***    TWENTY-THREE    ***                253

       
            Captain James T. Kirk materialized in the transporter room, in

       the heart of the USS Enterprise.  His ship.  The moment his feet

       had formed on the pads below him, he could feel and hear the

       familiar comforting, 'thrumm' of the ship beneath him.  Not unlike,

       he thought, the safe, peaceful feeling an infant in the womb must

       experience.  Spock, McCoy, Scotty and Lieutenant Kyle where there

       to greet him.  As he stepped down from the transporter platform,

       Bones was the first one to move toward him and slap him on the

       back.

            "Welcome home, Jim," Bones said.

            "Glad to be back, Bones." Jim removed the tri-corder from

       around his neck and handed it to the Doctor.  "Here Bones, I never

       had a chance to use this as you had intended me to.  But if not for

       the information on this, I would still be back on Earth in my

       security cell.  Thanks."

            "Welcome, Captain," Spock said, holding up his hand in

       traditional Vulcan salute.  "The Enterprise has not been the same

       without your presence."

            "Thanks, Spock, I missed you, too."  Jim's relief was more

       extensive than he had expected, by just being aboard his ship, by

       being surrounded again with his long time friends.  "Is my ship any

       worse for the wear?" he asked his First Officer.

            "There have been some subtle alterations, specifically to the

       deflector shielding but the Enterprise is essentially un-changed,

       Captain."

            Jim gave the last comment a questioning glance, but let it

       pass for the time being.  He turned his attention toward the Chief










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       Engineer, standing by the Transporter Chief.  "Mr.  Scott, you look

       much better.  Last time I saw you, there was some question as to

       whether you would be able to bite your nails again," he said with a

       smile.

            "Thank ya, Sir," spoke the Scottsman.  "I should'na worried

       about me though, Capt'n.  I kin take what ere ma engines kin dish

       out."

            "Good to know that, Mr. Scott.  How are 'your' engines,

       anyway?" he asked Scotty.

            "Same as b'fore, Sir.  If'n we were ta engage ma port nacelle,

       we would ha only seconds before she'd light up the sky, an us wi

       her."

            "I think we will try to avoid using it then, Scotty.  Is

       sub-space communications still disabled?"

            "Aye, Sir, I'm ashamed ta say.  Still reception only."

            "Captain," Spock began, as if wanting to remove a great burden

       from his conscience.  "due to the circumstances of this crisis we

       are facing, I had determined, that it was only logical to inform

       the crew as to the nature of our predicament, in detail." Spock

       stopped briefly to see if he could read a response to the statement

       on Jim's face.  There was none, so he continued.

            "Had they heard the report given on the Multi-cast Network

       transmissions, they could have been easily misled into thinking

       your actions were seditious toward the Federation.  I could not

       allow them to believe this was so." Spock maintained his own

       inscrutable composure before his Captain. It did not reveal the

       sensation of relief he had glimpsed within himself, during his

       confession.  He noted, however, that the burden seemed to lighten










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       with the sharing of it.

            Jim looked at his Vulcan friend, feeling empathy for him in

       the decision he had made.  "That must have been a difficult choice

       for you, Spock.  That in itself was a direct violation of our

       orders," Jim said, knowing that logic could not have been the only

       reason for his decision.  "It is what a true Captain would have

       done, Spock, it is what a true friend would do."

            "Mr. Kyle," Jim directed to the sandy haired transporter

       chief, "thanks for the smooth ride home."

            "You're welcome, Sir," he said, powering down and locking the

       unit before him.

            "Well gentlemen, let's move this party to the bridge, shall

       we?" Jim said, ready to take his place aboard the famous ship,

       ready to make his homecoming complete.

            "Captain Kirk," came Uhura's voice over the comm.  system.

       She sounded unsteady, almost a hint of panic?  "Captain, are

       you aboard yet?"

            Kyle pressed the response button for the Captain.  "Kirk

       here," Jim spoke into the air.  He had a sudden feeling of dread,

       noting the tone of voice with which Uhura spoke.  "What is it

       lieutenant Uhura?"

            "Sir, I have just received a general transmission to all

       Starfleet vessels, Captain, it's code one.  We are at war," she

       said, her voice shaky.

