This story, while focusing on an obscure character, hopefully explains a lot about the Ancient Destroyer Universe; it also contains an appearance by a non-ST but well known character-there's a reason he's in there, that'll come in later stories.
A man makes his choice, and then lives with it. But will he have cause to regret it, and if so, what then? Colonel West learns the answer.
Come The High Water
By Rob Morris
PRIVATE JOURNAL
My name is Rene' Endicott West, and I am a Colonel in Starfleet Intelligence. I have been loyal to the United Federation Of Planets, and most especially to my native planet, The Earth. This is not out of a belief in its special or superior nature. I am loyal to it because it is mine. One must eventually choose what one is loyal to, and this is what I have chosen. I have no intention of seeing the Federation Flag fly over other sovereign powers, but I am doubly fierce in my resolve that none of the other powers shall ever hoist their banners upon the Eiffel Tower. There shall be no bloodwine drunk upon its summit; no Romulan will consider transporting it away as a trophy of conquest; no heads freed by Orion blades will adorn it, and for good measure, no Kzin Pridor will roar from it over the City Of Lights, unlikely as that might be.
This is the oath I took as a young agent, entering into the silent service, the thing never even whispered of. Even when a simple invocation of its name was needed in the direst emergencies, we still used a euphemism: Prime Eleven. The eleventh prime number is of course, Thirty-One.
I bear the other species I mentioned no ill will. They do as their heritage and culture demands. Klingons need to break things, including, it seems, their own gods, when those gods wanted to pay tribute to the Ancient Destroyer, Khiterah, also called King Death. The Romulans have a mania for order, and that mania means that the only way to protect Romulus from being someone else's province is to reduce the entire universe to being theirs. I fear at some point their planning and scheming will ensnare and strangle all the cosmos. As for the Orions, their desire for conquest is small-until awoken. When that happens, the opportunistic slavers become pirates of old, with all the worst that name conjures up. But there is no effective way to move against them, with punitive strikes needing to pass through Klingon and Romulan space. It keeps them in check, but it also gives them cover. The Kzinti are encircled in the Dead Zone, but live to replay that long-ago cosmic historical blip when they ruled over what the Iconians pulled back from.
I have dwelled my entire life in an ambiguous world to support the unambiguous goal of the preservation of my way of life. I consider myself a patriot, rather than a nationalist. I support my state whether right or wrong, but never do I delude myself with the notion that our doing something makes it right. I had always believed that I could walk that fine line of dark actions taken to preserve the light without either falling into the abyss or becoming that lowest of pawns, the intelligence man who works to provide cover for the blatantly political. I might have been able to pull it off. Then came word that the USS Constitution had been lost while searching for evidence of the lost Vulcania Colony. Its captain, Robert April, had been my own first commanding officer. I saw him as too indicative of the soft-hearted nature of good men, while he saw me as far too hawkish on defense matters.
But we each knew that the other was vital to the existence of democracy, and so I became his Chief Of Security during the shakedown of his first ship, the Enterprise. I yelled at Bob April about his presence on landing parties, and he yelled at me about firing into the air to disperse angry planetary natives. It was December 8th, 2255, and I determined to find out what had become of my fractious mentor and friend. I dedicated this task to two people: Bob's niece Robin, and the grandson of the ship's first officer, the man who took pains as the ship lost contact to send telemetry, my best and only evidence. That man had been George Samuel Kirk, Senior, and that grandson, born on Deneva 3 likely just as the ship fell, was named Peter. I imagined I might meet this boy one day. I had no more idea how that would come about than I did what that final latent telemetry would reveal.
The universe, you see, was being murdered, and the being meant to stop that murderer in its tracks had just entered the cosmic stage. I had a hand in enabling them both.
-----------------------------------------
December 31st, 2255
West showed his expert guest what George Kirk had sent, moments before the presumed end.
