Master of the Ring
Chapter One: The Evil That Men Do
Federation Starship USS Enterprise NCC-1701-F cleared the Trans-Warp corridor and proceeded toward Eminiar VII under standard Warp. Admiral Picard stayed in his Ready Room, absorbed in an article on the latest archaeological discoveries in the Catellian Sector, until the alert tone sounded. He put the tablet aside with some regret and made his way into CIC, joining the group near the main holo-display.
The display showed the planet that was their destination, but a network of red circles and lines indicated something was amiss.
"You're sure those are satellites?" Commodore Lore was asking.
"As sure as I can be." Commander Hashak, the Tactical Officer, was a tall and handsome Silurian woman. "Their main function seems to be surface surveillance, but they also have passive sensors aimed out into space. We're currently outside their detection radius, travelling at one-half impulse. We'll be in range in fifteen minutes."
"No need to get any closer." Lore decided. "Captain?"
"All stop." Ordered Captain Worf. "Hold position and remain in alert posture."
"Colonel Shepard to CIC." Lore requested, then. "Captain Sorek, I need as full a survey of Eminiar VII as you can get from this range. No probes, no active searching, passive detection only. As soon as possible, please."
"Understood, Commodore." Came the reply.
By this time, Lieutenant-Colonel Shepard, a tall, well-built man with short-cropped brown hair, a ruggedly-handsome face and clear blue-green eyes, had arrived. Shepard was one of the most decorated officers of the relatively young StarFleet Marine Corps and Picard had personally chosen him for this mission, for reasons only a few people knew. Shepard was followed by his ever-present shadow, Gunnery Sergeant B'ragh.
Lore gestured everyone to the Conference Area, a long table surrounded by a low-level force-field that dampened sound going in and out – more for privacy than secrecy. The senior officers went over and settled themselves. Sergeant B'ragh propped himself against a rail nearby and feigned disinterest.
"Perhaps we can begin," Picard said, "by explaining why we are now at alert posture? I had understood that this was a routine inspection of a pre-Warp culture, Lore?"
Lore shook his head. "Not exactly, Admiral. Eminiar VII is a Category 3 culture."
Picard raised an eyebrow. "Well, that explains a great deal. It also serves as a reminder to read my briefings!"
"Doesn't help me much." Shepard noted. "I don't usually get briefed on this kind of mission, and I've got no idea what Category 3 means!"
Lore glanced at Picard for permission, then spoke to Shepard.
"We classify pre-Warp cultures under four categories. Category 1 is the most common: a culture native to the planet, developing in the usual way. We start by looking in once a century or so, then at shorter intervals as they get more advanced. Category 2 cultures are ones which advanced to Warp level, or close to it, but then got knocked back by something -a war, a plague, a natural disaster. They tend to advance more quickly second time around, but they have their own specific challenges, so we keep a closer eye on them. Category 3 are cultures that were at Warp level, but were then knocked back by intervention from a more advanced space-faring culture. They have special problems, too. Finally, Category 4 covers cultures that have evolved on worlds that were once inhabited or colonised by an advanced but now extinct species. We sometimes need to prevent them from blowing themselves up!"
"Makes sense." Shepard allowed. "So what happened here? Eminiar VII is well inside Federation space, always has been. So who or what interfered?"
"We did." Lore said heavily. "A little more than a century ago, Eminiar VII was a stable, thriving culture. Advanced, civil, but oddly isolationist. But the Federation badly wanted a treaty port in this sector, so they sent an ambassador to negotiate. The ship assigned to the task was the Constitution-class USS Enterprise, commanded by Captain James T Kirk.
"It was then that we found out that Eminiar had been at war for centuries with a neighbouring planet, Eminiar VI, or Vendikar, as the natives called it. At first, of course, there had been massive destruction on both sides, but after a while, the antagonists reached an agreement. Not to stop the war, you understand, just the destruction."
