Master of the Ring

Chapter Four: The Road Goes Ever On

At times like these, Lore stayed in C&C, leaving Worf on the bridge. Though officially the commanding officer of the Enterprise. Lore's role was command of the entire ship, not of its two constituent parts, and unless in extremis, he felt it inappropriate to intervene at such times. Admiral Picard, as Mission Commander, did the same. From C&C, they could observe everything, and offer advice if necessary, without undermining Worfs' authority.

"What is that thing?" Lore asked.

"Trouble." Picard replied.

The ship which had just dropped out of warp nearby was the size, and had the general configuration, of a Cyber-Cruiser. But it also had the rough, unfinished look of a Borg cube or sphere. As if exactly enough had been done to make everything work, but no extra effort had been expended upon finish. Reports were coming in from sensor stations

"Unknown vessel has variable- frequency shields. We see mounts for phaser beams and cutting lasers, quantum torpedoes and standard missiles. All their weapons are ready and shields are deployed."

"We are being hailed!"

"StarFleet vessel, we are CyBorg. Surrender immediately. Your ships' technology will be salvaged. Your crew will be assessed. The inferior will be deleted, the acceptable will be assimilated, the superior will be upgraded.

"All species must be improved or deleted. Resistance is futile."

"CyBorg?" Picard said.

"Cybermen and Borg combined." Lore noted. "They've changed their tune a bit, both of them. The old Borg just assimilated everything. The Cybermen upgraded or deleted. Now they're doing both, it seems."

"CyBorg vessel, this is Captain Worf of the Federation starship Enterprise. We have no desire for conflict, but you are trespassing on Federation territory and have violated the sovereignty of a world under Federation protection.

"You are being placed under notice to withdraw all your forces and personnel from Eminiar VII and leave Federation space, or face the consequences!"

"I might have been more diplomatic." Picard commented.

"You're not a Klingon." Lore told him.

The CyBorg were replying. "Trespass is irrelevant. Sovereignty is irrelevant. The Federation is irrelevant. Consequences are irrelevant. Prepare to be boarded."

"Conn. Sensors. Two boarding craft have just launched from the cruiser. Both carrying Cybermen boarding parties!"

"Launch Raven and Leopard to intercept." Worf ordered. "Deploy Interdictor squadrons!"

The flurry was brief and decisive. The boarding craft were clearly not designed for combat, though they carried weapons. The two armed runabouts, however, were based on the multi-purpose design of the Delta Flyer, but optimised for combat. The Leopard was more heavily-armed and armoured, and set off on a direct intercept course. The lighter Raven was already cloaked when it launched, and made its' way to a flanking position.

Predictably, the boarding vessels concentrated fire on the Leopard. This allowed the Raven to destroy one of them immediately with a quantum torpedo while remaining cloaked. The second ship, with its shields weakened by the explosion, fell easy prey to the Leopards' phasers. The Leopard promptly returned to the Enterprise, but the cloaked Raven moved to an escort position.

"Sir, the cruiser is charging weapons!"

"Fire phase cannon!" Worf barked.

"Direct hit!" Hashak reported. "You've been in the Deadwood holo-program again!"

"Fastest gun in the quadrant." Worf replied. "Damage?"

"Their shields absorbed some of it, but there's still extensive damage to the hull. They're outgunned, they must know it. Why aren't they running?" Hashak wanted to know.

"They are relying on their adaptive technology and self-repair capabilities." Worf said. "They mean to wear us down enough to get a tractor beam on us and use their cutting lasers.

"Helm, all ahead two thirds. Notify me when we are within five hundred kilometres. All phasers, maintain steady fire!"

Under the unremitting hail of the Enterprise, whose variable-frequency phasers cycled too quickly for the enemy ships' shields to adapt successfully, the CyBorg were hard put to do more than launch a few torpedoes, which expended themselves against the Enterprises' shields and armoured hull without afflicting more than minor damage. But Worf knew that it was only a matter of time before the cruiser did adapt and become a real threat.

"Five hundred klicks, sir!"