            Jim felt it in the pit of his stomach, like tiny pin-pricks of

       fire.  He looked at his friends that surrounded him.  Only Spock

       remained outwardly unmoved by the announcement.  Jim knew that his

       failure on Earth was total.  'One man can not stop a war,' he










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       thought to himself, regretting, yet conceding to his own defeat.

       'But one man could have prevented it...  Or has that been 'my'

       vanity?' He reflected for a moment, contemplating words of his

       recent past.

            "Captain?" Uhura was waiting for him to give some kind of

       response to the information.

            "Acknowledged, Lieutenant," he said with more than a hint of

       remorse.  "Better send the same message to the Fury.  Let them know

       what they are heading in to."

            "I show that they are now out of range, Sir.  We have no way

       to warn them," she replied.

            Jim nodded to himself. "They'll find out, one way or

       another.  Mr.  Sulu!" he directed to the helmsman, temporarily

       occupying the center seat.

            "Yes, Sir; Sulu here."
       
            "Get us under way.  Resume course for the fleet, best speed."

            "Aye, Sir," spoke Sulu.

            "Kirk out," he ended and turned back to his own inward

       reflections.

            "My God, Jim!" Bones interjected, "This is really happening,

       isn't it?  Garth really has started the Big One."

            "Yes," Jim said with finality.

            "Captain," came Spock, "I suggest that we re-consider our plan

       of attack, now that war is no longer a question."

            Jim regarded his First Officer, placing his comment behind his

       own thoughts.  "We didn't believe them, Spock," Jim said.

            "Captain?" Spock asked, not comprehending the meaning of the

       Captain's comment.










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            "We didn't believe the Organians.  We thought that we could

       stop this before it started, we were wrong!  They said that war

       was a certainty.  We approached every angle with the assumption

       that, they might be wrong, that we could avert the war," Jim said,

       angry with himself for hearing the beings, but not listening to

       them.

            "Captain," Spock began, but changed his address to that of a

       friend.  "Jim, would you have proceeded with any other course of

       action, had we known for certain, that we could not stop Garth?"

       Spock enquired.

            Jim considered the question, then looked Spock straight in the

       eye.  "No," he said, then added "Maybe."  Then lastly said,"I don't

       know.  But we," Jim searched for the right word.  Having spent so

       much time with the Klingons, one word came to mind.  "We dishonored

       them, by not trusting them.  I dishonored myself.  I allowed

       myself to believe that, not only am I Captain of the Enterprise,

       but I believed that I was Captain of my own destiny, as well."

            Spock shook his head in the affirmative.  "Perhaps the word

       'dishonor' is applicable, Captain, perhaps not.  But one does not

       place his trust in what he does not know as fact."

            "We knew enough, Spock.  We knew enough.  Details were all

       we lacked."

            "Jim," Bones cut in angrily. "Garth is the one at fault

       here.  Not you, not Spock!  Let's make 'him' pay for it, instead of
       
       holding each other accountable for something beyond our control!"

            Both Spock and Jim turned to the Doctor.  It had surprised the

       two to hear such words of encouragement from the most pessimistic

       person that either knew.  Spock raised his left eyebrow.  "I had

       








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       not thought that I would hear myself say this in the near future,

       but the Doctor is 'perfectly' correct in his statement."

            "Yes.  He is, isn't he," Jim agreed.  There was no time for

       remorse for the past deeds.  There was only time for action, and

       precious little of that.  "Let's get going.  We do, have to re-

       think our strategy and prepare for war." He turned to the silent

       Scottsman.  "Coming?" he asked.

            "Aye, Sir, lead on."

            And the small party of four left Mr. Kyle in the transporter

       room and headed for the bridge.  A war now raged before them.  The

       war that had been prophesied.   And now they were at the place

       where each had feared they might be, racing headlong toward

       destruction.

                               *         *         *

            In the Neutral Zone.

            Commodore Stormcloud had become quite

       nervous.  He paced the deck on the bridge of the Starship Republic,

       quite literally hovering over the crew like his namesake.  Dark and

       angry in temperament, ready to let loose his thunder upon anyone

       that happened in his way.  And for good reason.  The Enterprise had

       not self-destructed.  That much was for certain, when her Captain

       had appeared on Earth nine days ago. 'But what of the Enterprise?,'

       he thought to himself over and over again.  'If Kirk's ship was

       going to stop him, why had it not arrived to complicate matters?'