"I recall now." Picard broke in. "They had a pair of linked computer systems which periodically launched virtual attacks. The casualties were calculated, and citizens who were declared killed underwent voluntary euthanasia. In that way, much destruction and disruption was avoided, but there was no real impetus to end the war."
"Just so." Lore agreed. "Somewhat inevitably, the Enterprise and her crew were declared casualties. Proper procedure would have been for Captain Kirk to abide by the laws of the system and surrender himself and his crew. Alternatively, he could have negotiated their release on the understanding that they would not return. At most, he might have stolen an Eminian shuttlecraft, returned to the Enterprise and left the system.
"But this, of course, was James Kirk. He 'resolved' the issue by destroying the Eminian end of the computer system, and forced the two sides to choose between 'real' war or making peace. A flagrant breach of the Prime Directive for which he was not court-martialled."
"The Federation's ethics were a little more elastic in those days." Picard observed. "Especially when it came to preserving the lives of crews. But even by the standards of the time, James Kirk was a loose cannon. What eventually happened here, Lore?"
"The inevitable." The android replied. "Negotiations were begun and were progressing well until hard-line factions on both worlds overthrew the governments and a hot war was launched. On Eminiar, eighty per cent of the population were killed and every city was flattened. Vendikar was rendered uninhabitable, but a small remnant of the population escaped and settled in a remote part of Eminiar. Attempts to rebuild were begun, but between factional disputes among Eminians and guerrilla raids by the Vendikan exiles, the planet has remained in a state of war ever since. As a result, the population remains low and most of their knowledge has been lost. They were last inspected five years ago and found to be at an level analogous to the Middle Ages in Europe. Two advanced and viable cultures ruined – but James Kirk is a legend in StarFleet."
"The evil that men do lives after them." Picard reminded him. "The good is oft interred with their bones."
"You can always count on Shakespeare to sum it up!" Lore acknowledged.
"So," Shepard said, "even if they recovered their old knowledge, there's no way they could've gotten that sophisticated an orbital system up in five years."
"Precisely." Hashak said. "Which means that someone else did it for them or to them. Hopefully, Captain Soreks' people can figure that out."
"Either way," Picard said, "it's a clear violation, whether of Federation space or the Prime Directive. Colonel Shepard, are you prepared to lead an Away Team to Eminiar?
"A reconnaissance mission, to begin with. Sensors are all very well, but we'll need eyes on before we go in."
"No problem." Shepard said. "We'll need a Stealth craft."
"Take the Raven." Worf said.
"Thanks." Shepard thought for a moment, then. "Also, I think a Psyker might be a good idea. One with combat experience if possible."
"I'll speak to Commander Janacek." Lore told him.
OK." Shepard nodded. "Gunny, get a squad together and meet me at the Raven."
"Hoo-rah!" Growled the big Klingon, and left.
XXXXX
Merlin was the capital world of the Wizard Enclave, an area of Federation space almost exclusively inhabited by wizards. Founded by Human wizards fleeing from Earth in the 22nd Century and Vulcan 'emotionalist' exiles – many of whom turned out to be wizards – it had once been a hidden refuge. Now, however, it was a place of study and research, home to wizards from every race that produced them. There were Humans, Vulcans, Betazoids, Minbari, Trill, Andorians, Bajorans and Tellarites; there were even a few exiled Cardassian wizards, Romulan wizards who had been escaped the destruction of their Empire and, it was rumoured, two or three powerful but reclusive Klingon Warrior-Mages. It seemed that the Ferengi, Breen, Narcissans and Gorn did not produce wizards. Muggles, of all species, were of course welcome visitors, but almost never residents.
The headquarters of the Ministry of Magic stood in the Central Square of Hogsmeade City, opposite the Wizengamot House. The place was as busy as always, but Commander Sarek Potter was obviously expected. He didn't even have to approach the reception desk before he was scooped up by a Whitelighter security officer.