"All stop. Fire railguns!"

Projectile weapons, once the norm, had fallen into disuse for at least a century. But more recently, note had been taken of the impossibility of shielding against energy and projectile weapons simultaneously, and projectile weapons had undergone a revival. Now heavy ferric slugs, accelerated to near-light speed by magnetic fields, slammed directly into the cruisers' hull. The impacts, amplified by the increased mass of the slugs, were devastating, causing the cruiser to list badly and begin limping in a slow circle.

"Enemy ship is still self-repairing, Captain!" Hashak called.

"Launch a transphasic torpedo." Worf said grimly.

Transphasic torpedoes, or Subspace Compression Pulse Generators, were the most destructive weapons in StarFleets' arsenal. Originally designed for use against the Borg, they had proved decisive in the battle against the Daleks. They were a weapon of last resort, designed for situations like this one. The blast vapourised the cruiser completely.

"Recall Interdictors and the Raven." Worf ordered. "Secure from general quarters. Contact the Enterprise-Beta and brief Captain Sorek -ask him to be cautious. Damage and casualty reports to me within the hour. Good work, everyone!"

XXXXX

Logan had encountered this version of the Doctor before. That time, she'd seemed to know him, this time, she hadn't. The TARDIS had materialised in the hall, and River Song had dashed out of it, greeting them all with hugs and admonishing them: "This one doesn't know you. No spoilers!"

The person she introduced as The Doctor was a sturdy-looking Black woman of indeterminate age, with a direct and authoritative manner. River had lost no time in directing Wolverine to go with this Doctor "to fetch something important". Now he heard the note of the engines change.

"We there?" He asked.

"You've travelled in a TARDIS before." She noted. "I know, no spoilers! But I know who you are, James Howlett, alias Logan, alias Wolverine. You're on the Divisions' list of people who won't die, and their list of Most Dangerous!"

"Them and everybody elses'!" Logan commented. "And I'm such a pussycat!"

"You've been around Deadpool too long." The Doctor remarked. "He's on both lists, too.

"But to answer your question, no, we're somewhere else. Not materialised, hovering. Dr Song wants you to see this. She says you'll understand."

She activated the screen. The image showed a vast cave. At one end was a sheer drop out of which came a fierce, red-orange glow and a seething, roaring sound. He'd been there before, he realised.

"That's the volcanic cave under Schloss Orlok!" He said. "Only it seems bigger."

The Doctor nodded. "A lot of the cave fell in over the millennia." She told him. "But at this time, Schloss Orlok didn't exist and nor did Transylvania. What you're seeing is the Sammath Naur, the Chambers of Fire in the heart of Mount Doom in the Land of Mordor.

"Now, watch!"

Two figures came into view. Young men, they looked like, but the scale seemed off until Logan realised that they were both only about four feet tall. The one in the lead was fair-haired and wore a travel-stained vest of silver mail, leather leggings and boots and a long, grey cloak. His face was gaunt, his eyes brooding and he walked stiffly, like a man in the last stages of exhaustion. The other was a little shorter, broader and powerful-looking, dressed similarly except that his mail vest was of grey steel. He had a squarish face, with an uncompromising jaw and steady eyes; he seemed tired, but less so than the other.

"Captain Frodo Baggins and Sergeant Sam Gamgee of the Bywater Scouts." The Doctor said. "At the end of a journey that started six months ago and half a continent away."

Frodo stopped short of the edge of the chasm. He reached into his vest and pulled out something on a fine chain. With a sudden wrench of surprising strength, he snapped the chain.

"This is the end." He said. "But I choose not to do what I came to do! The Ring is mine!"

With that, he held up his hand and put the Ring on his finger. For a moment it shone golden, then a red light began to pulse from it, like a heartbeat. Frodos' face was at once wracked with pain and taut with concentration.

"You will come!" He gritted between clenched teeth. "You will obey!"