"The timing between strikes indicates an attack, rather than an encounter with a cosmic storm or other phenomenon. The message about the crew losses indicates an enemy of immense power and the ability to deliver that power to a target's most vulnerable spots in almost the precise way to break that target at warp speed. In short, we face an enemy capable of wiping away a Constitution-Class starship in relative moments. George Kirk must have been just as invulnerable and/or lucky as they say, even to have survived as long as he did."
The expert nodded.
"He was a tough man to kill. His boy Jimmy is cut from the same stripe. Incredibly inquisitive mind. Tactically brilliant. Are you aware of what he wrought on Tarsus, a mere six years ago? He and his young lady, a Nyota Uhura...."
"Doctor Gill, we are discussing the fate of Kirk Pere', not Fils. Also, I was among those who debriefed the young couple, so I know well of them. In any event, Kirk is dead, and so are over two-hundred excellent officers, including my mentor. Why a man of his accomplishments never made Admiral is beyond me. Bob April stood like a colossus over this fleet, the first such figure since Archer. So I want to know what killed him. It was suggested to me that your perspective and knowledge as a historian might give me some insight into what did this. Is there any precedent or mention of such a powerful ship meeting its end so quickly in your research?"
John Gill struck West as a man who looked too much in charge, for someone so low on the Starfleet pole. His expertise was widely acknowledged and praised, but he answered to almost any officer of significant rank he dealt with, at least in theory. But his demeanor was that of a man with a secret, and it was a secret that put him above all those he should have bowed to.
"I can honestly say, Lieutenant West, that there is nothing in all my studies or readings that lend itself to this circumstance. After all, we're not being invaded."
West hated admitting that. That simple fact seemed to belie his notion of an attacker.
"I know. Because we are not being invaded, it means that it is not a sovereign power seeking to expand into our territory. My superiors have made me painfully aware of that stance, these past three weeks."
Gill shrugged.
"I said that my experience as a historian doesn't help here. But then, I am also the Federation's premier authority on eschatology."
West knew that eschatologists studied religious beliefs concerning the end-times, and politely waited for Gill to make his point, despite the urge to roll his eyes.
"We, Lieutenant, are about to leave the narrow era wherein the loss of a single ship, or even a single world, counts as shocking or even noteworthy. If the kind of power exists to break a Connie-Class like that, then soon we will be transacting in the deaths of whole star systems, and clusters of star systems. Historically, this is necessary, every ten or so millennia. Clears out the flotsam and jetsam. The genetic driftwood, if you will. My advice is to be ready for it, and make sure that this old planet of ours is also ready."
"Some, Doctor, might call such an attitude cold. Unfeeling. What of the other worlds in the Federation?"
"Them? They can do for themselves, as I imagine they already are. Our Federation is largely an ambitious fiction, Mister West. Under the pressure of such an enemy as you posit, it will all fall away rather quickly. We must learn anew, to do for ourselves, and for our own. George Kirk and Robert April never understood this reality."
West had wanted facts, and he instead was getting politics and religion.
"Doctor, your feud with George Kirk is well known."
"My feud, Mister West? Why would we two have had any manner of feud?"
"Kirk opposed the construction of Admiralty Hall, which you were the chief cadet advocate of."
Gill seemed amused.
"Nonsense! George and I had a spirited debate, and he lost. He was spouting on about a tradition of Starfleet officers serving in the proximity of all their peers, while I helped people recognize the reality of the unique pressures our Admirals face, and their need for a place all their own."
Gill was being disingenuous, West knew. Kirk had been far from the only one to oppose the Hall's construction, and an intelligence agent knew better than most that those who make the decisions needed to be near those they presided over. But he wasn't there to debate the historian. The man had given what he had, and West appreciated that much, end-times talk aside.
As the New Year approached, so did the new era that John Gill predicted. It is worth noting that the era of vanished star systems would have been coming in any event. But in this reality, it would have a sinister bent beyond the mere perils of exploration. Rene West was the first to truly realize that something else had emerged, or, more accurately, re-emerged. In his zeal to investigate this matter, he had just unwittingly told the leader of The Order Of The Ancient Destroyer that his three-headed deity had broached the borders of the Alpha Quadrant.
