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Jim paces the Bridge.
Scotty and Lt. Romaine are overseeing a small ragtag team of scientists and engineers on the SS Botany Bay. While they unravel the mysteries of the sleeper ship, Kirk compiles a list of questions that he wants answered. Currently, his best possible source for answers is the man under McCoy’s care in Sickbay. The man’s condition is tenuous, though Bones says that his recuperative powers are on par with Spock’s. Unusual for a human, Jim thinks, and that leads him to yet another question.
He has lived on instinct for years, honed that instinct as a youth on the Tarsus IV colony under traumatic conditions. He knows that his past makes him vulnerable in ways that he can’t help—physically because his body will never be as strong as it might have been before starvation; mentally, since no one comes back from hell with a healthy mind. But his fortitude and his iron will are unbroken. They made him an acceptable candidate for service in Starfleet, his intelligence created a smooth path through the Academy, and his skill under pressure proved to the Command Board he could function well enough as a captain. Beyond that, Kirk is under no illusions. With his surname and the title of “Savior of Earth” the Enterprise is no less than what the people of the Federation would expect for his first command vessel. Good publicity and decimation of the officer pool count for everything, and in the scheme of things, once Jim has served in spotlight for this five-year mission they will find a way to be rid of him. Let James T. Kirk run his course, the Admirals agree—it will be a short one.
But that is Jim’s paranoia talking, as it is wont to do.
An outwardly paranoid Captain is a liability; so Jim suffers his paranoia in silence, for the sake of his ship and his command.
It is the formidable combination of his paranoia and his instinct which raises the hairs on the back of his neck. There is no reason to suspect danger yet, not with a ship of sleeping passengers. He was excited earlier, seeing a chance to make a historical contribution and leave a legacy of his service that had meaning, but that excitement dissipated in the wake of reality. Now he thinks of the practicalities: explaining circumstances to a two hundred year-old Earth man; determining the mission of an ancient vessel carrying 80 cryogenically frozen humans; evaluating the potential threat to his crew.
Every child learns basic history of the late 20th century: natural disasters, man-made disasters, war and intermittent peace. Less is known about the 1990s than any other decade because Earth was broken into multiple war-driven empires, the unfortunate product of a group of genetically enhanced humans who sought to rule the world but fought one another fiercely for that rule in petty wars, crushing the lives of ordinary people like trash to be tossed away, until there was revolution and too much bloodshed. Perhaps the vessel contains people who sought escape from a war-torn world. Today there are colonies dedicated to the sanctuary of refugees; but during those budding years of Earth’s space travel, sanctuary in space was impractical, nearly impossible. Jim considers the possibility that the SS Botany Bay‘s cargo of humans is not people fleeing but people forced to flee. And that ratchets his paranoia up another notch.
He ignores Spock’s inquisitive “Captain?” and settles into his command chair, chin in hand, determined not to think of his questions until he is assured of answers.
Forcing his mind elsewhere has the effect of bringing up the other half of his troubles: Bones.
Sometimes Jim is certain he knows everything there is to know about Leonard McCoy. Bones is caustic, dry-witted, prickly, and sharp; he also works with gentle hands, speaks with a frankness that most people can’t, and lives by a personal code of honor that Jim envies.
Then something changes, like a light being turned out, and Bones is just different. It never lasts, those moments, but Jim will see McCoy and wonder if he isn’t looking into the eyes of a stranger. Those are times when Bones seems to remind himself of something, like a penance he has to serve or a goal he might have forgotten; then the man Jim feels a kinship with withdraws and becomes this person with hard lines about his mouth and a quality to his behavior that eludes Jim but haunts him nevertheless. There is a piece to the puzzle of Leonard McCoy that Jim is missing. Until Bones willingly offers it to him, Jim will never know what causes such changes in his friend; until that time, he must live with the knowledge that Bones does not trust him completely.
But then again, who is Kirk to judge? Jim has his secrets, too.
He can never speak of Tarsus IV, not simply by order of his superiors but because the words are hiding inside him, afraid of being found, like he used to be when he hid from Kodos’s men, huddled with a hand over his mouth. There is pain in the revelation, a pain he has lived through before: when he promised his friends, children smaller than himself, that he would keep them alive but couldn’t in the end; after his rescue, when his mother sat by his hospital bed, running a hand over the pale flesh of his back, over too-prominent ribs and the knobs of his spine; during therapy, when he had to say he was okay and yes, I’m lucky; sure, I’m happy; bad things happen to good people.