But Sam, it seemed, had been expecting something like this. Drawing his sword, he stepped forward and struck Frodo a precise blow on the base of the skull with the pommel. Frodo dropped like a marionette with cut strings. Sam bent over the body, grabbing the hand and trying to draw the Ring from it, but it would not move. Cursing, he drew a knife and, with a look of regret, cut off his Captains finger. The Ring went dark.

He turned at a sound behind him. Two more hobbits had come into the cave, dragging a third figure between them. "He tried to sneak past us, Sergeant." One said. "What's happened to the Captain?"

"He tired himself out." Sam told them. "Here, take him out and down the mountain. Dress that hand for him and give him a drink and some food when he wakes. He's barely eaten in days.

"I'll deal with this!"

The Scouts left, carrying Frodo carefully between them. Sam tucked the Ring, with the finger still within it, into his belt pouch, then bent and grabbed the unconscious figure, dragging it over to near the brink of the chasm. He rolled it over onto its' back and slapped it awake, then stepped back.

The figure stood up. A little taller than Sam, but emaciated, clad in the tattered remnants of clothing. His skin was corpse-pale, his hair long, lank and dirty white, the face skull-like with a pair of pale bulging eyes and a wide mouth filled with sharp teeth. When he spoke, his voice was both guttural and sibilant.

"Where is Masster? Where is Precious? What hass Sssergeant done with them?"

"The Captain's resting." Sam growled. "As for your Precious, here the damned thing is!"

He pulled the Ring and finger out of his pouch – Logan noted that he only touched the finger, not the Ring itself – and tossed it at the others' feet.

"There!" Sam said. "Take it, Smeagol, if you want it so badly. I'm done with it!"

Smeagol was clearly torn. He didn't want to take his eyes off the armed and dangerous hobbit, but the treasure he had kept for centuries and sought for decades was by his feet. It was too much. He stooped and caught it up. The finger fell from within it. Smeagol cupped it in his hands and crooned to it.

"O my Precious, my Precious, my Precious! We's got you again, and we'll never lose you again, no we shan't! We'll go far away, where the White Face and the Yellow Face and the Red Eye can't find us and there are lots of fishes to eat! We…"

He stopped short. Sams' sword was at his throat.

"I swore I'd pay you out!" The hobbits' voice was low and menacing. "You betrayed us, Smeagol, betrayed us to Shelob and Shagrat both. I lost too many of my people in that stinking maze, and more in that orc-hold. The Captain is going to have to tell their mothers and wives what became of them and he's going to blame himself. But I know who's to blame, and I paid out Shelob and I paid out Shagrat and now your account's due!"

Sam stepped forward, blade extended. Smeagol leaned back to escape the point at his throat and went over the edge of the chasm with a long scream. The chasm shuddered and roared, red light flared. From far away came a terrible wailing shriek. A howl of fury, of shame, of failure, of self-loathing and a longing for oblivion. The entire mountain trembled.

Sam sheathed his sword. "Two birds with one stone!" He said. Then turned and walked out of the crumbling cave as if nothing could touch him.

"So that's how it went down!" Wolverine said. "I'd always wondered."

"What, didn't you believe what you read?" The Doctor asked.

"I've seen the history I lived through changed into something I didn't recognise when it got written down." Logan told her. "I believe what I see, hear, smell and touch. Everything else gets a pinch of salt."

"So you're not just the killing machine the Division says you are." The Doctor mused.

"I'm no genius." Logan allowed. "But I've been around a long time, and I pay attention. That's how you survive."

"So the adamantium skeleton and Mutant healing factor don't have anything to do with it?" She said quizzically.

"That's just my body." Logan told her. "It ain't all of me!"

"Good point." She replied. "Now, next stop!"

XXXXX

The Road goes ever on and on, Down from the door where it began. Julian Bashir reflected. Old Bilbo had it right, you never know where the Road is going to lead you. In his case, it had taken an idealistic, enthusiastic and sometimes over- confident young doctor to a distant outpost and then, through a series of remarkable twists and turns, brought him back to Earth and to this office. A small, plain office in Starfleet HQ. On the door was a sign that read "Commander J Bashir: Special Logistics". Nobody knew what 'Special Logistics' was but everybody assumed somebody did. Anyone who asked Julian got a vague reply that concentrated on how unimaginably tedious but deeply important the work was. Which was only half true; the work was deeply important, but it was far from tedious. Julian Bashir was, to his own lasting surprise and occasional chagrin, the Head of Section 31.