The Apocalypse would begin in thirty years.
A man makes his choice, and then lives with it. But will he have cause to regret it, and if so, what then? Colonel West learns the answer.
Come The High Water
By Rob Morris
PRIVATE JOURNAL
My name is Rene' Endicott West, and I am a Colonel in Starfleet Intelligence. I have been loyal to the United Federation Of Planets, and most especially to my native planet, The Earth. This is not out of a belief in its special or superior nature. I am loyal to it because it is mine. One must eventually choose what one is loyal to, and this is what I have chosen. I have no intention of seeing the Federation Flag fly over other sovereign powers, but I am doubly fierce in my resolve that none of the other powers shall ever hoist their banners upon the Eiffel Tower. There shall be no bloodwine drunk upon its summit; no Romulan will consider transporting it away as a trophy of conquest; no heads freed by Orion blades will adorn it, and for good measure, no Kzin Pridor will roar from it over the City Of Lights, unlikely as that might be.
This is the oath I took as a young agent, entering into the silent service, the thing never even whispered of. Even when a simple invocation of its name was needed in the direst emergencies, we still used a euphemism: Prime Eleven. The eleventh prime number is of course, Thirty-One.
I bear the other species I mentioned no ill will. They do as their heritage and culture demands. Klingons need to break things, including, it seems, their own gods, when those gods wanted to pay tribute to the Ancient Destroyer, Khiterah, also called King Death. The Romulans have a mania for order, and that mania means that the only way to protect Romulus from being someone else's province is to reduce the entire universe to being theirs. I fear at some point their planning and scheming will ensnare and strangle all the cosmos. As for the Orions, their desire for conquest is small-until awoken. When that happens, the opportunistic slavers become pirates of old, with all the worst that name conjures up. But there is no effective way to move against them, with punitive strikes needing to pass through Klingon and Romulan space. It keeps them in check, but it also gives them cover. The Kzinti are encircled in the Dead Zone, but live to replay that long-ago cosmic historical blip when they ruled over what the Iconians pulled back from.
I have dwelled my entire life in an ambiguous world to support the unambiguous goal of the preservation of my way of life. I consider myself a patriot, rather than a nationalist. I support my state whether right or wrong, but never do I delude myself with the notion that our doing something makes it right. I had always believed that I could walk that fine line of dark actions taken to preserve the light without either falling into the abyss or becoming that lowest of pawns, the intelligence man who works to provide cover for the blatantly political. I might have been able to pull it off. Then came word that the USS Constitution had been lost while searching for evidence of the lost Vulcania Colony. Its captain, Robert April, had been my own first commanding officer. I saw him as too indicative of the soft-hearted nature of good men, while he saw me as far too hawkish on defense matters.
But we each knew that the other was vital to the existence of democracy, and so I became his Chief Of Security during the shakedown of his first ship, the Enterprise. I yelled at Bob April about his presence on landing parties, and he yelled at me about firing into the air to disperse angry planetary natives. It was December 8th, 2255, and I determined to find out what had become of my fractious mentor and friend. I dedicated this task to two people: Bob's niece Robin, and the grandson of the ship's first officer, the man who took pains as the ship lost contact to send telemetry, my best and only evidence. That man had been George Samuel Kirk, Senior, and that grandson, born on Deneva 3 likely just as the ship fell, was named Peter. I imagined I might meet this boy one day. I had no more idea how that would come about than I did what that final latent telemetry would reveal.
The universe, you see, was being murdered, and the being meant to stop that murderer in its tracks had just entered the cosmic stage. I had a hand in enabling them both.
-----------------------------------------
December 31st, 2255
West showed his expert guest what George Kirk had sent, moments before the presumed end.
"The timing between strikes indicates an attack, rather than an encounter with a cosmic storm or other phenomenon. The message about the crew losses indicates an enemy of immense power and the ability to deliver that power to a target's most vulnerable spots in almost the precise way to break that target at warp speed. In short, we face an enemy capable of wiping away a Constitution-Class starship in relative moments. George Kirk must have been just as invulnerable and/or lucky as they say, even to have survived as long as he did."
