Admiral Cartwright, True Terrans never will. Even if you survive his wrath, mighty teeth are coming to grind you all to powder!"

Bogadasarian was handed a Klingon blaster. He pointed.

"But One Comes, And He Is Like A Rock. But One Comes, And She Is Like A Rock. Together, They Are The Rock. And Upon That Rock Shall Those Teeth Shatter Like Finest Glass. The boy kept in the Hall's basement, 'Captain'. I know what he is."

Watters eyes went wide.

"HE'S The Rock?"

It was the last words the unfortunate son of wealth, privilege, power and hate ever uttered. Any remains were cleansed, in the extremely unlikely event Federation investigators could safely board a Klingon ship. A package was then beamed over from the Fukyryu Maru. Ranjar handed it off to his sometimes-ally.

"Captain, this replicator is fully capable of making the food your young gagh-queens need. Should help you stretch supplies a bit."

"That it should. But is it a good model, or would we better off seeking one from our Orion contacts?"

"Well, it’s not top of the line. Nor does it really violate security protocols. But it must be a good one."

Ranjar pointed to the smear.

"It came from his shuttle, after all."

As the Seventh Generation and the Fukyryu Maru parted ways, reinstated XO Jarushlm oversaw some delicate work.

"Scan for any and all of Watters' DNA. Get ridiculous. Collect it, and place the collector plates in the shuttlebay."

In the meantime, Augur continued to disassemble the late Watters' shuttle, cannibalizing every last part for the lives and comfort of those aboard The Maru.

"Okay, now. Remember. Don't sand off the serial numbers. Just have the replicator recreate the part as itself. No more need be done."

CMO Honor checked the records of Watters' brief captaincy, and expunged everything related to him. Even crew shifts and signatures were altered by someone once trained to do so by an Order that spurned her.

"Okay. No torpedoes fired at the Klingons. All were fired at the Orion ship. Errr...but the very last one was fired at a sensor shadow, thought to be another Orion. God, it’s hard keeping all this straight."

Once all else was done, Science Officer Tharls ran a force field over the shuttlebay, then opened the doors, albeit briefly.

"Methinks a chill wind has passed."

Then, only one stage remained to erase the unwanted visitor forever.

"Comm, send the following message to Admiral Watters, Chief Of Deep Space Operations, Admiralty Hall. Dear Sir: We have a question about the disposition of your nephew, Captain Watters. When, precisely, is he to arrive? The rendezvous was not met, and we await him anxiously. Acting Captain Bogadasarian, USS DaiGo Fukyryu Maru."

Normal life aboard the ship resumed.

For about thirty seconds.

Tharls and Augur came out of the lift.

"Captain, we may have a small concern."

"Ah---yes. What our Tellarite colleague is attempting, quite uncharacteristically, not to tell you, is-----"

Augur held up a burned rock.

"We're running low on dilithium."

Tharls nodded.

"Y-hes. That was it."

Captain Bogadasarian took this in.

"So it’s either go to The Commodity, which wants us to become sainted - martyred - liberators, go to a Hall-stronghold, which wants us dead or in jail, or die in space."

As the two messengers left, Raemon Jarushlm approached his Captain.

"Sir--you know the Hall might send another replacement. That one probably won't be as stupid or blatant as Watters. We may not even see them for what they are, until it’s too late."

Ranjar nodded, smiling.

"Yes. Isn't life grand?"

With a power-hungry Admiralty on one side and an ineffectual Starfleet in exile on the other, The USS DaiGo Fukyryu Maru continued its mission of patrolling a mostly worthless parcel of treaty markings known as The Dead Zone.

 

[Gojirob]

Title : Aegyptus

Author : ‘Goji’ Rob Morris

Series : The TOS-based AU, The Ancient Destroyer Cycle

Type : Drama, Escape

Part : 1/4

Characters : Sarek, Saavik, Peter Kirk

Rating : PG13

Summary : Sarek and Saavik have freed Peter Kirk from captivity. But the flight to safety will not be an easy or uneventful one.



Aegyptus
By Rob Morris

It is so cold, now. Before that, it was pain, red and raw. Some of it was my pain. Some of it I caused, when I was made to be in pain. I asked them to stop. When I start hurting back, it doesn’t happen in a way I can control. Something wants out of me, then. It’s my responsibility to never let it, until the last battle. I don’t know when that is.

I cannot remember the morning anymore. I cannot remember my name anymore. They try and tell me I never had a name, but I know that isn’t true.

I can’t hold out much longer. As bad as what’s inside me is, there’s something else, something worse, and they want me to call to it.

Then, the long nightmare ends. Just like that. The most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen pulls me out of that place.

She says her name is Saavik, and that one day soon, she’ll take me to see—a great man—was his name Jim? Was he someone important? First, we have to see Mister Spock’s father.

Please, God, let her be real.

-----------

VULCAN CONSULATE, SAN FRANCISCO, APRIL, 2278

Sarek of Vulcan had lived through a dozen nightmare scenarios in his own mind, before the message came through.

*Father, I have him.*

Sweet, wonderful Saavik, patient and obedient child, had achieved her objective. Sarek fought to regain his composure, lost imagining his unacknowledged granddaughter added to Admiralty Hall’s sub-Terran trophy room. Before her voice was heard, Sarek heard Cartwright’s taunts, Amanda’s wails of mourning, and the rage of Captain James T. Kirk, for risking another child of his while keeping silent on the fate of another.

A private transporter chamber was one of many privileges afforded to an Ambassador, particularly one of Sarek’s standing. But it was rarely used, and Sarek had no intention of making its use a regular thing. The day he could not leave the embassy by the front gates would be a very sorry one, he had always reasoned. While a sorry day was not at hand, it was yet a day of dread. Sarek calibrated the chamber to the arranged upon signal, then activated it.

Materializing within the beam were the adopted daughter and son of a man who was like a brother to Sarek’s second son. The girl was wearing a black jumpsuit, and it took Sarek a moment to realize that her features had reverted to her true Vulcan appearance, rather than the nanoprobe-induced Human disguise he had given her. She was holding the boy, who was wearing only a pink robe and was shivering, his face containing a look of both wonder and terror.

“Father, we must get him proper clothes. This robe is filthy—or rather its true owner is.”

Sarek ignored her until he had wiped the transporter records on multiple levels, including sending a self-destruct signal to the transport boosters that had seen Saavik and her charge out of Admiralty Hall. They would still be of use to any investigator who found their residue, but only in the long term. In the short term,
Sarek planned to be off Earth and on Vulcan.

“Father?”

“Fa-the-r? Is Jim here, Saa-vik?”

“Saavik, be patient. We must move with alacrity.”

Sarek contacted one of his most loyal aides, a Human woman of decades’ service to his embassy.

“Emily, I need you in my private chambers.”

Emily Harrison emerged, carrying a shopping bag she had been asked to quietly fill.

“Ambassador, who is that boy with Saavik? He looks hurt.”

Saavik’s look grew sharp.

“He has been hurt. By experts. I will clean and dress him.”

“Saavik, Emily has raised three boys. She knows how…”

“Father, I will not defy you, but nor is this a matter for debate. I will be quick. You may find he does not trust anyone besides me. Peter? Will you let me take care of you?”

The boy nodded, only speaking halting but telling words.

“Trust you. Love—you.”

As Saavik withdrew with the boy, Emily turned to her employer.

“Sarek, is that boy Peter Kirk?”

The Ambassador sighed.

“Emily, it is best for all of us if I do not answer that question. There are concerns here that trump even the trust you have earned and deserve.”

She looked at the doorway where the children had stood, only moments before.

“It is him. I remember holding my grandson when the news of his disappearance came. I was haunted by that face when they showed on it holovid. Was he on Earth all this time? Why isn’t he any older? I…”

She stopped herself.

“Thirty years working with Vulcans, and I know nothing of privacy. My apologies, sir.”

She produced a second shopping bag.

“These baskets are for you and Saavik. There’s one for Amanda, too.”

Sarek shook his head.

“Baskets, Emily?”

She nodded.

“Yes. After all—its Easter morning. Do you want me to report back here after services, and breakfast with my family?”

“No. All staff is on standby. The consulate here must be shut down for a time. Your salaries will continue to be paid.”

The longtime employee breathed in.

“It’s really that bad?”

Sarek felt he owed her an answer, however indirect.

“Adjacent to Starfleet Academy Proper, there is a structure of fifty years endurance. Officers of very high rank work and congregate there. It is a place of note.”

Emily knew, then. Admiralty Hall was the only structure Sarek could be talking about.

“I’d—heard that it was noteworthy. I’ll try and make sure my grandchildren never breach its security perimeter. You know kids.”

“Yes, I believe that children would do well to give these noted officers a wide berth.”

Saavik returned, also wearing a change of clothes. Peter Kirk looked at her.

“Sor-ry.”

“It was not your fault, Peter. I should have anticipated your need for relief. The jumpsuit has been recycled. Father, we are ready.”

Peter ran forward, and shocked all by embracing the Ambassador.

“Thank You! Thank You for getting me out—out of that place! THAT PLACE!!!”

The boy pulled back.

“Do I have to go back now?”

Saavik responded.

“That will never happen. It will never be permitted.”

Sarek was taken aback both by the embrace and by the fierceness of Saavik’s response. He was to be taken aback one more time. Emily kneeled before Peter. The older woman tenderly touched a finger to his nose. The boy did not flinch, but nor did he look comfortable.

“Don’t be afraid, Peter. We’ve been waiting for you to arrive.”

She removed a pendant with a small rock from beneath her blouse, and held it as she kept on.

“Blessed Rock Of Prophecy, your small arms hold the burden grown men shrink from. It falls to you, to slay that old dragon, and it is upon you that those horrid teeth will shatter like merest glass. He who is The Rock—“

Saavik saw a woman she had known for years look at her with reverence.

“—and She who is The Rock join together, and together they are The Rock. You will rise, a face seen as though over a hill, and when the last hope has failed, then and there you will make your stand.”

She then took the pendant off, placed it in Saavik’s
hand, and then placed Peter’s hand in hers.

“Emily, what is the meaning of this?”

The Human woman smiled.

“A common thread among many faiths and legends is the presence of the rock.Mount Olympus. Simon Peter, who was a Rock for Jesus Christ. The Mosque Of The Rock. The Stone Tablets passed to Moses. The stone that was rolled away from the tomb on the first Easter morning. The stone into which Excalibur was drawn from, and then placed back into. Some say even the Grail itself was a stone. In the Far East, a Stone Monkey became a godlike being after a long hard journey.”

Peter spoke words that belied his muddled state.

“Sun-Wukong. Son-Goku. Monkey King.”

Emily smiled.

“The Order Of The Rock doesn’t worship you wonderful children. But in all people who believe in a better universe free of hate, there exists those who wait to follow you against the Ancient Destroyer.”

This was a wrinkle Sarek had not known of. But after dismissing Emily, he knew there was no time to wait any longer. The Shuttle Surak took off ten minutes later.

Ten minutes after that, armed soldiers violated every treaty imaginable as they searched the Vulcan embassy.

Finding no one and nothing, they returned empty-handed and were ordered executed by an enraged Grand Admiral Cartwright. This had the happy benefit of destroying the scans they had made, preventing them from being analyzed further by Hall scientists. Sarek had already erased his staff lists.

The hunt for Peter Kirk was on.

----------------

I am free.

I am with her.

I will not be taken again.

Uncle Jim, where are you?

Why did Mister Spock’s father come for me, instead of my own?

It hurts to think.

But I saw the morning as we left Earth.

There is still a sun in the sky.

I wish we were aboard the Enterprise.

God, help us. Because the devil’s servants are after us.

I won’t let them touch her.

 

[Mistral]

I read Archer's story up to Hartzilla's first comments. Fascinating story. Creepy, too.

 

[Gojirob]

I read Archer's story up to Hartzilla's first comments. Fascinating story. Creepy, too.

Many thanks, Mistral. I am trying my best to make this a more coherent universe, and always welcome suggestions on anything a reader finds good or bad, or especially lacking in backstory explanation.