            "Captain Grayson," the Science Officer spoke while looking at

       his scanning apparatus, "I am detecting two in-bound vessels on

       flight corridor .401.  I believe that the Javelin and the Klingon

       Throneship, are returning."










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            The news immediately brightened the mood of Stormcloud.  Now,

       the Enterprise could not so much as inconvenience him.  It was time

       to seal the fate of the galaxy.  Time to strike the fatal blow

       against the 'Peace' that was falsely called so.  Stormcloud strode

       over to the Captain's chair and stood behind it.

            "Establish communications to all Fleet vessels," Stormcloud

       ordered.

            "Hailing frequency to all Ships is now open, Sir," the Comm.

       Officer stated professionally.

            "This is Stormcloud, the Klingon Emperor is here.  Stand down

       all weapons, lower all shields.  The Empire is now allied with the

       Federation.  Stormcloud out!" he concluded.

            'Now it is up to you,' he thought towards the approaching

       Throneship.  'All you survey is yours. It is time to claim it.'

                               *         *         *

            The Emperor sat in the large command chair of the Imperial

       Throneship Thunder.  His shining black armor gleamed malevolently

       and bespoke of terrible power embodied within.  He placed his hand

       atop the helmet, that rested on his right leg, massively

       constructed, like the rest of his armor.  Captain Kom stood to the

       left of, and behind, the Emperor.  Sorr stood to the right of him,

       as they approached the stationary fleet before them.

            They closed on the Federation Ships and as they passed, the

       USS Javelin peeled off to starboard-down and allowed the tremendous

       Klingon vessel to cross the once 'neutral' zone, alone.  At slow

       sublight speed, the great Dreadnought pressed through the corridor

       of ships that made way for the giant battleship.

            Silently the Emperor sat, taking in the view of the many

       

       

       




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       Federation ships that the Thunder passed through.  The build-up of

       ships over the two weeks past had made both sides fairly equal in

       attack and defensive capabilities.  This pleased the Garth that

       stood behind the eyes of the Emperor.  His plan required that the

       odds remained even for as long as possible.  Long enough to weaken
       
       both sides, shake them up if possible and lastly, give them a

       glimmer of the hopelessness and horror that all wars bring.  Then,

       like a shining ray of light, give them the hope of his salvation

       from the war.  Show them the one whose hands held the power, whose

       mind held the visions of galactic conquest and glory that would

       change the galaxy,  forever.  Only then would he crush the

       Empire, destroy the Federation, and obliterate the Empire of the

       Romulans.  And out of the ashes of destruction, one man, one name

       would be praised by all men, the name of Garth... their Messiah!

            The Throneship passed the Federation Fleet and increased speed

       toward the Imperial Armada, on the other side of the zone.  The

       Armada waited patiently for their Emperor's return, withholding the

       might that each ship harbored for that moment, when all would test

       their metal against the enemy Federation.

            Far in the distance, behind the Klingonese line of defense, a

       lone ship also waited for the return of the Emperor.  The

       Federation-made ship, Fringe Ranger, under protection of the

       Empire, awaited not Emperor Tromok but Emperor Garth, ruler of all.

       For the Klingon Emperor had never left the bowels of the Starship.

       He was, for now, hostage against the Empire, if needed.  If not, he

       would become so much space debris soon.

            Garth did not take his eyes off of the forward view-screen.

       This was the time he had waited long, for.  This was his hour.  His

       








                                                                      261
       reach now was in harmony with his grasp.  And his fist would now

       close over all.

            "Summon my Armada!" commanded the Emperor, cloaked in

       shimmering blackness.  "We will hold here," he added to the

       helmsman.

            "Yes, my lord," spoke the Communications Officer.

            The Thunder slowed, de-folding to normal space, then stopped.

       Ever so slowly she turned around to face the direction she had

       come.  One by one, the red glow of activating weapons lit the ship

       that was enfolded by the blackness of space.  One by one they chose

       their targets and waited to discharge the powerful energy they now

       held in check.

            The Klingon ships raced to join the Imperial juggernaut that

       dared the Federation Fleet alone;  a vast Klingon tide that would

       wash away any remembrance of the Federation.  Their approach did

       not, however, go unnoticed by Starfleet.

                                     *         *         *

            On board the Javelin.