"Commander Potter?" She confirmed. "You're a bit early, but that's all right. Follow me, please."
He was accustomed to being recognised, of course. He carried the genetic markers of the much-respected Potter family in his shaggy mop of untidy black hair and his vivid green eyes. His tall, rangy frame, pointed ears and slanted eyebrows, however, came from his mother, a muggle-born Vulcan witch. But there was something more to this, the officer escorting him had clearly been on the look-out, and the fact that being early seemed not to matter gave him a feeling of apprehension. As career military, he was accustomed to a life of 'hurry up and wait', especially outside the offices of superiors, but the pace at which he was being led into the bowels of the building indicated a more than common urgency.
The Whitelighter stopped at a very ordinary-looking door in a deserted corridor and knocked once. A voice said "Come!". She opened it and led Sarek straight in.
"Commander Potter, ma'am." She announced.
"Excellent!" The woman sitting at the desk was tall and slender, with white-blonde hair swept back into a tight chignon. She had a high forehead, a thin face, a surprisingly sensual mouth and a pair of piercing, pale-blue eyes. With a shock, Sarek recognised her as Admiral of the Fleet Severina Malfoy, supreme commander of the Wizard Space Fleet.
"Thank you, Sanders." She was saying. "Wait outside, and see that we're not disturbed.
"Commander, take a seat, I'll be with you in a second."
Admiral Malfoy continued reading the parchment in front of her, then picked up a quill and scrawled her signature on it before looking up at Sarek.
"So, Commander, they tell me you're the nearest thing to Harry Potter for several generations. Is that true?" She asked.
Sarek raised an eyebrow. "If that's true, Admiral, then at least one set of grandparents will be very disappointed!" He replied. "Mothers' parents are Vulcan muggles, and would not approve of Harry Potters' maverick, intuitive way of doing things!"
"You honour your Vulcan heritage, then?" The Admiral enquired.
"No more, and no less, than I honour my Human one." Sarek said gravely. "They have more in common than most Humans, or Vulcans, are aware of. Surak would certainly have understood and approved of Marcus Aurelius, for instance."
"I'll take your word for that." The Admiral allowed. "Though according to my ancestors' memoirs, Harry Potter thought that way about his muggle and wizard heritage.
"But that's not really why you're here, Commander. We've had an…unusual…request. A certain person has a mission for someone. Someone in the direct line of Harry Potter, someone as like Harry himself as possible. That seems to be you, Commander.
"But I was asked to ascertain one last thing. If I were to say to you All that is gold does not glitter…" She let it hang there.
If Sarek was surprised, he didn't show it. He'd been half-expecting it. "I would reply Not all those who wander are lost."He told her.
Admiral Malfoy nodded. "I have no idea what the Hell that means, and I was most particularly told not to ask!" She said sourly. Then she rolled up the parchment in front of her and sealed it.
"Very well, Commander. As of now, your rank and commission is transferred to StarFleet Ranger Corps. You will find all necessary documentation and equipment, along with a Black Ship keyed to you, at your destination.
"This scroll is your introduction to the person you will be working for. It's also a Portkey that will take you directly to their HQ as soon as you accept it. So if you have any questions, ask them now."
"Just one." Sarek said. "Who will I be working for? Admiral Riker?"
"Not directly." She told him. "Your mission commander will be the Sorceress Supreme."
She rose, and as Sarek also stood, she extended the scroll to him.
"Good luck, Commander. I think you're going to need it!"
XXXXX
The members of the 'Old Firm', as Duncan MacLeod liked to call the group, seldom came to Earth, despite the fact that they had all been born there. But that had been centuries ago, even for the Seeker, who was the youngest of them. Nothing was left of the world they had known except a few precious monuments -and some of those were reconstructions.
"I had a dojo and an antique shop here, once." Duncan said. "I cannae get used to New York being so clean and quiet!"