The themes in Archers&Dragons are further broached in 'The Assault Of Species Zero' and the upcoming 'One Of One'.

 

[Gojirob]

Title : Aegyptus

Author : ‘Goji’ Rob Morris

Series : The TOS-based AU, The Ancient Destroyer Cycle

Type : Conflict; Drama; Adventure

Part : 2/4

Characters : Sarek, Saavik, Peter Kirk, Characters in flashback

Rating : PG13

Summary : Sarek and Saavik have rescued Peter Kirk from Admiralty Hall; but the flight to safety will not be a smooth one

Aegyptus
by Rob Morris

We’re going to Vulcan. I always felt a connection to it, but I don’t know why.

I remember seven great heroes, who sailed the stars, and made me feel at home.

Or were they just a holovid fantasy that I got lost in?

The Ambassador, Mister Spock’s father, apologized to me for the cot-bed I have to lie down in. But it feels so soft, so warm—and Saavik is here with me. Why would he apologize?

Is Ambassador Sarek in pain? And why are there two other people inside his head?

They tell me that they’ve been in his head all of his life, and that they have to get out.

The world doesn’t make any sense.

----------------------------

Saavik stared in wonder at the readout.

“Father, there is a planetary body on sensors. There should not be one here.”

Sarek took in the readout, then nodded.

“That, Saavik, is the legendary Sol-X, or Sector 001-10.”

The girl was not the scientist her unacknowledged birth-father Spock was, but she understood this well enough.

“A tenth planet in Earth’s solar system? Why does no one know of it?”

Sarek looked in on the sleeping boy Peter Kirk, so deprived for over a decade that the cot-bed in Shuttle Surak seemed to him like a downy mattress in a luxury hotel.

“Because, as with your brother, the Order Of The Ancient Destroyer did not wish anyone to know of its existence.”

Saavik Brianna Kirk seemed to become nervous.

“Father, I have yet to inform Peter of our family connection. In his fragile state, I feared his mistaking my adoption by Uncle Jim for his being replaced.”

This was not the whole reason, and perhaps Sarek sensed this, but he did not question her given reason.

“You will need to inform him, eventually. Perhaps when his sense of self and time passages is clearer.”

Saavik also presented Sarek with the recording of Hall activities as regarded Peter Kirk. The Ambassador winced openly at the record of the boy’s brutalization, and subsequent retaliation before his recapture.

“Father, if this Colonel West is to be believed, Peter’s acts of fierce resistance ended plans for a political coup and a general purge of Starfleet officers not loyal to the Order. They apparently had plans to target Uncle Jim and his crew, first and foremost.”

Sarek looked over at the boy. He then thought of Spock, so savaged on Hellguard that he could not recall having become Saavik’s father. The Vulcan and master of peace-making fought back the urge to feel joy at Peter Kirk’s retaliation.

“Then, it is life-kind itself that owes him a debt, Saavik-kam. A debt he will be owed again, I fear.”

Saavik nodded.

“I also came to the conclusion, Father, that this Colonel West must have been your contact within Admiralty Hall.”

Sarek gazed upon his unacknowledged granddaughter with appreciative eyes. He had never told her he had such a contact.

“He would be in such a position. Tell me—were you forced to take a life, as I feared would become necessary?”

Saavik looked down.

“Their means of holding Peter was a blood-simple one. Doors of great mass and density were situated along the sloping downward path. At one of them were perhaps two hundred armed guards. They saw past my technological disguise and attacked me. While they could not kill me, any one of them could have sounded further alarms. I was forced to act decisively.”

Sarek felt regret at this, but the stealth of their effort was its paramount asset.

“Were there any other casualties?”

“I cannot imagine that the lobby guards that allowed me in will do very well in a short time. Then there is Admiral T.E. Bunson. She—had draped her nude form over Peter’s cryo-chamber. She very nearly defeated me. Peter awoke, and used his abilities to de-limb her. Those limbs proved to be cybernetic, something she had done to herself. She is alive, but until they find her, she is in no condition to give them information.”

Sarek recalled accepting this loathsome woman’s handshake at a ceremony, and sensing no thoughts at all from her.
This now made sense.

“Though a hateful sort, her life guarantees the stability of the Hall’s structure and power. In this, our Colonel West was correct. Saavik, I will guide the ship manually through the cloaked fields surrounding the tenth planet. I will be in the cockpit area. Will you stay with Peter?”

Her simple answer gave him pause.

“Always.”

*What had passed between them?*, thought Sarek. Perhaps, he mused, Saavik simply liked having someone to care for, a not uncommon thing for a child as lonely as her.

When the two were alone, Peter woke up. On the floor on a futon next to him, Saavik took note of this.

“Are you well?”

“Guess.”

His tone clearly indicated that he meant ‘I Guess’ rather than challenging her to some riddle game.

“Peter, I could sing a song Aunt Nyta taught me.”

“Okay.”

Recalling the words and tone Uhura had shown her, Saavik began.

“Maybe far away; Or maybe real nearby; He may be pouring her coffee; She may be straightening his tie. Maybe in a house; All hidden by a hill; She's sitting playing piano, He's sitting paying a bill.”

She saw his tired eyes already closing again.

“Good night, Peter.”

“Saavik?”

“Yes?”

“Aunt Nyta drinks tea. Uncle Jim doesn’t wear ties.”

“Go to sleep, Peter.”

“Good night, Saavik.”


In the control area, Sarek found he could not bear to watch more than a few minutes of the footage of Peter Kirk’s brutalization by the Admirals. This boy was the son of his son’s brother, and the brother of Sarek’s own granddaughter. Emotions he had spent decades telling Spock Vulcans did not have now assaulted him mercilessly.

“I am a Vulcan. There is control. I am control.”

Yet suddenly Sarek no longer felt in control of his own memories.

--------

2222, Vulcan

“I stand before you today to proclaim that the last words of Surak are fulfilled in me. I am The Rock Of Prophecy, meant to bring low the beast Gh’draeh and his hateful Order Of The Ancient Destroyer. I will begin my…”

Sarek felt the touch of his grandmother, the Lady T’Pau, and then he felt immense pain. He saw the face of his new bride, T’Rea, cold and impassive, and he saw the face of his grandmother, heavy with contempt and disgust. Before losing consciousness, he realized she had used a forbidden technique on him. This was his last conscious thought for five years.

--------

2278

When he awoke after those five years, he had been told that the heretical T’Rea was gone, his marriage annulled. Sarek could not help but feel true rage at the manner in which Sra Sra T’Pau had summarily shut down his mind, to prevent him from ‘spouting on’ about the Rock Of Prophecy.

*You and I are not so different, Peter. Lost time, followed by awakening to a world no longer the one you knew.*

He was dispatched as junior consul to the Vulcan Embassy on Earth. Staven, who had almost allowed the use of General Order Seven to go unchallenged some decades ago, was still Ambassador. Sarek found him challenging, and now he would find him difficult. Perhaps even insuperably difficult.

Sarek would face a choice.

----

2227

“I merely believe, Ambassador, that, while necessitated on a practical level, the Kzinti Containment Area called by some The Dead Zone may in fact be incompatible with nothing less than IDIC itself.”

Staven dismissed Sarek’s words nearly before they were said, and it was not the first time.

“You may find, young one, that IDIC itself is incompatible with reality. The idea that all things may even be combined has largely proven to be an idealistic fantasy.”

In an absurdly challenging tone to use on an underling,
Staven asked Sarek a telling question.

“Will you now report this to your lady grandmother?”

Sarek shook his head.

“I was reminded forcefully of protocol during the Koren case. I will not violate it again.”

Staven nodded in apparent triumph.

“Yet I would have you report to her on other matters, Sarek. Go to my aide, Sunel. He will deliver to you an attaché case, and you will then take a shuttle and pilot it back to Vulcan with all haste. There are matters in those files that may not be transmitted.”

“It will be as you say, Mister Ambassador.”

--------

2278

Staven’s openly mocking tone and virtual invitation to report his anti-IDIC, very nearly Anti-Cthia, diatribe raised Sarek’s hackles. So when handed the attaché case in question, Sarek noted that the one Sunel kept for himself was identical. A quiet switch was made. Sarek’s shuttle made it to Vulcan, the switched case containing evidence of attitudes far worse than the one Staven spoke of openly among many of his senior staff, not to mention the Ambassador himself. Staven and Sunel also left Earth by shuttle.

That shuttle exploded for reasons no one could discern.

Newly appointed Ambassador Sarek tried to reassure himself that he had not assassinated, he had avoided assassination and had only handed back Staven’s own property to him. It was a hard sell, and over fifty years later, he still didn’t completely buy it.

*Yet for all such drama, Staven’s death paled in significance to two more meetings that same year. One I did not recall until recently. The other, I pray that I am never so feeble as to forget.*

-----

2227

The Starfleet Cadet spoke with some fervor. He was a man convinced that he was preserving something precious, and trying to prevent something apocalyptic. He was correctly concerned on both fronts.

“This Admiralty Hall is a violation of our democratic values in the Federation and our traditions here in Starfleet. Democracies fall fast and hard, history tells us, when the leadership of their militaries or like services begin to separate themselves from those they lead. Admiral Forrest, mourning his late friend Jonathan Archer, stated flatly that such proximity reminds the low of where they may end up, and the high of where they started. Are cadets, Captains or Commodores allowed to simply seal themselves off and talk only with people of a like burden and opinion. If no one is present to tell the top echelon that they may be wrong, then wrong will often seem like right, until that sad and sorry day that wrong becomes right. We must make our opinions known…”

A man with a sharp shrill voice came up, interrupting the man on stage.

“What about the opinions of the Admirals themselves? Or are you saying that only a bunch of ungrateful cadets, who, like all of us, owe their lives to the Admiralty, should hold any sway?”

The cadet on the podium stared at his heckler.

“You’ll have your turn to speak, Cadet Gill. This is my time.”

“Why? Are you afraid that I’ll prove that the construction of a single building isn’t going to cause universal Armageddon?”

In the crowd, Sarek again noted how one mountain in Israel kept being used to describe the end of time. The original speaker stood his ground.

“You’re a good debater, John. But whether you prove that or not, you will wait to do so until I finish.”

Men of dubious standing emerged in the crowd, chanting against the original speaker.

“LET HIM SPEAK! LET HIM SPEAK! LET HIM SPEAK!”

An old tactic, thought Sarek, older than Humans, Vulcans, Bajorans or possibly Iconians. If the original speaker allowed himself to be shouted down, he was done. He was also done if he allowed the shouters to portray themselves as defending free speech while denying him the right to do so as well.

“He’ll have his scheduled chance. You bunch are not on the schedule. Now, it just so happens I have people in the crowd, too. You want them to start shouting? Because if they do, Mister Gill’s turn might never come around.”

The speaker held out his hand, palm raised, as though imploring them to trigger the other side’s shouters.
Things quieted down, and he finished. The one called John
Gill took the podium next.

“To start with, I’m sorry that my esteemed opponent had to resort to petty threats to finish his backward thinking speech.”

The first speaker smiled at Gill.

“It wasn’t a threat, Mister Gill. It was a bluff. I have no operatives in the crowd. This is a debate, not an Ian Fleming novel.”

Gill’s face reddened, and Sarek saw the jaws of his apparent followers nearly drop off. Gill now seemed in a huff as he resumed speaking.

“History teaches us that our leaders bear awesome responsibilities. In the old United States Of America, who did serving Presidents turn to? Former holders of that same office. A like set of experiences unite those who serve in our Admiralty. They have risen to our highest rank by already being head and shoulders above the rest of us. This isolation some small minds fear is already a reality. Admiralty Hall will merely be a place they can work and be at peace while they make the choices that affect all our lives. Is this asking so much, when they have given their lives over to us already?”

The debate was over soon enough, and the general consensus seemed to be for the first speaker. But when Sarek spoke with this young man, he shook his head.

“Thank you, Mister Ambassador. But I think and fear it’s largely a case of win the battle, lose the war. The decision has already been made to put that Hall up. There is nothing I can reasonably do to prevent it. Those admirals will go in there, and there will be no one to ground or contradict them. People will that kind of power, isolated to just their own? Not a good thing. Maybe in fact, a very bad one.”