            "Captain Hamill, the entire Klingon fleet is moving towards us

       at warp 7!" the young Officer exclaimed. "Their shields are up and

       their weapons are hot!"

            "Get me the Republic!  Now!" Hamill said, "Signal red alert!

       Shields up!"

            "Republic on speakers, Sir," the Officer shouted over the

       alarm claxons.

            "Stormcloud, what are you doing over there?  We show a wall of

       hostiles heading this way, while you are still sitting with your

       pants down!" Hamill yelled to his superior.










                                                                      262
            "Calm yourself, Hamill.  They are within their rights at the

       moment.  We, including you, will continue to show a relaxed

       posture!" Stormcloud commanded.

            "You relax, Commodore!  My instincts tell me that my ship is

       in jeopardy!  I'm advising all other ships to prepare for attack!"

       Hamill responded.

            "You will do nothing of the kind!  I am in charge of this

       operation!  I have given you specific..." Stormcloud bellowed.

            "Cut speakers," Hamill ordered.  "Send general advisory code

       1, to all ships and Starbases! Arm all weapons and launch recorder!"

            "Aye, Sir!" came the unison response.  Quickly the crew of

       the Javelin obeyed Hammil's orders, then the Communications Officer

       heard the message from the Throneship.  "Captain, the Fleet is being

       hailed by the Klingon Emperor.  Perhaps it in explanation of their

       actions," he concluded hopefully.

            "On Screen," Hamill said to the Lieutenant. "Maintain

       defensive posture!" he said to his First Officer.

            The screen that displaying the oncoming fleet of ships, was

       replaced by the image of a giant, clad in black. The giant wore a

       smile, but it did not appear that it was an expression of

       friendship.

            "This is the Emperor of the Klingon Realm," the man began in

       his deep, and eloquent voice.  "Nine of your standard days ago, was

       an historic day for all concerned.  For it marked the day that the

       United Federation of Planets was grasped by the throat, by one

       man...  By me." His smile began to change from mildly threatening,

       to definitely so.

            "The amazing thing to me is that you were never aware of your

       








                                                                      263
       weakness.  In fact, you had believed that the thing I refer to as

       weakness was one of your strengths.  I speak of your laws, for

       they are the second cause of your downfall.  You may call me many

       things, but perhaps the worst I shall be called is lawyer!" He

       chuckled deeply.  "By the very laws that I have twisted around your

       neck like a noose, I have delivered a war to your doorstep.  But

       that is only the second cause of your defeat."

            "The first is your willingness to embrace an enemy for fear's

       sake.  Be it fear of the Romulans, fear of 'our' actions should you

       turn us away, or fear of what others might think...  it matters not.

       For it was fear that motivated you.  I have herded you as a flock

       of sheep.  You followed gladly, fearing the shearer.  And though I

       have spared you your fleece, I now deliver you into the hands of the

       butcher...  And the butcher looks like me!"

            "I do not give you opportunity to surrender, for the battle is

       my desire... My design!  But for that air of 'officiality', I wish

       to formally announce a state of rebellion within 'our' shining

       Federation.  Gentlemen... Let the battle begin!"

            With that announcement, the Imperial Throneship Thunder

       launched the attack that started the second Federation / Klingon

       war.  This time however, the Organians would not affect its

       outcome.

            The Throneship advanced, belching fiery destruction as it

       came.  The Imperial armada moved in behind it.  They too fired

       their weapons toward the Federation fleet, now at the ready to

       defend itself.

            Both sides were equal as they clashed.  Their shields were

       powerful, their weapons, deadly, and when a ship fell... mighty was










                                                                      264
       the fall of it.  Anti-matter implosions, rocking all near vessels

       became far too frequent.  Yet the first battle was merely a taste,

       lasting only one hour, forty minutes.  Seventeen ships, all told,

       were lost to the void in that battle, nine belonged to Starfleet.

       The Javelin was the first Federation ship to be destroyed and

       certainly not the last.  Wreckage from the conflagration was strewn

       in all directions as the two powers regrouped their vessels for

       the second assault.

            More ships from either side were on their way.  Battle vectors

       were now being drawn by both.  At least for the next clash, the

       chaos would be orchestrated.  Some of the ships were unscathed,

       some merely battle scorched, some barely hanging on to life

       support.  Still, both sides were equal as they clashed again... and

       again...