The expert nodded.
"He was a tough man to kill. His boy Jimmy is cut from the same stripe. Incredibly inquisitive mind. Tactically brilliant. Are you aware of what he wrought on Tarsus, a mere six years ago? He and his young lady, a Nyota Uhura...."
"Doctor Gill, we are discussing the fate of Kirk Pere', not Fils. Also, I was among those who debriefed the young couple, so I know well of them. In any event, Kirk is dead, and so are over two-hundred excellent officers, including my mentor. Why a man of his accomplishments never made Admiral is beyond me. Bob April stood like a colossus over this fleet, the first such figure since Archer. So I want to know what killed him. It was suggested to me that your perspective and knowledge as a historian might give me some insight into what did this. Is there any precedent or mention of such a powerful ship meeting its end so quickly in your research?"
John Gill struck West as a man who looked too much in charge, for someone so low on the Starfleet pole. His expertise was widely acknowledged and praised, but he answered to almost any officer of significant rank he dealt with, at least in theory. But his demeanor was that of a man with a secret, and it was a secret that put him above all those he should have bowed to.
"I can honestly say, Lieutenant West, that there is nothing in all my studies or readings that lend itself to this circumstance. After all, we're not being invaded."
West hated admitting that. That simple fact seemed to belie his notion of an attacker.
"I know. Because we are not being invaded, it means that it is not a sovereign power seeking to expand into our territory. My superiors have made me painfully aware of that stance, these past three weeks."
Gill shrugged.
"I said that my experience as a historian doesn't help here. But then, I am also the Federation's premier authority on eschatology."
West knew that eschatologists studied religious beliefs concerning the end-times, and politely waited for Gill to make his point, despite the urge to roll his eyes.
"We, Lieutenant, are about to leave the narrow era wherein the loss of a single ship, or even a single world, counts as shocking or even noteworthy. If the kind of power exists to break a Connie-Class like that, then soon we will be transacting in the deaths of whole star systems, and clusters of star systems. Historically, this is necessary, every ten or so millennia. Clears out the flotsam and jetsam. The genetic driftwood, if you will. My advice is to be ready for it, and make sure that this old planet of ours is also ready."
"Some, Doctor, might call such an attitude cold. Unfeeling. What of the other worlds in the Federation?"
"Them? They can do for themselves, as I imagine they already are. Our Federation is largely an ambitious fiction, Mister West. Under the pressure of such an enemy as you posit, it will all fall away rather quickly. We must learn anew, to do for ourselves, and for our own. George Kirk and Robert April never understood this reality."
West had wanted facts, and he instead was getting politics and religion.
"Doctor, your feud with George Kirk is well known."
"My feud, Mister West? Why would we two have had any manner of feud?"
"Kirk opposed the construction of Admiralty Hall, which you were the chief cadet advocate of."
Gill seemed amused.
"Nonsense! George and I had a spirited debate, and he lost. He was spouting on about a tradition of Starfleet officers serving in the proximity of all their peers, while I helped people recognize the reality of the unique pressures our Admirals face, and their need for a place all their own."
Gill was being disingenuous, West knew. Kirk had been far from the only one to oppose the Hall's construction, and an intelligence agent knew better than most that those who make the decisions needed to be near those they presided over. But he wasn't there to debate the historian. The man had given what he had, and West appreciated that much, end-times talk aside.
As the New Year approached, so did the new era that John Gill predicted. It is worth noting that the era of vanished star systems would have been coming in any event. But in this reality, it would have a sinister bent beyond the mere perils of exploration. Rene West was the first to truly realize that something else had emerged, or, more accurately, re-emerged. In his zeal to investigate this matter, he had just unwittingly told the leader of The Order Of The Ancient Destroyer that his three-headed deity had broached the borders of the Alpha Quadrant.
The Apocalypse would begin in thirty years.
Little less have time if you keep posting like that....