Sarek understood one part of the man’s argument, but not the other.

“How would it be that bad?”

“Well, sir—haven’t you noticed that there simply are no non-Terran Admirals? A streak of xenophobia has always persisted at the highest levels of this ‘Fleet. Giving the old boys’ network its own clubhouse is not going to remedy that. Far from it.”

Sarek was taken aback. In fact, he had never noted this exclusion.

“Still, you must recall that the Federation Charter is no older than myself, that not all planets joined at the same time, nor have all worlds disbanded their exploratory and defensive fleets in favor of joining Starfleet.”

The man shook his head.

“That’s a reason for not having very many non-Humans in the top echelon. It’s not a reason for having none of them at all.”

Sarek was very impressed with this man’s sagacity.

“Cadet—I am in need of a Human cultural liaison. You seem to possess a singular understanding of your own people, both in their strengths and in their weaknesses. Would you be interested in this position?”

Sarek expected any number of reactions. The man gave none of them.

“Move!”

He and Sarek barely ducked in time to avoid the small shuttle-bus that barreled toward them. It halted, and then came back at them again.

“You know, you offered me a job, but never bothered to ask my name.”

Sarek knew well the potentially grave reason why he might make so fundamental an error, but kept his tone even.

“I offer apology, Mister…?”

The man then committed his own error, and offered his hand to a Vulcan.

“George Samuel Kirk, of Riverside, Iowa. Now let me take this, if you would.”

The shuttle-bus came straight at Kirk, and thuggish men inside laid down weapons-fire. Since Sarek saw no reason to die, he found cover. Kirk, for his part, waited directly in the path of the shuttle-bus. Just as it was about to strike him, he impossibly grasped the vehicle’s front end, and lifted it above his head.

“You’re not hunting children, tonight!”

In one motion, Kirk threw the shuttle-bus at a Commons wall, smashing it and sending the occupants fleeing in terror. Kirk smiled.

“Where *have* all the soldiers gone? And when will they ever learn?”

Sarek pointed at the carnage.

“How did you do that?”

“I eat my vegetables.”

Sarek raised an eyebrow.

“Humor—a most difficult concept, made more so when the humor in question is lacking.”

Kirk’s head turned like that of a dog or sehlat, hearing something past even Sarek’s range.

“Mister Ambassador, were you told that an applicant for Terran translator would meet you here?”

Sarek realized what was being said.

“I now believe that this applicant will be what you Humans call a no-show.”

George Kirk nodded.

“But some of his friends are on their way. I know how Vulcans are about violence, so can I ask if you’ll sacrifice a bit of dignity so that we can avoid a fight?”

Sarek suddenly drew back his right arm, connecting with a would-be attacker.

“I fear that such may no longer be possible.”

“How the hell did he get that close? Never mind—just take enough of them out to give us an opening to escape.”

“Kill the race-traitor if you can, but take out that damned Vulcanian trash!”

As the attackers descended on them en masse, Kirk was like a mountain, shrugging off batteries of blows and effortlessly pushing them back. Sarek was a gliding master of avoidance and of using blows with just enough force to get the job done. He also found his sash to be of use against their attackers, and cut quite an impressive figure with his outer robe flowing behind him like a cape. He grabbed one attacker, and held him up before him.

“This wasn’t my idea, Pointy! Don’t kill me!”

“I do not desire your life. Merely deliver a message to those who sent you. I will defend myself if forced to, and I will do so with a terrible efficiency.”

“The way you move—even for a Vulcan! What are you?”

Sarek pulled the squirming man close.

“Do you not read your own racist literature, concerning the origins of we Vulcanians? It is now night-time. Obviously, I am a bat.”

Sarek threw the man well away, and fairly soon, between him and Kirk, the attackers were wholly dispersed. This time, Sarek moved slowly and did shake his partner’s hand. He also staggered into his arms, the realization of the violence he had engaged in taking hold.

*It will be my time soon enough. I cannot allow the savage days to come early.*

“We’d better move, Mister Ambassador. These punks scare easy, but they seem to have a lot of friends to call on.”

“They do seem a lot bound by false myth and ignorant fear. You spoke of an affront to my dignity. I will take my chances on that, if you would.”

Kirk then threw Sarek’s arm around his shoulder, and jumped straight up. As they descended and then leaped again, Sarek shook his head.

“You can cover a third of a kilometer in one bound?”

“Aw, hell. I could clear the Seattle Space Needle. But one-third K is safer for passengers, and easier for control and stealth. Well, here’s your embassy.”

Sarek walked through the presumed safety of the gates, and asked Kirk a question.

“Again—the source of your abilities?”

Kirk nodded.

“I was born aboard the USS Enterprise NCC-01, second starship to bear the name. As my mother was giving birth, a maniac named Melvin Koren started shooting up the ship. My mother placed me in an escape pod. That pod skirted Jupiter’s gravity well. The Vulcan Doctor who analyzed me upon recovery speculated that the forces at play changed me, or maybe activated a recessive gene.”

“Koren? I attempted to defend him for those very crimes.”

“Well, everybody deserves counsel. Point is, Doctor T’Nia said that I was a genuine miracle. So I took that miracle and swore upon my parents’ graves to make war on people like Koren, and the Order Of The Ancient Destroyer he served.”

Sarek seemed shocked.

“But T’Nia is my own great-aunt, and raised me for much of my early life. And you are saying that the Order has taken root on Earth?”

“Actually, Ambassador, they’ve been here for many millenniums, if not longer. Oh, and one more favor?”

“Of course.”

Kirk spoke one word, as his eyes glowed silver and his voice echoed.

“Forget.”

 

[Gojirob]

The next morning, Sarek was informed he had an appointment. He felt physical strain, but could not account for it. He had talked with a man named George Kirk, but what had they spoken of? Was Pon Farr hitting him that soon?

The applicant’s credentials were stellar. She came from a Minnesota family that produced many translators of non-Terran tongues, with her great-grandmother having served under the estimable Hoshi Sato, prior to the original Enterprise’s disappearance during the Romulan War.

“You wish to join my staff as our Senior Translator?”

“Yes. A distant cousin of mine from Iowa said the Vulcan embassy needed one, in addition to a cultural liaison.”

Sarek was not skeptical, but still guarded in his enthusiasm.

“It would be unusually fortunate if you could fill both positions.”

Amanda Grayson smiled, and Sarek felt a stirring at this.

“Let’s face it, Mister Ambassador. You just hit the jackpot!”

---------------------------------------
2278

Sarek felt a stirring, but it was neither romantic nor sexual. It was a feeling of peril. With the controls now locked for a time, he ventured out into the shuttle’s main area, to check on Saavik and Peter.

Saavik had moved onto the upper bed with Peter, and both slept soundly. A man in a Starfleet uniform lay where Saavik once had been. He glanced casually at Sarek, waved a little ‘hello’, and then began to sing.

“Hush, Little Peter, don’t throw fits; But your birth presaged the apocalypse; A big scary dragon is coming for you, and he will eat up all you knew; And if you don’t stop things from getting worse; You two will be left alone in all the universe; You and Saavik will be quite annoyed; As you go mad in the starless void.”

Sarek asked the extremely obvious.

“Who are you?”

The man smiled.

“The better question might be, Sarek—what children are these?”

Sarek glared. The man shrugged.

“What, too soon?”

“Tell me who you are.”

The man got up, and waved a shaming finger.

“Testy, testy, Mister Vulcan. Bendii Claus coming early, to drop off his gifts of memory loss and emotional chaos?”

Sarek showed his shock at this openly. The man chuckled.

“Yes, yes, I know all your deepest darkest secrets. It’s who I am, it’s what I do, really, it’s all I know.”

He stopped Sarek from speaking.

“Yes, yes—who am I? Allow me to introduce myself, I’m a man of wealth and tast---oooh, wrong ID. Our mutual friend Jim knows me. So does Saavik. She should. I did try and kill her three years ago.”

Sarek knew then. The entity before him had once called himself Squire Trelane, but now chiefly called himself by the name of his species and native continuum.

“Q.”

-------------

She is beside me, and everything feels right.

I am at peace.

But they now that I have escaped them.

I will not let myself be taken back.

That Q is a jerk.

 

[Gojirob]

Title : Book Report

Author : ‘Goji’ Rob Morris

Series : The TOS-based AU, The Ancient Destroyer Cycle

Type : Alt-history perspective

Part : 1/1

Characters : Four Starfleet cadets of different eras

Rating : PG13

Summary : A pivotal author of two very different young adult novel series in the post-WW3 period is discussed and reviewed in very different ways.

Book Report
By Rob Morris

The Late 21st and early 22nd Century Career of Fantasy Writer Roman Harwin in a series of retrospectives.

------------------

2130

Roman Harwin was one of a triumvirate of people who, in 2063, gave the world back its hope after what was very nearly the end. He was the finance wizard, Lillian Alfred the mechanic, and Zephram Cochrane the designer/dreamer. He went on to become the greatest writer of his era, with not one but two series called the Harry Potter, Star Wars, and Lord Of The Rings of our time. For once, it was said, popular culture’s drive forward wouldn’t stop when the second millennium did.

Roman Harwin (born Raymond Harlan, name changed the day the bombs fell) was a hanger-on to one of history’s great romances, the dreaded third wheel on the bicycle of love. He was a scam artist whose chief use to Cochrane was his ability to keep creditors and thieves not of his caliber at bay. He wrote one series that would have proven as plagiaristic in court, had any descendants of the stolen work’s original author survived the great conflict. The other merely lifted whole cloth from the eschatological legend of the Ancient Destroyer Of Worlds. He grew disgusted by his own works, and in the end had control over neither.

Most history books tell us the former version. The latter one came from Harwin himself. I was privileged to meet him at Uncle Zef’s funeral, somber though it was. I actually asked him if his two great characters, Mary Sue Johnson and Ebeniel, would ever meet in one of his future works. I cannot forget what he said.

*Kid, don’t you think Ebeniel has suffered enough?*

To my mind, he had put together something so awesome, and in fact had done it twice. No young adult goes through those tween/early teen years without having some powerful memories of Miss Johnson saving the day, or crying just a little when his future love Cruxadia at last frees Ebeniel from Dukes’ Keep, held there by The Children Of The Old Dragon for a long hard decade.

He played a part in our species’ re-launch from the ashes, and authored two series that will not ever be forgotten. But in his own mind, Roman Harwin was still that same desperate man whose efforts to skip his debts were aided by a near-miss with Judgment Day. Our Academy is filled to the brim with people who never stopped reading his works, who strive and explore because of what he gave us. We could never hope to be the with-it wizard Mary Sue was, or the eternally resilient, optimistic and seeming immortal Ebeniel was. But thanks to Harwin, we could dream.

SENIOR CADET JONATHAN HENRY ARCHER

----------------------------------------


2230

Needless to say, Harwin’s works have touched a great many. I fear that I never saw it. Perhaps it was my unsentimental upbringing, or perhaps it was a wave of deconstructionism that took apart the classical literary world after the Klingon conflict. People who had seen modern war in space no longer wanted to see it gloried, and Mary Sue Johnson seemed to personify bloodless victories won all through smarts and tech.

Since the creation and existence of The Hidden Prince was the author’s own pot-shot at Mary Sue Johnson, I choose to place it outside the focus of this report. While disturbing in great part and unabashedly part and parcel of the periodic end-of–days nonsense, Ebeniel’s tale is never presented as anything but a broad fantasy. Not so for Mary Sue Johnson.

After Lillian Alfred rejected Harwin in favor of their partner, Cochrane, he was said to have become further depressed by reading a surviving science fiction story called ‘The Cold Equations’. Angered at the heroine’s brutal but necessary fate, it is said that he sat down for a month and churned out an alternate version wherein her tech savvy nature enabled her to make the ship she stowed away on more efficient, and the wary crew became her optimistic boosters as she saw her distant brother and then became, as the title suggested, ‘First Teenager In Space’.

When the Cochranes, visiting their friend, were said to have loved it, it was submitted to a publishing house that was one of the first to rebuild by recycling the gigatons of reclaimable paper for use until technology could be restored to most areas.