"I thought it was Conor that had the antique shop?" The Seeker was a tall, slender Black man, his handsome face marred by a jagged scar on the forehead.
"Aye, but I bought it from him when he moved on." Duncan replied. "Are you sure they'll be here?"
"Neither of them would ever come to Earth without coming here." The Seeker told him. "Both of them were soldiers far longer than either of us were. Honouring fallen comrades is in their blood now."
The space they were approaching had been a special one for nearly five hundred years. Once, the fabled Twin Towers had stood here, and it was still referred to as Ground Zero. The Seeker, with the four-dimensional awareness of a TimeMage, could 'see' this place in its' full context. Just one element in a process that stretched back from here to the Battle of the Pelennor Fields and forward from here to World War Three, the Post-Atomic Horror and the start of a new process signalled by the development of Warp Drive.
Of course, it had changed. There had been other bombings, including nuclear ones, and now all that remained of the reconstructed World Trade Centre was the towering One World Trade Centre building, now re-christened the One Galaxy Cultural Centre. Liberty Park had been extended, and a new memorial had been constructed, along with a new museum.
One memorial, however, had gone untouched throughout. The Stolen Earth Memorial stood where it had been placed in 2009. Commissioned by SHIELD, the United Nations, the White Council and the City of New York to honour the 'empowered humans' who had given their lives in the fight against the Dalek Invasion of 2008, and designed by Steve Rogers, it was a simple structure. Eight flights of five steps led to an eight-sided dais, all of polished granite and the only part that had needed to be replaced. The Memorial itself was a four-metre-tall octagonal pillar, each side two metres wide, constructed of adamantium, an indestructible alloy which nobody had been able to reproduce for centuries. It was said to be hollow, and to contain numerous artefacts -a ruby quartz visor, a spider mask, a seal ring bearing the arms of the Hellfire Club, an eye-patch, the wreckage of a Dalek battle-suit and much else -but of course it could not be opened to verify any of this. What could be seen were the many names, painstakingly etched into the metal while it had still been hot. Names of Mutants, Metahumans and wizards who had been killed by Dalek action.
As he and Duncan made their way around the pillar, names caught the Seekers' eye. Names of people he had not met, but who had been legends: Reed Richards, John Storm, Brian Braddock, Peter Parker, Wanda Maximoff, Sebastian Shaw, Luke Cage. Also some he had known: Lucius Malfoy, Seamus Finnigan, Filius Flitwick, Donald Morgan.
On the other side of the pillar, they came across the men they were looking for. One was short and stocky, with thick dark hair, massive sideburns and a rugged face. The other was tall and athletic, he wore a metal collar which projected a hologram of an inoffensively handsome face to hide the scarred ruin beneath.
Gee, thanks, pal!
Shut up.
Deadpool waved at them and nudged his companion. Wolverine acknowledged the Seeker and the Highlander with a nod, then turned back to the Memorial. Moving to his side, the Seeker noted the group of names that absorbed his old friend's attention: Scott Summers, Alexander Summers, Lorna Dane, Henry McCoy, Kurt Wagner, Sean Cassidy, Heather McNeil Hudson, Michael Twoyoungmen, Walter Langkowski, Jean-Paul Beaubier, Jeanne-Marie Beaubier, Eugene Judd.
"The X-Men and Alpha Flight." Logan told him. "You haveta wonder how I survived! Hell, some of these guys were way more powerful than me!"
"Power in itself doesn't mean anything." The Seeker told him. "Do you think I was more powerful than Voldemort at seventeen?"
"No, you had a chunk of his soul and you were the true master of the Elder Wand." Logan said.
"Exactly." The Seeker agreed. "One because Riddle liked killing in cold blood, the other by complete accident – it was supposed to be Draco and he was never meant to know!
"As for you, even then, you had more combat experience than all of those people put together! Also, you're a close combat specialist, and Daleks didn't do close combat!"