Julian had been recruited by Commander Sloan while still serving on Deep Space Nine. At first he had refused, but later accepted on the orders of Captain Sisko, who had wanted someone inside the shadowy section. Ultimately, when Sloan attempted genocide against the Founders, Julian had turned against him. Sloan had died and, apparently, Section 31 was closed down.

But things were never quite so simple. Some time after the war, Julian had become aware of certain events. Events that led him to believe Section 31 was still active, and doing things that threatened the still-fragile peace. He had taken a leave of absence, left DS9 and Ezri behind, and followed the trail for a year. It had led him to an empty, but carefully-preserved building in Old London. A building full of small, dingy, offices, in one of which he had found a holo-projector programmed to respond to his bio-signature that brought up an image of Sloan.

"Hello, Julian." Sloan had said. "I'm about to leave for DS9. If you're seeing this, you're as good as I believe you are, I'm either dead or in prison, and Section 31 no longer exists.

"That's a good thing, but it's also a potential disaster. Section 31 was set up to protect and defend the Federation from the kinds of enemies and tactics that StarFleet and Security can't stop. We ended up using the same tactics as our enemies and became a threat ourselves. That's why I recruited you, and it's why you're here now.

"You see, I knew that the Section had gotten out of control. In fact, that was the point when it was set up. No rules, no accountability, no moral compass. I was as bad as the others, I'll admit it, and I couldn't change it, so I had to finish it.

"But we still need Section 31. We still need people who can act outside the normal rules. That's why I set up a trail, a trail I knew you would follow.

"You loathe everything we stood for, Julian, which is why you, and only you, can build a new Section 31. Still secret, still operating outside the rules. But operating by your rules, Julian. Your moral compass, your medical ethics. Cure the illness without endangering the patient. Primus non nocere, first, do no harm!

"Go to StarFleet HQ, ask for Admiral Hideoki. He's expecting you, and he'll give you everything you need.

"Make a better job of it than I did, Julian!"

Which was why Julian was now sitting across a desk from one Dr Maria Domingue, otherwise known as Reverend Mother Graccus Maria Domingue of the Bene Gesserit Missionaria Protectiva.

"You're sure she's acting alone?" He asked.

"Not alone." She replied. "But certainly without the approval of Wallach IX. The Chapter House would have alerted me if a Reverend Mother had left the Enclave on their behalf."

"So she's acting for someone else, then." Julian said. "Do you know who?"

Maria shrugged. "It could be someone inside the Enclave. Not the Padishah Emperor or any of the Great Houses, or CHOAM – they are well-conditioned. But in the higher echelons of the Spacing Guild, and among the Ixians and Bene Tleilax there are some who are aware of matters beyond the Enclave."

"But those groups are the ones most hostile to and distrustful of the Sisterhood." Julian pointed out. "And the ones with little or no motive for attacking the Federation."

Trying to misdirect this one is foolish. Maria reminded herself. He is clever, perceptive and very dangerous! "We must bear in mind that this is the Reverend Mother who was sent to test the humanity of the heir to House Atreides." She said. "One of the key bloodlines and the most likely to produce a Kwisatz Haderach. She is one of the most revered and powerful of the Sisterhood. The Emperors' favourite Truthsayer. They would not send her on a trivial errand.

"But she seemed convinced that she could summon up a force powerful enough to present a real threat to the Federation, and nothing exists within the Enclave which could do that."

"So she is working with someone outside." Julian said. "We must find out who, but my people can handle that. You needn't put yourself at any further risk. As for the information you gave her, it's accurate, of course, but she's unlikely to make use of it with any haste or urgency. The Sisterhood still thinks in terms of generations rather than days or months.