It sold so many copies, the Vulcan Ambassador gave in and provided Terrans with the ability to restore E-Reader networks. The story of his price for doing so being a signed copy is likely apocryphal. But not only were E-Readers brought back, so was the old rule that a successful piece of mass entertainment must have a sequel. He later swore on everything he held dear that, had he known, he would never have done it.

The girl who had desperately reasoned out a way to save her own hide in Book One became the expert at alien contact in Book Two. In Book Three, she became an accidental battle-master. In Book Four, a curer of plagues. And so on. By the time of the fourteenth and final book, she helped the fractious planets join together to form a more perfect union. Harwin’s restrictive contract at an end, he bolted to the second publishing house to open in the post-war period, and there began his tales of Ebeniel, who failed majorly at least once per volume. After that first-attempt ‘new series’ of Mary Sue Johnson novels fell flat before the second volume could even be considered, Harwin released his so-called ‘real’ ending.

Mary Sue Johnson walked out of an airlock to save resources for the first baby born aboard her ship. The crew that had so loved her (disturbingly for her age, in some cases, this was literal) lost all direction and purpose, and returned to being a simple freighter.

I can’t blame the first publisher. Their aim was to sell books. The sad part is, they might have had something, had they made Johnson a real teenager. As it stands, her name is now synonymous with obnoxious know-it-all outsiders who will somehow make right what experienced professionals never could. It is a sad legacy, whether as a would-be Federation founder or a fragile pretty thing that shattered when the air ran out of the absurd idea of a child doing what a grown person has failed at.

Nowadays, even children the same age as she was in those stories deride the figure’s inability to keep it real. I believe that says it all.

FIFTH-YEAR CADET CHRISTOPHER PIKE

--------------------------------------

2251

I will be the first to admit I never understood the hatred for Mary Sue Johnson, expressed to this day in so many endless chat-pods, some named for just this purpose. She was doing what every kid dreams of, and carrying the youthful enthusiasm that everyone wishes they could keep.

I won’t cast aspersions or paint with broad strokes, but I have to believe at least some of those who cast and paint on her are prime examples of what my grandmother called sour grapes.

If I have venom for Roman Harwin, it is reserved for the excesses of his second, far more widely and openly praised series, The Hidden Prince. Taking place in a pseudo-Arthurian world that is equal parts Tolkien, Stephen King, Rowling and Peter Beagle, whose ghost I hope haunted the writer for this derivative work, it has ambition it frankly never meets. I personally am glad Starfleet cut the academic term from seven to four years. Otherwise, I might have time to re-read this series, of a world where the villains are child-rapists, and the heroes are dithering idiots, blind or both.

This is a world where two children are forced to rescue victims who has already long since drowned, said victims being creation and civilization. The messianic analogies, while frequent, are also never followed through on. It often comes across as though the author is still punishing Miss Johnson by way of the way the heroes, Ebeniel and Cruxadia, are treated.

First of all, Ebeniel is lied to in nearly every way there was, so often, I think that Luke Skywalker would concede that mantle to him gladly. Lied to about his prowess and strength by the parents that raised him. Lied to about who his real father was. Never told about the Prophecy Of God’s Stone (which, perhaps, he should have figured out from his name). The list goes on ad nauseum, ad infinitum, and it grows rapidly with each volume. Ebeniel is supposed to be a hero, the ultimate hero, and yet he leaves a trail of blood and bodies behind him, and we are supposed to assume that every last enemy he and Cruxadia take out is wholly corrupt and all kinds of irredeemable.

Cruxadia is no better off. Her grandfather, the Lord High Peacemaker, constantly betrays the values he is supposed to live by with his sending the children to do battle against The Children Of The Old Dragon. Worse still, he fails to tell Cruxadia that it was his own son who fathered her under humiliating circumstances. A silent shame makes this princess think she is a barely-tolerated guest in her own ancestral house.

After a dismal past, Humans are still overcoming the self-esteem problems a young woman can have, based on culture and mores. Cruxadia takes this back eight hundred or more years. She spends endless hours trying to get her unknown amnesiac father to notice her.

While characters in-story and some readers fretted when she began a relationship with the rescued Ebeniel, his was the first positive, unfiltered attention she ever received on a consistent basis. Even their sweet relationship, though, is pock-marked with a sub-text the author apparently refused to think through the ramifications of.

The text hems and haws on the subject, but it becomes clear, and Harwin had the decency to confirm, that the ‘great and grim brutalization’ suffered by the heroes as young children was rape. Possibly gang rape. The author then runs with this awful theme by having the Dukes in the Children Of The Old Dragon develop a chicken-hawk mentality, at one point seemingly having all the Knights-In-Waiting (thankfully egalitarian in its gender membership) as their playthings. Yet this is the generation that must be prepared to fight the Old Dragon when he truly comes.

Why most of these, and especially Ebeniel and Cruxadia, are not ravening psychopaths by the time of the apocalypse is beyond comprehension. They suffer neglect benign and malign, massive abuse, and the eternal self-interest trumping all as regards the adults around them. That they keep their faith and love is not heartening, it is a writer’s weak-kneed contrivance.

Lowest of all is their supposed inspiration and adoptive (secretly blood in Ebeniel’s case) adoptive father, Canaan, The Sailor King, renowned explorer and great hero. We are supposed to think him the greatest of all heroes, yet he fails his children in an epic way.

How can he be called a leader, when he fails to see that Bene’, his regent and first mate, is Cruxadia’s own father, and that more, hidden memories of past shame are enervating this man, his good right hand?

How can he be called a great lover when patient Freida is left to wait for decades while serving as a surrogate mother for the two children? How can he be called a hero when he fails to see the treachery of those who dwell in Dukes’ Keep?

What is he to these children, these kids who have to do the heavy lifting of stopping the great dragon? He is—largely absent. That is not a good father. It’s not even an uncle.

In this reader’s opinion, give me Mary Sue’s honestly obnoxious offers of unwanted help over ‘glorious’ tales of children on the verge of cracking and the adults who can’t be bothered to save or even help them.

SECOND-YEAR CADET JAMES T. KIRK, SUBMITTED, CLASS OF
PROFESSOR JOHN GILL

------------------

2181

There is no conflict between Roman Harwin’s two series of novels, save in the minds of those who need there to be such.

Who is Mary Sue Johnson, but the epitome of our desire as children to live out the dream that starts with ‘if only they’d let me’ and ends with ‘then I’d show them’?

Who are Ebeniel and Cruxadia, but the reality that bumps up against that old dream, magnified into nightmare by our seemingly dashed hopes and our seemingly realized worst fears?

Critics always forget that Mary Sue, for all her pushiness and manic energy, is the one who had the strength to leave the nest early. She is fearless, and offers her opinion even when it seems certain she is to be tossed in manacles for doing so. She boldly goes forward. People seem to resent her for being able to do the things that the mere thought of paralyzes them.

Likewise, whereas we know that expecting Ebeniel (named for a fictional archangel, The Rock Of God) and Cruxadia (named by Bene’ for the cross his captors broke him on when he was forced to sire the girl) to walk through the blood and fire while keeping pure and sane is absurd, it is an absurdity we want. Who wouldn’t like to know that, when facing grim fate or a sadistic tormentor, it is in fact you who is taking their measure?

In the end, Mary Sue either brings order to lawless space once and for all, or dies saving a new life, depending on which interpretation you follow. In the end, Eben and Cru beat the Old Dragon and undo all his satanic works. What does it tell a young adult in these series’ targeted audience demographic? That you can pull it out. Having it good doesn’t mean you’ll be soft, and having it bad doesn’t mean you’ll become a monster.

If the first series is too bloodless and dry, and the second too bloodied and wet (some scenes between Eben and Cru push the boundaries of the age group’s limits for content) then let them each be read only by those who enjoy them. I enjoy them both, and for good measure, I enjoy the later, post-Harwin series, Infinity, which has the three heroes meet at last across a dimensional barrier.

In it, Johnson wonders if she could live as hard a life as they have, while Ebeniel and Cruxadia wonder if they could live in such a peaceful place as hers without wrecking with their violent ways. Their crowning moment, groaned at by some, is when they prevent the act of nuclear terrorism that wiped Oklahoma City off the map in April of 1995. Most forget that they chose between this and saving the doomed passengers in the Presidential motorcade in the Dallas of 1963. The needs of the many, outweighing the needs of the few. Isn’t that supposed to be heroism, the stuff of tough choices?

For those critics of either or both, there are enough in-jokes that incorporate those criticisms to satisfy the crustiest curmudgeon.

RICHARD GRAYSON, FIRST-YEAR CADET

------------------------------

Hitting the send button, the young man who was publicly known as the distant cousin of Lady Amanda Grayson of Vulcan saw Saavik Brianna Kirk return from her nightly patrols of the activities of the vile ‘Cadet-Masters’ appointed by Admiralty Hall. She asked a question.

“You finished your book series’ analysis?”

Peter Kirk relaxed around the only person on campus who knew him outside of the false identity constructed for him by the efforts of Captain Kirk, Commander Uhura and Ambassador Sarek. ‘Richard Grayson’ was apparently also an ‘in-joke’ of some kind, but Peter had not yet bothered to research it.

“The instructor wanted it shortened. She said too many cadets try and make these things into political or philosophical dissertations. She said flatly that Uncle Jim had been one of the worst in that regard. But that was said with a smile, so I didn’t challenge it.”

“Peter—will you write mine?”

He sighed, and agreed to aid the one he loved best of all—but not before picking her brain on her desired subject, the works of Stephen King, from Carrie to The Dark Tower, tragically unfinished due to a fatal accident in 1999.

Through the long night, two of the first young people ever to ride in a starship talked of adventures they would never have, of love and hate-groups like the Order Of The Ancient Destroyer, and of how to fulfill their strange destinies as the Rock Of Prophecy, meant to slay the beast, King Ghidorah.

Their lives, apart and together had been and would be both insanely horrific and full of moments of unparalleled heroism. Through it all, no one would ever call them perfect, but yet they were the ones for the job, and their primary inspiration would be seven heroes aboard a starship called Enterprise, whose distance diminished them not at all.

 

[Gojirob]

Title : Aegyptus

Author : ‘Goji’ Rob Morris

Series : The TOS-based AU, The Ancient Destroyer Cycle

Type : Action-Adventure, Flashback and Backstory

Part : 3/4

Characters : Sarek, Saavik, PK. Q

Rating : PG13

Summary : Sarek and Saavik have freed Peter Kirk from captivity, and are headed for Vulcan. But the flight to safety will not be a smooth one.

Aegyptus
By Rob Morris

I want to walk the peaks of Seleya.

I want to walk the Bridge of the USS Enterprise.

I want to see Admiralty Hall burn to nothing.

I want my Daddy, I want my Mommy, and I wanna go home.

-------------------------------------------------------

Q raised a finger in the air.

"To begin with, the Continuum is no longer interested in killing either of the children. We acknowledge the need for their services."

Sarek was very far from impressed.

"How kind of you."

Q conceded something Sarek had surmised anyway.

"It's also a limitation thing. We're not sure our power could kill them, and in defense of each other-let's just say it wouldn't go well, and leave it at that."

"You have come merely to make this statement?"

"Far from it, Sarek of Vulcan. I have come to offer my aid, in your campaign against the Ancient Destroyer and its followers."

Q flashed, changed into clothes like those of French peasants during the 1789 Revolution, and began to sing. Music accompanied him.

"Will you join in our crusade, who will be strong and stand with me? Somewhere beyond King Ghidorah is there a world you wish to see?"

Sarek was suspicious of the entity's intentions, to say the least.

"With your power, surely Ghidorah and his mortal followers are mere clay pigeons in a shooting gallery."

Q shrugged.

"You would think, wouldn't you? But the damned thing's power exists on such a basic level. It kills and eats energy resulting from those kills. It grows stronger from this. It adapts to attacks against it, both negating and also utilizing those methods of attack in its further defense. That's why the kids have a chance against him. Their power is also very basic, though it takes longer to develop. Drawn up to their full height, they will mock Ghidorah like a pun-ee leetle girlie-drag-on."