"That they didn't!" Logan allowed. "So here we both are, Harry! Though nowadays, you could pin Voldies' ass to the wall with your left pinky!
"Did you find it?"
The Seeker shook his head. "Duncan and I hired an aquatic shuttle and went over every square centimetre of the bottom of Narragansett Bay. It's not there. Did you find anything out?"
Logan shrugged. "Lot of records didn't survive, but there was a UFO sighting there during the Washington UFO flap in the 1950s. Somebody saw somethin' comin' out of the water and takin' off straight up. No photos, description or drawing.
"Could they have gone that far back?"
"Honestly? We don't know." The Seeker allowed. "There's a report in Division files that they once caught a TimeLord. Couldn't keep him, of course, but they might have got enough data out of him before he regenerated to build a time-craft. Just not a very good one.
"But we'd better get back and tell Lord White what we didn't find."
"You trust that guy?" Logan asked.
"To a point." The Seeker said. "He was Division once, but he got out, he says. Still, you never know, we'll need to watch each others' backs."
"Business as usual, then!" Logan said.
XXXXX
They were proudly pacifist. They permitted no weapons in the colony, and no StarFleet personnel. So now they could only scream and run. The towering black figures pursued, running them down easily and stunning them before moving on. A larger group came behind; each stunned victim was scanned, then either injected or efficiently killed. The colonists were making for the forest, which provided a hope of safety. Many had already entered, scattering as they did so, leaving trails a blind man could have followed.
Then the first of the pursuers reached the tree-line, and one of the trees reached out. Limbs like fast-growing roots wrapped tightly round the struggling black form, squeezing and crushing before tearing it in two. The other pursuers stopped. A figure came out from the trees. Tall and spindly, with barklike skin and large dark eyes. "I am Groot!" He bellowed.
The hunters immediately formed into a phalanx, which made them easy targets for the roll of gunfire that came out of the forest. A fusillade of explosive, armour-piercing shells that left all of them shattered wrecks.
The larger group behind had also closed ranks, but had barely begun to advance when a huge figure landed in the middle of them. Eight feet tall and dressed in a grey coverall, the newcomer laid about him with terrific blows that shattered and crushed metal like glass and paper. Out of the forest emerged a towering figure in blue armour, he raised his weapon again and began to fire, apparently careless of hitting his ally. But then the deadly shells bothered the grey-clad, green-skinned juggernaut no more than raindrops might have.
Then it was over. The tree-man and the armoured giant went over to where the green man was examining the wreckage. As they arrived, he looked up.
"It's as we thought." He said, his voice deep, but clear. "They're a hybridisation."
The armoured man shook his head. "I thought I had seen every possible abomination. It seems I was wrong."
The tree-man pointed back to the forest. "I am Groot."
The colonists were indeed returning. Most of them crowded together several metres off, but one approached to within earshot.
The armoured man called. "My name is Titus. You're safe to come back now, but I'm afraid you'll have to leave here, get back into Federation space where you'll be safe. Do you need help?"
"We need you to take your filthy weapons off our world, you murdering bastard!" The man yelled. "We'd run and hide, but never fight! You murdered those beings!"
"They'd have hunted you down and killed you all!" The green giant shouted back.
"Then so be it!" Was the reply. "Our deaths would have been on their consciences! We do not kill, and we do not befriend, thank or take advice from those who do! Go away!"
"They stick to their beliefs." The green mans' voice had changed, become rougher. "You gotta respect that, kinda."
"What happened to Bruce?" Titus asked.
"The Professor's got some figurin' to do." The Hulk said. "We goin' or what?"
"We had best leave, indeed. We need to report this." Titus agreed.
"I am Groot!"
"I understand, friend Groot." Titus said. "I too am tempted to teach these people some manners, but we have more important things to do!"