"You might warn your sisters that any too open or enthusiastic action on their part will have consequences, for all of you."

"Of course." She sighed. "There is one other thing. The Reverend Mother was wearing a ring. A large one made of some silver metal, set with a faceted, self-luminous, violet stone. No Bene Gesserit would wear a piece so large and noticeable without a specific purpose, but it is not part of any code of ours."

"Interesting." Julian said. "Thank you for coming, Dr Domingue. Don't let me detain you."

After she had left, Julian remained at his desk for a while. She had been completely honest with him, which was not always the case. Maria had no way of knowing that her office, home and person were under constant and thorough surveillance, so Julian always knew if she lied or omitted anything. The Bene Gesserit were not a proscribed organisation – such things barely existed – but they were an illegal one. Illegal simply because their refusal to admit either males or non-humans was in violation of Federation equality laws. Most other formerly single-sex organisations, including the Freemasons, had accepted that and adapted; the idea of a married, female Roman Catholic priest had once been unthinkable, but was now everyday. But the Bene Gesserit had refused, and now thought themselves a secret society. But they were well-known to Federation Security, who took care to ensure that no member of the Sisterhood was ever admitted into Government service or StarFleet.

Section 31 had ignored them in the past. But to Julian, the Butlerian Enclave represented a potential problem. Those who had followed Jehanne Butler a century-and-a-half before had done so willingly and with full knowledge of what they were doing. But their descendants had no choice except to live under a despotic, feudal system, lacking most of what Federation citizens would consider basic rights. That alone, in his mind, was enough reason to bring the fiasco to an end. But there was more. The Bene Gesserit breeding programme, and the genetic tinkering of the Bene Tleilax, were moving in directions that might lead to another Eugenics War. Himself a product of genetic modification, Julian was only too aware of the potential dangers that might pose.

XXXXX

"You are distrustful, Harry." Lord White said. They were on their own in the hall. Wolverine had gone with The Doctor -a version of his old comrade Harry had never seen – while River had used her Vortex Manipulator to take herself and Deadpool on a different errand. Duncan, at Harrys' request, had gone to the library to find out what he could about Rings of Power. "Even after all these years, you are reluctant to take me at my word. You even seem unsure of Dr Song, who you have known even longer."

Harry rubbed his face. "It's not your fault, Olorin." He said. "I mean, nobody in their right mind trusts River – she always has at least three irons in the fire, she has no morals and plays by her own rules. But Wade and Logan both know that, and both of them are more than capable of handling themselves.

"But as for me being distrustful…what do you know about my early life, my first life?"

"Other than that you were The Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, the nemesis of Lord Voldemort and engineer of his downfall?" Olorin asked. "Very little. Once I knew much of Men and their ways; their history and lore. But when the Exodites left Earth, I chose to have more dealings with the Aeldari, leaving the Doctor to deal with the Children of Men."

"I remember him calling you a young fool, once." Harry said.

"Did he, now?" Olorin grinned. "He was doubtless correct, he is much older than I! But you have not answered my question?"

Harry sighed. "It was supposed to be Neville Longbottom." He said. "I was part of Dumbledore's master-plan. All the crap I went through at school was smoke and mirrors designed by Dumbledore to focus Voldemorts' attention on me. Dumbledore had trained me and groomed me to walk into that forest and die, to leave Voldemort without another Horcrux. Meanwhile, he'd seen to it that Voldemort was using a wand he could never master. Then Snape would spirit Neville away and train him up to take Voldemort out.

"But the old bastards' plan was already screwed up when I went into the forest! I'd already beaten Draco and mastered his original wand – neither of us knew it meant I was master of the Elder Wand as well. Then Voldemort murdered Snape, thinking that he must be the master of the Elder Wand, and Snape had to let him because he was sworn to protect Draco.

"But the biggest mistake was that he made a wrong assumption about how I survived Voldemorts' attack as a baby!"

"Blood magic." Olorin said. "Your mothers' love, transmitted through her blood-link with you, when she sacrificed herself for you. Ancient magic."