Sarek understood, but pressed his challenge on another front.

"The creature is beyond your power. But what of The Order Of The Ancient Destroyer?"

"Mere mortals, right? Right. Problem is, they actually have gotten the attention of the great beast on a psychic level. It searches out any energy it can feed upon, and the life force of its worshippers is just such a source. See, you have to be careful who you pledge soul-oaths to. As a Roman senator learned of Caligula, ‘My Life For You' is all fun and games until your would-be deity calls in his markers. In short, we of the Q attack them-their demon senses our energies. Game over, and not just for us. Energy-based intelligences across Creation would soon learn that the Croc wants more than Cap'n Hook's one hand."

Sarek looked at his unwanted visitor.

"You do realize that peppering your attempts at conversation with colorful Terran references will eventually result in my not *getting* the joke?"

Q shook his head.

"Have you not gotten one yet? Don't make me go all Dennis Miller on you."

Sarek conceded the basic point and moved on.

"What aid would you offer, and what are the nature and number of the conditions involved?"

Q put a finger to his chin.

"I ask that we of the Q be consulted before you undertake any sort of missions. Not to veto, but to vet, and to offer our considerable input. The nature of the beast means we can spy on neither it nor its followers safely. So far, it only knows we exist. A creature that big is not one for subtlety, and that is the only thing we have on our side besides the kids."

"What form would this vetting and input take?"

Q took the finger from his chin, held it in the air, and twirled it. There was a bright flash.

"Interactive."


------------------------

2268

Sarek saw the battle rage in Admiralty Hall. He had seen the footage that Saavik had obtained. But this was up close and personal.

"Q? Is this the night of Peter Kirk's violation?"

"Yes. And-No, both. This is a projection of an alternate timeline. Our sick little universe doesn't have actual alternate timelines. We are quite unique in that."

"That is impossible---every decision made causes---"

Q cut Sarek off.

"Blah-Blah-Yackedty-Smackedty-Taz like Dingo, and all that. I just said we're unique, didn't I? Anyway, Peter makes his fateful choice---now!"

The battered boy raised up his power and shattered the foundation of Admiralty Hall. The corrupt and fetid place came down around his kidnappers and rapists. Q pointed.

"In the history we know, Peter chose to stay and draw out his tormentors' forces, decimating them while protecting their top tier. For the briefest of moments, he gained an instinctive insight into what his enemies were planning, and stayed past a brutal atrocity to endure captivity where I can assure, they turned every resource to breaking him. They came closer than they knew on several occasions."

The boy in the image fled the wreckage and sought help.

"But not here. Here, he did what any other kid with his power would do. He killed the bastards to a one, and ran like hell to get in touch with the one adult he knew he could trust. Nogura was forced to resign for his appeasement of the Hall, and the new Commander Starfleet was-you guessed it."

Sarek watched as Admiral James Kirk stood with his assembled senior staff-minus one.

*What was done to my son here will never be repeated. A brave and capable young man put paid to a hideous plan. It is up to we so-called grownups to carry the ball from here on in.*

"Q, where is my son?"

"I'm afraid Spock went quite mad. Peter, unable to control his telepathy, saw the truth about Saavik in his mind. And it gets worse."

"Worse?"

"What is James Kirk without Spock? And just because Peter killed all the generals, doesn't mean he got the foot soldiers. Not by a long shot. The coup was stopped. The civil war erupted in earnest. Oceans of blood, dogs and cats living together---errr-yeah. Our kids won, eventually. Bloody mess, though. The Federation was so weakened, the other powers got ideas. Again, our wacky kids prevailed. Having loyal children who can split stars in two helps. Now, though-everybody is weakened."

A gigantic image now filled all of Sarek's vision. Three heads, two tails and scales like ablative armor shone in space. Q nodded.

"Guess who's coming to dinner?"

--------------------------

2278

Sarek nodded.

"Thank you. But I had already ascertained that Peter had made the correct choice."

Q sighed.

"I had to start with the choice he did make-before we go to the choices before you now."

"What would you have me do?"

"I would have you-decide on a basic strategy."

Sarek closed his eyes.

"Normally, I would make entreaties to our foes, to see clearly the folly they are engaged in. But no such option exists. The lines drawn between good and evil are too stark to be ignored."

He opened them.

"James Kirk must be told of the threat before us."

Q grinned.

"Oh, there's good news tonight!"

--------------------

2283

On the Bridge of the USS Enterprise, on-screen a starship exploded.

"Scotty, how long until we can re-engage cloak?"

"Cap'n, its one minute less than when ye asked before. And sir, even when it's up, we'll still need to change our position. No cloak is that good, even mine."

The ship rocked.

"Spock, do we have Reliant's shield codes?"

"Doubtless, they have been changed since the start of hostilities."

"Spock, don't you get it by now? Jim's counting on that."

The codes were introduced, and oddly, the other ship suddenly lowered shields. Sulu stared in wonder.

"That shouldn't have worked."

Kirk was in his glory, however grim the work involved.

"It didn't. Helm, fire a spread of photon torpedoes around them, one-one-hundredth yield. Follow exactly thirty seconds later with a double-yield, and make it count."

The spread came, and the Reliant, under the command of the forces of hate and reaction, seemed to be taken out of the fight.

"Chekov, move in slowly, but keep our chin exposed, so to speak. Sulu, manual only on that double yield."

The corrupted crew of the USS Reliant was likely chuckling about Kirk being tricked by one of his own best gambits. But Sulu made the last torpedo as close to a complete surprise as possible, and the shields Reliant had lowered playing possum were not raised up in time. In fact, as Kirk had hoped and calculated, the torpedo was actually caught in the shield matrix as it was forming, taking out the hardened target as nothing less than a warp core breach could have done.

"Cap'n, we've got our cloak back, and the residue from scrapping those toads will mask us verra nicely."

Sarek saw all the crew, even to Spock and other Vulcans, express facially what he could only call joy at the destruction of the bigoted ‘toads' as Captain Scott had called them. Q saw his discomfort.

"Yes, it's been a long hard war. It's hardened all these souls."

"What happened?"

"You happened, Ambassador. You informed Captain James T. Kirk and his crew that a boy they held very nearly as one of their own was raped by a power structure they already thought might be the devil. Did you really expect Jim Kirk to let it go? They touched his boy. His rage was so great. He probably didn't do his cause a lot of good by bombarding Admiralty Hall from orbit."

Sarek allowed that the Q entity might be playing with him, and so questioned the disturbing premise and facts presented.

"James is methodical about matters pertaining to such campaigns. While he defies many known parameters in going about this grim business, he is efficient and I will say, even logical, as he showed just now by seeing through the enemy ship's use of his own ruse."

Q shook a finger in the air.

"As a wise man in one of the myriad alternate timelines I've scanned once said, His logic was strained and imperfect, as regards his son."

"Where are Saavik and Peter?"

"On Vulcan, with you. Jim wouldn't hear of them helping out. Said it was time for the grown-ups to start acting like it. They know a war is being fought in their name. Taking care of your great-grandchildren keeps them occupied though. Cute little rug rats. Pity what happens to them when Ghidorah arrives. The war had only been settled one month when he shows up. Peter is no more logical about the death of his son than Jim was. He...welll, think Mel Gibson in The Patriot. Just rent it, or whatever it is you 23rd Century types do."

Sarek took away at least one implication from Q's chatter.

"They have feelings for one another?"

Q's face dropped.

"I honestly had to tell you that a boy and a girl of similar experience and essentially the only two members of their unique species with several levels of family connection would fall for one another? Wake up, Ambassador! Who else are they going to play with?"

Q briefly changed into a man dressed in an oversized suit and tails, with bushy eyebrows and an equally bushy moustache, and smoking a big cigar while stooped over.

"And boy they will play. It's a common word, found around teenagers' households. It has four letters, and when it gets really warm, it takes one off. Some people consider it illegal and immoral, and for the young lady, it can definitely be fattening."

--------------------

2278

Sarek was again less than taken with Q's antics.

"Julius Marx was a comedic artist of great talent and timing. You possess neither."

Q turned back to his usual form.

"Geez-what a Groucho."

"Was that an accurate representation of what would happen if James Kirk were to be told the identity of Peter's abusers?"

Q moved his opened hand back and forth.

"More or less-the spin doesn't matter though. He would not take it well, and his ability to act thoughtfully would be extremely hampered. His every effort would be driven by the sheer certain knowledge of how he was unable to protect his boy."

Sarek moved upon an omission implicit in Q's statement.

"You say the sheer certain knowledge would drive him to distraction. What if that knowledge was uncertain, and based upon his own suppositions, lacking in final confirmation?"

Q smiled.

"Wow. You know Jimmy's fun to play with. But I sometimes wish I had a more intellectual sounding board. Maybe British-maybe French-maybe a British man with a French accent, or..."

"Q?"

"Sorry. A boy can dream, can't he? But to answer your question with my best guess, which is to say the best guess anywhere, yes. He could like as not keep himself under control if he figured it out for himself. He's a bright lad. Up till now, the only thing keeping him back from the truth is his grief and his sense of duty. The former will soon give way to joy, and the latter has been under strain for over a decade. Also, those dolts at the Hall will probably just give the whole thing away and not even catch that they've done it. But they do know how to hurt people, don't they?"

Sarek thought long and hard before asking Q his next question.

"If we keep James from actively knowing, and prepare these children for what must come, including dealing with the Order as need seems to demand, what will face us?"

Q rubbed his hands together, and Sarek felt correctly that he was in for it.

"Now here's something we hope you'll really like!"

---------------------

2286

Sarek watched the news-feed.

"This is Tasharana Yarskov. The silence from Romulus has now been joined by that of Q'onos. The Federation Council has been dissolved by President Ydennek after they demanded that Captain Kirk capture and not harm the life form that seems to confirm the legends of the Ancient Destroyer Of Worlds. With the coup on Earth a recent and destructive fresh memory, the fate of anyone and anything is now in question. Rumors persist that Andor and Tellar have fallen, and that another menace has arisen, allegedly the cylindrical planet-killer stopped by Captain Kirk decades ago. The fate of as many as eighty worlds now is in question. While the words of Peter and Saavik Kirk stating that their power is at the service of all the living are reassuring, these young champions cannot shake the feeling held by so many that the final darkness is fast upon us. This just in - vid footage sent out from Q'onos prior to its destruction confirms the existence of King Ghidorah. On an evening on which all is uncertain, I wish and urge you to find the rest you can. We will all need it."



----------------------------

2278

Sarek fell back into his chair.

"I see. Now tell me what may be done to avert that."

Q held his arms upward in a shrugging motion.

"You really don't want to avert that one."

"As many as eighty worlds lost before any signs of an ending arrive? Why would I not wish to avert that?"

Q made a show of breathing in.

"Because that, my dear Sarek, was your best-case scenario. That was the one you all just might survive. All the others head down a path so dark and dank and unremittingly grim, Ghidorah's victory is not an if, but a when. Make no mistake; it is the monster's victory we're talking about. Its followers are their own worst enemy-except for all the innocents they'll take with them as they fall."

Sarek felt his own panic, and fought it down at terrific cost.

"Can the children stop him?"

"They can, given time and experience. When they encounter the Young Traveler, they'll take a journey down the Infinite Paths with the Two Children Of Jupiter and a young man named Sonar, Sensor, or something like that. That will give them the experience."

Q seemed a good deal more serious, so Sarek did not challenge his strange statement.

"What do you know of their destiny?"

Q looked like he appreciated and was even impressed by the question.

"Beings once existed that were so unlike bipedals, even Medusans would go mad to look at them. They explored an area of space said to still be like the time of the Big Bang. There they found two things: Ghidorah, and what Jimmy's bunch calls the Doomsday Machine. Both activated and began their rampage. This universe is less than twenty percent as full of life as it could have been, but for them, and that number has fallen as they made their next passes. These beings, these Old Ones, all perished before the Q made our ascent. It is known that one of them made a prediction-based on probability forecasts, not astrology-that someone whose name would be Rock would be part of Ghidorah's possible downfall. Lesser minds turned the whole thing into a prophecy. You have no idea how many civilizations fell holding up some stone or gem, thinking it would turn the trick on Ghidorah. Peter and Saavik both have names that mean ‘The Rock'-but that has nothing to do with why they have such power."