XXXXX
Farseer Galadriel stared, unseeing, out of the Observation Window. Craftworld Lothlorien was unlike the other great Craftworlds. From this central hub, wraithbone constructs extended like the branches of trees. In those branches were built the platforms, the talans, that supported the homes, workshops and other buildings the Eldar of Lothlorien needed. There was no outer hull; the technologies learned by her people from the Valar long ago enabled them to surround themselves with an impenetrable force-field.
With a sigh, Galadriel came back to herself, turning back to the two figures standing behind her.
"It is of no use." She said. "The Darkness he surrounds himself with is impenetrable." She raised her left hand, the ring on it glowing with its' own white light. "Even with Nenyas' power, I cannot reach him!"
Master-Seer Elrond shook his head. "It defies all lore we have known!" He said. He held out his own hand, the ring Vilya pulsing with azure light. "The Three have power once again! That can only be if the One has been reforged. Yet if our old Enemy was indeed active and wielding his Ring again, we would have felt him seeking us, trying to seize power over us. But this is not so, and even you, Lady, with all your power, cannot find him."
"It may be," Galadriel mused, "that this is not indeed the One we have known and feared. It may be that some other has found part of the lore and created a copy. An imperfect copy, close enough to revive the Three, but lacking the power to dominate them?"
"Or it may be that the Master of this new Ring does not consider you worth his trouble." This was the third person. Not Eldar, but human, at least in appearance. A tall man clad in white, white-haired and bearded, a face marked by age, but the deep-set dark eyes still held a power and strength few could match. He also wore a ring, the stone of which flickered red light like a flame.
"You were ever one to see the darker side of events, Mithrandir." Elrond said.
"Darker?" Was the reply. "No Master-Seer, merely the most likely! Consider, the Aeldari were once mighty among the Empires of this Galaxy. Now you are scattered, divided, reduced. It was so even before your ancestors came to Arda as Exodites, leaving the Craftworlds behind.
"There, on Arda, as allies and students of the Valar, your people were great among the folk of that world. Morgoth and Sauron feared you rightly. But in the wars of those Ages, your people dwindled. The Valar would not permit you to displace the rightful inhabitants of Arda, but made you retreat before them until you fled back to space."
"A betrayal in which you aided them, TimeMage!" Elrond snapped.
"Not I." Mithrandir told him. "The Division sent me to ensure that the Valar also left Arda to the human races. It was I who encouraged them to let your people return to the stars rather than remain on Arda to become extinct."
"Truth." Elrond admitted. "Were it not for the arrogance and folly of the Vanyar, this Craftworld would be the mightiest of all, and we would have a voice among the Aeldari!"
"To what end?" Galadriel asked. "The Children of Men have stretched out their hands and subdued the stars. Not were all the Aeldari gathered under one banner could we hope to defeat, or even resist, their Federation and its allies! The warriors of Men remain as dour-handed as they were when you laid siege to Barad-Dur, and no Dwarf axeman was ever so fell and grim as a Klingon!
"Mithrandir is right. What concern are we to a new Ringlord when he faces such foes?"
"In and of yourselves, none." Mithrandir said. "But he either forgets, or does not know, that your blood still runs in some among Men. The blood of the Atanatari, the Kings of Men, still fills the veins of many, and the Line of Luthien has not failed.
"The fate of that Line is bound up with the Rings, and even if this new Ring of Power be but a copy, yet it shall still stir those that carry the blood to action! It has already begun. I have my part to play, and it may yet come to pass that you have yours. Be ready!"
He turned and left.
"Ever he comes and goes unlooked-for." Elrond said. "Never does he tell all he knows or sees."
"So it is with all the First Ones." Galadriel reminded him. "Would you rather deal with the Q, or the Vorlons?"
"The Vorlons are no more, as we know." Elrond pointed out. "They and their Shadows are gone. But indeed, rather the Shobogan than the Q!
"Well, what do we now, Lady Farseer?"
"We make ready, Sir Master-Seer, and we wait. We will know when and if the time comes."