"Spoken like a true non-human!" Harry said. "You've spent too much time with the Aeldari, Olorin! Only humans and Klingons ever understood and practised blood magic. It was the first magic humans ever used, and we used it before we even met the Exodites. Blood magic was how the Slayer was created and how the Immortals and the Source Vampires came to be. It was by the power of their hearts, their blood, that Kortar, the first Klingon, and his mate killed their gods.

"Blood magic can be done by anyone with the brains to learn the rituals and the stomach to carry them out. But my parents never carried out such a ritual. Not only is blood magic illegal among human wizards, but to cast a spell that potent would have needed one of my parents to sacrifice the other to get enough blood!

"I was the Boy Who Lived, Olorin, because I was already dead! My own, real, body died at three and a half months from meningitis. A TimeMage called the Deacon used a Chameleon Arch to change himself into an identical copy. He had to do that because he was one of my descendants! But he'd been on the point of regenerating when he did it, and my cells were chock-full of regeneration energy. Between that and the fact that Voldemort had accidentally made a Horcrux of me when he murdered my mother, I was able to survive.

"Seventeen years later, in the forest, Voldemort tried to kill me again. With a wand neither of us knew was mine, he not knowing that I had part of his soul, and neither of us even imagining that my cells were still full of regeneration energy!

"Then Neville, who was always a better man than I, dealt with Nagini, so when Voldemort took his third shot at me, it ricocheted back and killed him! Left Dumbledore's plan in tatters."

"I don't fully grasp what this Dumbledore's plan was." Olorin admitted.

"Dumbledore was an agent for an organisation called HYDRA." Harry told him. "A kind of fascist, Nietzschean group who believed that most humans couldn't be trusted with freedom and didn't need it, but should be ruled over by superior humans. Unlike the Nazis, they didn't define superiority by race, but by intelligence, ability and the will to power. They'd captured an artefact called the Tesseract that produced huge amounts of Dark Energy. The core of the Elder Wand is pure lyrium or Element Zero, which means the wand can channel and control Dark Energy. But at the time, the Elder Wand was in the possession of one Gelert Grindelwald, a committed Nazi, loyal to Hitler and a member of the Thule Society. HYDRA ordered Dumbledore to get the Elder Wand from Grindelwald, which he did, but too late because HYDRA had already lost the Tesseract.

"Dumbledore kept the wand, but then Voldemort rose, and Dumbledore knew he'd come after the wand sooner or later. He devised his plan so that once Draco died a natural death, the Elder Wand would have no master and be available for a HYDRA wizard to pick up once the Tesseract had been recovered. He never knew that SHIELD had the Tesseract, or that it was just a container for an Infinity Stone."

"It seems to me," Olorin said, "that you had placed much faith and trust in this Dumbledore."

"Far too much!" Harry allowed. "But I was an orphan whose adopted family treated him like a cross between a slave and an unstable nuclear bomb. Dumbledore was the first adult to treat me decently, apart from Hagrid, who didn't really count. I trusted him blindly, admired him absolutely and, worst of all, I believed he cared! But then when Ron looked back on the whole thing later, he sensed that something was off. I didn't want to believe him, but he was my first and best friend, more like a brother, and his instincts about these things were sound. So I went digging. There were few enough left alive from those days, and some were still in jail. But they'd been Grindelwalds' people, and held with him at Nurmengard. No Dementors there, so they still had their minds and memories intact. Two of them had been working for HYDRA inside the Thule Society, and they both told me, independently, that Dumbledore had been a HYDRA agent.

"That tore it! From then on I never really trusted anyone in authority again. I certainly got suspicious about people who insisted they were acting for the good.

"But also, I never really trusted myself after that. I still don't know how much of who I am is genuine and how much is another persons' construct. I mean, not just Dumbledore, but the Deacon, the Daleks, the Borg. There's something missing. I don't know what, but I'll know it when – if - I find it!"

The Doctor was right. Olorin thought. He is ready. And not a moment too soon!