Sarek asked the next question.

"What is the extent of their power?"

Q began to fade.

"The Book Of Kahless says that their power is the same as their worth-and their worth is no more and no less than the worth of one child."

As Sarek reeled under that parting shot, Saavik ran in to the compartment.

"Father, Peter is crying out that they are after us! I also sense multitudes of minds approaching our position."

Sarek checked that position. The talk with Q had taken them halfway to Vulcan. But that was not to prove far enough.

"Saavik-kam, check the long-range sensors."

"Father, what sort of starships have three nacelles and an overall size twice that of a Constitution-Class?"

Sarek fought down the panic once again.

"Dreadnought-Class. How many approach us?"

""How many are active?"

He thought and searched.

"Starfleet currently has seven of these ships on active duty, five more under development. Your father James complained of the low caliber of officers these were given to."

"Father-there are twelve such ships in active pursuit of us."

Sarek sat down, at a loss for what to do.

"That would be then---all of them."

---------------------------

Twelve Dreadnoughts. Brock Cartwright doesn't fool around, does he?

They won't be enough. I won't let them take either of us. We've only just found each other.

Uncle Jim always said, aboard a ship, everyone has a special job that's just for them.

This looks like a job---for me.

 

[Gojirob]

Title : No Win

Author : ‘Goji’ Rob Morris

Series : The TOS-based AU, The Ancient Destroyer Cycle

Type : Young Romance, First taste of war

Part : 1/1

Characters : Young Kirk and Uhura on Tarsus 4, 2249

Rating : PG13, for young love, and the pain of war

Summary : In what will be for a few months the conclusion of the young K/U series, Jimmy and Nyta learn the harshest lesson of life, war and love as they make history on Tarsus.

The young K/U series, under the title 'When James Met Nyota', is archived at : http://www.adastrafanfic.com/viewstory.php?sid=578

No Win
By Rob Morris

TARSUS FOUR, 2249

If they had actual weapons, the perch would have been a perfect sniper's point. But James ‘Jimmy' Kirk and Nyota ‘Nyta' Uhura had no such weapons, only a device that was of less use each time it was activated. They oversaw a field of fire that they hoped to make history on, but they would settle for the saving of one young life.

"I estimate five thousand of them. Damn. That's roughly half the planetary complement-I think. That's it. I need a facts and figure person. I ever make Captain, I want someone there to quote hard facts and figures to me."

Jimmy saw Nyta frowning at him.

"Kevin is about to get killed down there, and you're staffing your imaginary crew?"

He smiled at her, but that smile was less disarming than it had been. The stakes were too high, and he wasn't taking it seriously.

"Relax. We're going to get down there, get Kevin, make Kodos look like a complete and utter jackass, and then watch said jackass get hauled off by Starfleet. Then-we two ask Kevin to turn his back and not peek. Not to worry, Nyta-I have a plan."

He was sounding ever more confident and sure of himself, straight through to the point of cockiness. But she wasn't finding it alluring anymore. It truly hit her for the first time that loving Jimmy Kirk could end up being a very dangerous proposition. Her mental age started declining back to her actual thirteen years, and it felt like she might even lose ground. She was a kid, playing house with another kid, and a third kid they'd dragged into their game was now in a whole lot of trouble.

"How do we do all that, Jimmy? What's your big plan?"

He seemed almost hurt, but kept on.

"Kodos will pronounce sentence, and then they'll drag Kevin before a firing squad. We'll use your comm-device to beam the squad away, and Kevin right to us..."

"No."

He shook his head.

"What do you mean, No?"

She put a hand to her head, clearly looking exasperated.

"I told you-they've been on the verge of locking us out since we started using these things. They recognize programming technique, and I can't alter that enough to matter. Jimmy, since you ignored me before, don't do so now. We have exactly one more use of this thing whose technology defies everything we know at present. So we can get the guards away from him, or him away from the guards. Not both."

Kirk took on a look of stunned realization. Transporting Kevin away meant he would be vulnerable to weapons fire before the beam took. He tried to find that magic angle, that way out his father always did, and which one day he would become legendary for.

"Then transport them all away. All the soldiers."

This was not yet that time.

"Jimmy that would require more cycling time than we have. By the time the central hub built up enough power to transport a crowd that size, we'd be locked out. It would be like-well, half a transport."

The implications of that she did not need to explain to him. He sat down.

"Okay-can you get that thing to focus on the center of the crowd, from front to back?"

"I think so."

He nodded, starting to feel hopeful once again.

"We need to cut a hole in their lines, and then run through it, straight to Kevin."

She looked at him as though he were insane.

"That's your plan? Jimmy, even if we successfully get down this rise without being seen and sneak up to within centimeters of where we have to start that run, we will still have more than a thousand heavily armed soldiers on either side of us."

"Yes, but Nyta-they won't be expecting us to do something that crazy."

"All it will take is ten percent of them keeping their heads and opening fire on the most wanted fugitives on the planet."

He frowned openly, and began to look bitter.

"What if-what if you make the destination of those we send away five meters above the ones in the surrounding lines on either side? In that kind of tangle of limbs and flesh, we might just have a chance. At least we could get Kevin free."

She really didn't want to hurt or argue with him any longer. He was trying.

"It's still a suicide run. Just less of one. So when do we make our descent?"

They owed the little boy in their minds, so the cost was only a slight issue.

"In about two minutes. They seem to be doing something on the podium."

Through their scopes, they gained a sense of what was going on and a sick realization.

"Jimmy, they're bringing Kevin out now? It's only 1730 Hours."

Kirk looked despondent.

"He's moved out ahead of schedule. Why didn't I allow that he might do this? What was I thinking?"

Uhura grabbed and shook him.

"Jimmy, it's still possible. Kodos thinks he's frustrated any rescue attempt. If you give me readings and range through your scope, I just might be able to get Kevin away before they really open fire. He might get hit, but being treated for burns by you and me beats being dead."

He regained that smile, minus the cockiness.

"I love you."

She smiled back, but did not otherwise respond, knowing in her heart how it must be driving him wild.

On the stage near the capitol's public square, Kodos presented his young prisoner.

"By this boy's sacrifice, the very terms of the Eschaton will be up for negotiation. The Rock will be no more. Rejoice, Lad. Your death will not be in vain, as it would have been had you faced our invincible god!"

Kevin Thomas Riley, for his part, was not holding up very well.

"Jimmy, Nyta-I forgive you. You tried. I know you did. But this guy is completely crazy, and now I just want it to be over. I want to be with my Mom and Dad."

Up on their perch, ignored for a variety of reasons, most tending towards arrogance and the fact of planetary control, Kirk and Uhura adjusted their desperate plan. Kirk contemplated a hostage, if even that would do them any good. Nothing was certain, now.

"Kodos?"

Uhura shook her head.

"Paranoid monster has some sort of signal scramblers installed under his stage. We can only get at Kevin when he's being led away to the firing squad."

On the platform, Kodos gently placed a hand on top of Kevin's head.

"I know that I promised our good citizens and our loyal soldiers a firing squad. But I have rather come to like dear young Kevin."

Riley turned and looked at him, hope now in his eyes.

"You have?"

Kodos nodded.

"That I have. You are an engaging, bright young man who grasps things many pea-brained so-called adults never could. A firing squad would be wrong."

Up on the perch, Kirk and Uhura felt time stop, and their blood grow cold. Kodos seized Kevin by the hair, and held him up. In pain, the boy began to cry.

"Let me go! LET ME GO!"

"A firing squad would be so very impersonal. Gentlemen-my saber."

"No---please---I'm not this Rocky kid! I'm not----"

One motion, and it was done. Kirk and Uhura each bit back screams. A moment after that, Kodos held up a small grisly prize before the cheering, hooting thugs. Kirk looked down, despite himself. He sank and stared forward, utterly blank.

"His face---it's still crying."

Uhura found that she could not breathe. The adventure was over, and so was a very young life.

"Ji---mmy?"

His hands balled into fists, and his head was forced up from his chest by will alone. Uhura half-expected him to go screaming down the hillside. But his voice remained eerily quiet and even.

"Nyta, give me the transport-access."

"Why? What good will opening a hole in their lines do now?"

He turned to look at her, and did not shout or threaten. But she swore his eyes now glinted green.

"Please."

Uhura did as she was asked, and showed him the options as she had set them up, and even offered tweaking tips. For she found that every second she was talking shop, the sight of a small head frozen forever in pain and despair was driven out, though never entirely.

"Nyta, we have this last use, right?"

"Yeah. You're still using my methods, so it won't matter."

Kirk inputted what he wished to.

"They should not have cheered his death."

Uhura watched the field, to gain a tactical sense of what Kirk was doing. What happened next would be the second most nightmarish thing she saw that evening.

"Jim? All the soldiers are..."

As every last one of Kodos' assembled men faded out, she tried and failed to grab the device from him, realizing what he was doing-what he had in fact done-with her help. When he was done, Kirk smashed the device against the ground.

"Half a transport."

He looked at Uhura, and saw her face in shock.

"They shouldn't have cheered his death."

She shook her head.

"You're a murderer! Jimmy, you just killed every person on that field."

"No-I killed every lowlife hooked up to that hellish blitzkrieg of a transporter. Kodos may well have fewer than a hundred soldiers left right now, and if I could have-I would have---"

She slapped him hard across the face.

"Don't say that! This isn't you! Jimmy, we loved that little boy, and we saw him die horribly, but nothing justifies what you just did."

He grabbed her wrist, but then just as suddenly, let her go as he pointed.

"Try telling all the people they've killed it isn't justified. Try telling all the Starfleet officers who won't have to take them in deadly house-to-house fighting and try telling the families that won't have to mourn them that this isn't justified, Nyta. I'm not a murderer-but I soon will be. I'm going after Kodos!"

He slid down the hill at a terrific pace, wide-open if any of his targets survived transporter dispersal. None had. Their weapons and uniforms lay where they fell, and by the time Kirk reached the stage, he was armed to the teeth.

"Governor! I'm moving for impeachment proceedings-but I'm skipping straight to removal from---"

An electric prod was jammed into his back, and Kirk fell flat on his face. When he turned over again, Kodos was standing above him, a phaser in one hand, the saber stained with Kevin Riley's blood in the other.

"Impeachment? Removal? No. It is virtually impossible to remove a sitting colonial governor without his agreement. A safeguard against foreign powers seizing one of our colonies and forcing a treaty signing. I can even pardon myself in case I am removed, and then let the courts fight it out as to whether I have the right to do so. I'm not leaving Tarsus, Mister Kirk."

He brought the saber close to Jimmy's neck.

"You didn't stop the bad guy. All you did was prove how one psychotic, abused boy-oh yes, I know who you are-Jimmy-can go wild and murder a whole army of good men. Perhaps I'll even tell everyone you were some kind of ultra-charismatic leader, and that you led those forces to kill, and then killed them for kicks."

Kirk remained defiant.

"No one will buy that. Starfleet is coming."

Kodos smiled a particularly unsettling smile, and tossed Kirk something.

"Kevin can keep you company, and you him. Goodbye, Mister Kirk. And know that I face no punishment. Merely long, long decades of futile attempts-at Extradition."

"Extradition, Governor? It's just been waived!"

A hole appeared in Kodos' chest, a hole that spread out until he was vaporized. There would be no rumors of his survival. Nyta Uhura rushed the stage, and there saw Jimmy holding something, almost tenderly, and weeping as he did.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I wanted to protect you. You trusted me, and I failed you-I failed-you."

Gingerly picking up the rest of Kevin's remains, Uhura spoke to the only other living being for many kilometers.

"Jimmy-he deserves a decent burial."

Kirk shuddered, laid his burden down, found something that looked like a shovel, and began to dig. Uhura found tarps and blankets, and cleaned up what she had to. By the time both were done, they were so exhausted, all they could manage on the marker was KTR.

"He was a good kid. He would have been a good man."

Uhura recited Christian prayers from the Coptic tradition, and then asked Kevin's parents to meet him for his last journey.

"Jimmy-about what I called you..."

He was still lost.

"I was going to be this hero, this Superman. But I caused as much death as the people we were fighting, and I couldn't even protect one little boy. In the name of God, what kind of Superman is that!?"

She put her arms around him from behind, squeezed tight and said one word.

"Mine."

An office seized by the late Kodos' regime was nearby, and they walked hand in hand over to it, finding a couch.

In love, pain and grief, two young people who now also felt old spent that night together.

It would be a night of joy, pleasure, release-and a very great if understandable mistake made in a moment of great vulnerability for both.

---------------------------------

VULCAN, 2278

Saavik tried to be diplomatic, but that was exceedingly difficult, given what he had just said.

"That is quite an odd dream."

Peter Kirk didn't mind her saying that. Because it was odd.

"You're telling me? I feel like some kind of pervert, every time I have that dream. Uncle Jim and Aunt Nyta are teens, and they lie down, take off their-and then they---wow."

"Peter, have you had this dream for long?"

He trusted her the way he did no one else, and so went for broke.

"Literally for as long as I can remember, Saavik. What's more, it's less like a dream than some kind of primal recollection. Even my memories as a baby come after that one."

Both sat that morning and wondered why Peter Kirk's first memory was of Kirk and Uhura making love as young people.

Kodos, you see, was not only a monster. He also had poor aim.

 

[Gojirob]

Title : Aegyptus

Author : ‘Goji’ Rob Morris

Series : The TOS-based AU, The Ancient Destroyer Cycle

Type : Drama

Part : 4/4

Characters : ADU versions of : Sarek, Saavik, Peter Kirk, Q

Rating : PG13

Summary : The Order goes all-out to bring back Peter; Sarek must move to prevent an atrocity, and our story concludes with some fair-sized secrets.

Aegyptus

By Rob Morris

------------

How does that song go again? One of the few useful things Sam ever gave me was a love of songs from the distant past, before we tried to destroy ourselves. I remember now.

*The jig is up, the news is out they finally found me; The renegade who had it made retrieved for a bounty; Never more to go astray; This will be the end today of the wanted man*

But I've been there, and done that. I'm not going away again, even if they send the whole damned fleet my way. That song, by the way? It's by a group called Styx.

Styx is the name of a river in Hell.

They're about to be reminded of who my real father is. The man even these renegades fear.

The Judge Will Have Revenge Today. The Judge Is The Wanted Man.


-------------------


Sarek remembered an absurdist animated comedy James had insisted upon showing Saavik. In it, a cat was being sexually harassed by, of all creatures, a skunk with a poorly-done French accent. Sarek had tried to ‘get it' and succeeded largely, with many an animation of this sort. But this one, in which the plodding, steady skunk always maintained pace with the cat who was running at top best speed, actually disturbed him for some reason-though not so much as the one with the gigantic baby duck. Even James skipped over that one.

"They are still with us, Father."

"They are likely to remain so, Saavik-kam."

The shuttle Surak was at its best speed, and perhaps a bit past that, as Sarek had long ago had the shuttle modified against sudden incursions by the Federation's enemies. But their pursuers were twelve Dreadnought Class starships, top of the line not for an enemy, but the Federation itself. The skunk did not need to exhaust itself. The cat would be caught, soon enough, and it would not be smothered with kisses when this happened.

"Father, is there no maneuver that can shake them?"

Sarek felt his control slipping, worse than before any of his Pon Farrs save the first. But for this girl, he would not permit her last memories of him to be anything less than his best.

"Saavik, we are a shuttle with some small warp capability. They have us on sensors, and have perhaps unguessed-at warp capabilities to access. We are in space that I chose deliberately for its remove from the beaten path most vessels traverse."

Her face showed that she understood their peril.

"Will they arrest us?"

He had to be honest with her. Perhaps even tell her the truth about her parentage.

"Their most current plans, as taken from the data you liberated, do not seem to yet call for a coup, so the propaganda value of my arrest would be negligible."

She shook her head.

"What of myself and Peter?"

A shot rocked the ship. Saavik turned her attention to sensors.

"They are no closer than before. How are we within weapons' range?"

Sarek knew all too well.

"A demonstration of their power. I would lay odds that the warhead of that torpedo was at its maximum yield and distance, and we felt it just as though we were right in their sights."

Sarek considered the worst and lowest of options, at this point, and rejected them, not for their loathsome nature, but because of impracticality. Ramming one of the starships, even at a moment of greatest opportunity, would be beyond pointless. Killing the children was likewise pointless, as they were likely immortal. He began to internally tick off his regrets. First of these, he gave to Peter Kirk. Certainly to be taken again so quickly was the cruelest fate imaginable, his liberation lasting not even a week. Next went to Saavik herself, so briefly hopeful at finding her brother and looking forward to telling their adoptive father his son was alive. Amanda he tried to have no regrets for, save not knowing their fates or why they so suddenly vanished. As he wound through his list, he wished Spock an easier path, remembering their post-Babel talk about Spock's self-perceived lapses, including one that happily proved effective when the shuttlecraft Galileo and its party seemed doomed, in a decaying orbit that Spock could not correct.

"My Son...you did the right thing."

Sarek struck at the controls like a master pianist, now knowing exactly what he must do. The forces loyal to Admiralty Hall were assaulting the Ambassador with the hard fact of their overwhelming force and inevitable victory. They were bludgeoning a Vulcan with logic. In some cases, this might prove enough.

*I have, to hear T'Pau tell, nearly always been atypical, since the day I was born at---*

Sarek realized he had no idea where he had been born. Before this strange, untoward thought could immobilize him, he finished his task at the ship's controls. The tiny shuttle surged forward at a pace none were prepared for, and this included their slow pursuers, whose snickering Sarek actively hoped he put a stop to, even for ten minutes. Saavik pulled herself from the floor, coming back from checking on Peter Kirk.

"Father, what did you do?"

Sarek turned away from the controls.

"In the short-term, absolutely nothing. In the near-term, I have almost certainly doomed us."

Her stare amused him, just a bit.

"However, I tend to think in the long-term."

Slower this time, he put out messages of every type in every direction he could think of.

"There. Help may not arrive in time, but our passage will no longer go unmarked."

"But will that truly help us, Father?"

Sarek's response was cut off by a third voice.

"No. Because they let you send out that signal."

Standing, and seemingly wide awake and fully alert, was the prime object of both their rescue mission and the current pursuit. Again, Sarek put aside any sense of wonder to address his words directly.

"Peter-why do you believe this?"

"Because, Ambassador-that's the same thing they did to me. They created an artificial break in the action, and left me a communicator with which to send out one last message."

Saavik did not bother to hide her delight in the boy's revival.

"Peter! But Father created his own opening in this. They could not have anticipated so desperate a throw of the dice on his part."

Sarek raised a hand, shaking his head as he did.

"I fear he is correct, Saavik-kam. Their sensors would have detected our actual movement, even if I successfully masked the power build-up. Moreover, my effort used up our remaining power."

The girl moved to the boy's side, and both exchanged the quickest of smiles before Saavik repeated an earlier question.

"Father, what will become of us?"

"My life is at an end. I accept that. They will attempt to bind the two of you back to Admiralty Hall. Do not let them. Be as-forgive me-as brutal as you must. Into your hands, I commend the future."

Saavik did not look well-disposed towards this news; Peter seemed even less so.

"Mister Ambassador-you can't give up. You're Mister Spock's father. He always comes through-almost always. You have to have a plan."

In an odd way, Sarek found it almost heartening to hear that the boy had retained his naïve hero worship.

"Peter, you are, I fear, mistaking me for your uncle. I have taken my calculated risk, and as you yourself pointed out, this was likely part of our enemies' calculations as well. Likely, they realized I would force a window open briefly. Now our mystery will include this obscure region of space as the last known location, where we sent out a frenzy of messages prior to vanishing entirely."

Saavik squeezed Peter's hand, then spoke.

"But Father-if they planned for Peter the night he was taken, and they planned for your surge, what guarantee do we have that they have not also planned around our resistance when they try and take us?"

Sarek was brutally straight.

"None at all, I'm afraid. There remains the very real possibility that the two of you will taken back to Admiralty Hall."

Saavik seemed to shudder at this thought. Peter actually grabbed at his own head.

"I won't go back."

His eyes flashed silver, and then golden.

"You don't know what it was like there. No light. No warmth. The only minds for kilometers around diseased and twisted by pure hate."

Saavik showed her fear at this change, but refused to leave his side. Peter Kirk looked at her, and his regard was for something absolutely precious.

"I won't let them take you. They did things to me there. They got inside my head. Made me doubt what was real, or even if I really had a name. They tried to convince me that maybe I was something made in their labs. That I was the reason for all the bad things that have happened. That I was the-"

The ship rocked again, and this time not from any long-range shots. A despondent Sarek barely glimpsed at sensor scans.

"With us the entire time. It would seem the Treaty Of Algeron, regarding cloaking devices, is in danger of abeyance."

Peter Kirk was now howling.

"I won't go back, and they will not keep hurting the people I care for, not now..."

His hair spiked and turned red. His voice seemed to echo in mockery of the dark airless void surrounding them.

"...NOT EVER!!!!"

Sarek was shaken to see this transformation, but Saavik seemed transfixed by it, reaching out to Peter despite his energies shoving her back. The boy opened his hand in front of himself, looking into his palm. Inside a crown of fingers appeared an image of their shadowed pursuer. It grew ever more solid. Sarek realized too late what was happening. Peter slammed his hands together. In space, an explosion came from no apparent source. The shuttle was unharmed.

"Peter, the other ships are closing on our position."

"I know, Saavik. I won't let them hurt us."

Sarek stood up, and approached Peter.

"You must not do this. If you possess the power, get us out of here. But if we kill beyond self-defense or vital necessity, we become little better than they."

"I won't kill them, Ambassador. Not right away."

Eleven capitol ships moved into positions they assumed would end even the remotest thoughts of escape. The crews aboard knew their fates should they fail, and in any event, relished what they were doing. The feel of a wild hunt had emerged between these acolytes of the Order. They were doing God's work-not the triune ‘sheep-God' who embraced just about anyone-but the three-headed deity who knew that only Humanity should prevail.

It should be noted that, allowing for the existence of that more inclusive God, it is said that one of his rules-really his first rule---disallows placing others before him. It should be further noted that, in the pursuit and enforcement of that first rule, much narrative relates the sending of representatives to make this clear. Lastly, it should be noted, the usual process of getting to know the crews sent by Admiralty Hall will be bypassed. They were all of a type, and of a kind, and of a nature, and that is why they were selected above your average loudmouthed bigot.

In short, they would not be making plans for the next 25th Of December, whether they celebrated it or not.

"Peter-what are you doing?"

The scene inside the shuttle had shifted. Peter Kirk stood floating above them all, energy strings leading from his hands to what seemed over 1000 individuals. Sarek realized this was all an astral projection, and that none of them occupied their bodies at present.

"I won't kill them, Ambassador."

He smiled, and that smile comforted Sarek not at all.

"I'm sending them straight to Hell. Avoiding the middleman, as it were."

A pit opened beneath them, in that place that was no place at all. Ice beyond arctic seemed to emanate from it, as did heat well past Vulcan's Forge at NoonDay. The would-be masters of the universe struggled not to look down. Sarek fell to his knees.

"Peter, hear me! This is wrong. If that pit before us is Hell itself, or if it is just a conjuring made from your anger and their fear, it does not matter. You cannot make yourself the judge of a soul's final destination. That is not given to us."

Saavik had joined Peter at his perch, and this at last seemed her natural place. Together, the two lost children were home. Her voice echoed as well.

"No, Father. They are his...they are ours to judge."

The energy strands turned to lightning in Peter's hands, and each soul at his mercy shrieked.

"Judged In The Name Of God, Ye Found Guilty! You nightmares of the Id, who for eons have run away from the mysteries of His space---let that judgment of your celebration of self-destruction now be invoked!"

Sarek had gambled all before, and failed. He did so again, and prayed to a God who did not ask for genetic ID to aid his cause as he called out a being who seemed placed between them.

"Are you the son of James Tiberius Kirk?"

The boy, for all his power, had been struck true where he lived.

"Yes, sir."

The master diplomat had his opening, and would not let it go.

"Would he, even at his most outraged, have approved of what you are now doing?"

The boy did not prove so easy a target.

"Do you know what they have to do to get placement on one of Admiralty Hall's pet starships, Mister Ambassador?"

Sarek knew better than to cut him off, especially since he could not refute an argument that had not yet been offered up.

"What is their criterion?"

Looking confident, Peter nodded.

"Everyone there hates, and everyone below Commodore gets used by Bunson, if they're part of that mess. Everyone is ready to serve in ‘their army' when the time comes that they are tired of ‘putting up' with the likes of us."

Saavik added in.

"To contrast them from the present, in which they have been in danger of beatification."

Peter kept on.

"To get a prized slot aboard their ships, each one of them must, without being told to first, seek out and kill non-Human Starfleet Cadets. Not just any ones will do. They must be Cadets of great promise, ones who could have proven that all the hate-filled rhetoric that's like air to them is a lie, even to their own. They earn their place, Sarek Of Vulcan, by killing promise. They earn it by killing truth. Without prompting, and of their own free will. No one has implanted controls in them. No family or loved ones are held against their behavior. It's against Cartwright's rules, and Gill's before his, and for generations unending. They know that the controlled can be freed. They want the grinners, the ones for whom the Starfleet catchphrase Yes We Can becomes Because We Can. These are the exact people I am set to give what they deserve, sir. What words do you have now, Mister Ambassador?"

Peter would learn in months to come to *never* ask Sarek of Vulcan that sort of question.

"I have asked you two questions. You answered yes to the first, and the second you cried pardon of. In my last one, I will not relent."

"Ask. But do it quickly. I have some deliveries to make."

"Very well. Ten years ago, you were deprived of your freedom, and by definition your free will. So it was for Saavik, in her early life. Moreover, your parents on Deneva mistreated and deceived you. Your life, even to possible prophecies about your birth and destiny, has been one marked by choices you have been deprived of. Can you, the son of James Kirk, do so to others and still say it is yours to walk with heroes?"

The boy's face softened, and he turned to the companion he had only just met, but to whom he already felt closer than anyone could.

"Saavik, I recharged the shuttle. Go back, and get us to Vulcan. The Ambassador-"

He looked at Sarek, and smiled.

"Father and I will see to these reprobates. Okay?"

The girl nodded and vanished, but not before embracing him.

"Father-how should we do this?"

The boy's honorific was no mere aping of Saavik-on this plane, Sarek felt its utmost sincerity.

"You who have stood with the Order. We will spare your lives. But look below you. This sort of place is where you will eventually dwell, that is, unless your hate snuffs your spark entirely when you are done-or even before that. We challenge you to embrace the mysteries of space, and all the challenges that will make first contact between our peoples seem like a backyard cook-out. Consider taking your great ships and leaving the life you have known behind. Because you will be kept unconscious until we are clear of you. Now choose between the summit and the pit."

-----------------

 

[Gojirob]

Saavik awoke, and moved the shuttle clear of the silent behemoth starships with all speed. She still felt twinges of the power Peter Kirk had awakened in her, and fought back the urge to try and wipe the enemies away. There were times, she honestly wondered, if she could even make it emotionally on Romulus.

*And Peter is of the same nature. What are we?*

Again, she felt the oddity of it all. She was just shy of sixteen, and he had been frozen when he was not yet thirteen-or was he just shy of twenty-three? Also, he had called Sarek ‘Father', just as James Kirk was their common adoptive father-something Peter did not yet know. She was certain she wanted more than just a brother from him, but how much? Also, how much of her destiny was bound up with his, in defeating Ghidorah? This much she knew. She was glad this was nearly over. She never wanted to allow him to come to harm again.

"Soon, we will be on Vulcan again, and speak to Mother about all this."

She realized there was no one conscious to answer her, but she got an answer nonetheless, when Sarek and then Peter cried out. Sarek seemed to catch himself after a painful thirty seconds, but Peter Kirk kept right on. After another twenty seconds, Sarek managed to speak. It was not much above a hoarse cough.

"Saavik, pull him out. Do what you must."

Normally, facing a mind at least as powerful as her own would prove a challenge for Saavik. But two facts worked in her favor. Restraining her own active, non-touch telepathy meant that cutting loose was easier than it seemed. Second, she and Peter already had formed a connection that she exploited and he sensed, his mind almost swimming towards hers. His eyes opened, and they were again the eyes of the hurt little boy she had pulled out of a cruel stasis. The confident hero was gone, eaten alive by whatever he had seen.

"Saa-vik?"

She helped him to his cot, and Sarek to his chair. Their course was locked in, and markers for Vulcan-controlled space had already recognized them. Any pursuer would have to do it openly, and the Order preferred shadows.

"Father, what happened in there?"

Sarek drank some water, and then unsealed his favorite tea mix. This he drank in one gulp, in deep contrary to his custom.

"We-gave them back their lives. We offered to aid them in building new lives, lives that would not lead to that horrific pit."

Sarek stared ahead through the viewport, into space.

"One and all, they chose to enter that pit. They chose the pit. They chose the Beast. Like Inspector Javert or Setek The Resister, They chose death over a life that did not adhere to their beliefs. The Hell that I only kept open as a reminder-they jumped into en masse. Some of them did it-with apparent joy. Because the universe we challenged them with was too much to be borne. They would rather be in a Hell made up of their own kind than even exist elsewhere."

Saavik took this in, or she seemed to be. She looked back at the boy shaking in his bed.

"What of Peter?"

"He bore the brunt of the pain as they sought out damnation. Perhaps that pit was to the actual Hell. Reflected in their cries, I could see imagery of things---"

Saavik turned and looked back at Sarek, fury and tears in her eyes.

"How could you make him do that? You have opposed the Order longer than we have been alive, Father! You know what they are like, their level of commitment to their foul beliefs. Did you really believe that they would change, even under direct threat of spiritual oblivion?"

He tried not to be harsh with her, but his exhaustion ran deep.

"Do you really believe we can fight this war, abandon every last ideal we stand for, and still have a civilization that was worth the trouble?"

She shook her head as she got up.

"Your ideals are grand ones, Father. They do you honor, and they are worth fighting for."

He was wise enough to brace himself for the words he knew would follow.

"And as with every other idealistic adult in his life, you have told Peter to do the heavy lifting. Work the household for us, Peter. Accept that you can't stay, Peter. Accept abuse, Peter. Die and burn in hell for the greater good, Peter---five, six, pick up sticks. Unless you want him to do that too. I have sworn an oath to see to it that he never knows harm again, Father. Do not place yourself between me and that oath. Do not make me choose between the two of you."

Sarek, tired and now a little bitter as well, was blunt.

"What transpired between you and him, after his recovery?"

She looked down.

"Father, I am-"

"As am I, my child. This dispute is best forgotten, or put aside for another day. Perhaps I did place an innocent barely recovered in the line of fire."

"There is no perhaps to my need to curb my sharp tongue."

He took her hand, gave it one light squeeze, enough to make his love for her clear, then released it.

"He needs an advocate, and a friend. Especially now, when we must bring him to Seleya and the Kolinahri adepts to be made well. Go to him now, Saavik-kam. I will take us the rest of the way."

Sarek's fight with exhaustion once the door closed between the two compartments seemed a losing one, until all at once he felt recharged.

"You again?"

Q flashed in next to him.

"All I did was clear out your fatigue poisons and such. Child's play for a member of the Continuum, like---"

"Like getting rid of eleven Dreadnought Class starships, floating in the void?"

Q waved dismissively.

"Already done. Once the Order members had all-given up the ghost-they were safe for me to do that voodoo I do so well."

Sarek prepared himself.

"Are you not here to tell me of how I mishandled this?"

"Weeeelll---that part about Jim not letting his rage run him was kind of bone-headed, particularly when I just showed you a future where it did exactly that."

Sarek shook his head.

"Peter holds to the ideal James Kirk. Outside of the issue of his son, James has on many occasions sought a better path. It is with pride that I say that he is a brother to my son."

Q surprised him a bit.

"I think you did okay. Permitting an angry boy and the girl that adores him---for reasons you'll have to get from her---to play Big God On Cosmos is just a bad idea. Congratulations. You nipped this thing in the bud, Andy!"

Sarek was still not sure.

"What now?"

"Now? Give him a stable home, maybe the first he's ever known. Keep the fire hoses out for him and your granddaughter, figure out what story you're going to tell Jim, and keep it straight. He'll start to see through any lie, anyway. I don't have to tell you that the Order on Earth and Vulcan will have the long knives out for you, do I?"

Q looked back at the door leading to the other compartment.

"Jimmy once described me as a very bad little boy. I believe that kid is probably his definition of a very good one."

"He has a great deal of his father in him."

Q started to answer.

"That's what worr-nahhhh---I'm not going to say it. It's too easy, and besides, you'd never get it."

"I am thankful for this. Tell me, can he perform feats like he did today at any time he chooses?"

Q shook his head.

"Maybe someday. That whole ‘drag them to Hell' thing was a nervous reaction to the button-pushing thought of being taken back to Admiralty Hall. He was agitated into a condition that gave him access to abilities he won't be able to handle consciously for years."

Sarek nodded.

"In other words, he entered his Avatar State."

Q looked puzzled.

"His what?"

Sarek had just been through a long day, and so took what satisfaction he could get.

"It is a reference from Earth's early 21st Century. Look it up."

Q actually snorted before fading out.

"This---is going to be fun---ya know, except for the whole universe ending situation. That could put a damper on things."

The door between compartments opened again, happily after the entity had vanished.

"Father-he wishes to speak with you."

Locking the controls, Sarek went to Peter's bedside.

"Peter, you wished to speak with me?"

The boy took his hand, and gently squeezed it.

"Thank you-Father. It was-the right choice."

Sarek allowed a small smile, and prepared to request clearance for landing, since T'Khut was now in sight. But Peter grasped his hand again.

"Peter, Father must go."

"But-what about the people?"

Sarek felt queasy, but answered.

"The Order-Members made their choice, Peter, horrible though it was. We could not alter it."

"Not them! The people that are inside your head."

The boy pointed to Sarek's forehead.

"Ka-tras. Skonn and T'Lara. They put them in you-on Vulcania."

The boy would still need the help of the adepts in Seleya, but after these words, he slept at last, looking more like an angel of mercy than of wrath. Saavik waited until they were in the control cabin before speaking.

"Father? Can what he said be true? Who are Skonn and T'Lara?"

Sarek guided the vessel to his home planet's capture beam and let it take over before responding.

"Skonn was the son of T'Pau, and T'Lara the daughter of Staton, who was the first to greet Zephram Cochrane after the flight of the Phoenix, and our world's first Ambassador to Earth."

Saavik knew in her heart what words were to follow next.

"They were my parents. They conceived and bore me on Vulcania Colony."

"But Father, no one knows the exact fate of Vulcania, even after repeated expeditions."

Sarek sat back down.

"I do. King Ghidorah destroyed it. He killed my parents."

Saavik felt something in her core, yet felt compelled to ask.

"There are those who say that the Ancient Destroyer is only a myth."

"Not to me he's not."

On the surface of Vulcan, Lady Amanda's heavily guarded transport arrived at her home just in time to see her family arrive home-and then some. She was so glad to see Sarek, she forgot for the moment to be angry with him for locking her in the large family estate while they were away.

"So-did you galactic travelers at least pick up something interesting?"

Saavik helped Peter Kirk to the front door.

"You could say that. Welcome home, Mother."

Peter stopped before entering the house.

"Is this home? It looks easy to clean."

With that odd statement in the air, Saavik helped him to Spock's old room. Amanda pointed.

"Sarek-who is that boy, and why does he look so familiar?"

His face shifted emotions a few times, and still he had trouble speaking. Finally, Amanda spoke again.

"Is this going to be one of those long stories?"

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TO BE CONTINUED IN :

The Madness