But he didn’t know any of that, if he was okay or lucky or destined to be the kid that survives horrific disasters. The one thing he believed, still believes today, as a result of his experience is: bad things don’t happen; bad people happen.
And Jim has been thrown in the path of too many bad people, too often, like a human sacrifice.
Well, no more, he thinks. I am in control of my own destiny.
“Captain.”
The voice in his ear is Spock’s. Jim comes back to himself, realizing he is clutching the arms of his chair. He drops his hands onto his knees, pressing bruises into them instead. “Yes, Mr. Spock?”
“Doctor McCoy has requested my presence in Sickbay.”
Spock doesn’t say “our presence” and the Vulcan wouldn’t lie. Kirk sighs. The man must not be awake yet.
“That’s fine, Mr. Spock.”
The Vulcan accepts Jim’s tacit permission and exits the Bridge.
Jim wants to put his head into his hands but he is on duty so he remains perfectly still, perfectly in control, waiting for the next disaster to try to turn him inside out.
Khan stabilizes without much help from McCoy or his medical instruments. The process is almost fascinating to watch, as the body of the super-human quickly soaks up nutrients and stimulants. Doctor McCoy directs his staff to focus on collecting data while Khan is still unconscious and un-protesting.
The CMO slips a sedative into Khan’s I.V. when he is alone with the patient, doubling the amount he would for a regular human. If Khan is like John, the sedative won’t be effective for long—but it might buy the precious time John needs to determine the kind of monster this crew will face once Khan Noonien Singh is awake and in full form. No one questions McCoy’s order to have Khan comfortably situated in the isolation unit closest to the CMO’s office. When Khan awakens, he will hear it.
John muses over stats and figures, grim but impressed. Khan’s body is engineered to be highly efficient—enhanced lung capacity, almost double the average heart rate for a human, naturally strong muscles—things that would create a quicker, more able-bodied and resilient man. It is little wonder that Khan ruled a quarter of the Earth’s population; he would be treacherously difficult to defeat in a physical fight alone. John can only conclude, since Khan Noonien Singh was the most tyrannical of the super-humans during the 1990s, that Khan’s physical capacity is merely one side of the coin. The other side would be mental aptitude, something that geneticists would strive to improve as well.
Khan is dangerous in every sense of the word.
And John is responsible for Khan’s recovery, at least partly. He may not be able to rectify his grievous error at this moment—himself—but there are precautions he can take and allies he can enlist, if unknowingly. After a short inner battle, John comms the Bridge and asks the First Officer to join him in Sickbay. Spock is quick to reply with “On my way, Doctor. Spock out.”
Spock arrives without delay and stands in front of the CMO’s desk with hands clasped behind his back and dark eyes fixed on McCoy.
John slides a medical report across the desk to the Vulcan. “Look it over and tell me what you think.”
Spock complies, lifting an eyebrow as he reads. “Fascinating,” summarizes the Vulcan.
“From a scientific perspective, yes it is, Mr. Spock. But I didn’t ask you here to discuss theory.”
“A conclusion must be drawn from facts, Doctor.”
John nods. “Then how’s this for a fact: the Earth’s Eugenics War resulted in the death of several million people.”
“A violent time in your planet’s history,” agrees Spock.
“One such time,” he adds without inflection, “but certainly not the worst.”
Spock says nothing, simply waits for the doctor to continue—which John appreciates, even if he would never say so.
“Our mystery man is genetically human, Spock, but considering what I have discovered about his body functions, he’s what I’d call super-human.”
“You propose that he is the result of selective breeding.”
John nods. “I’m certain of it. Until he wakes, we won’t know without proof. Even then, if this man is what we think he is, he would have every inclination to keep his silence.”
Spock stares at him for a long moment. “Since its discovery, I have attempted to locate the records of the SS Botany Bay.”
“And there’s nothing?”
“Affirmative.”
“Which goes to show that we ought to be suspicious.” John stands and walks over to Spock, then past him to face the open doorway. He listens but hears only the sound of the monitor above Khan’s biobed. “Spock,” he says, turning, “there are chronicles of a man named Dr. Exeter who worked on the genome project that led to the Eugenics War. It’s obscure, published post-humously, and not something a person would necessarily notice unless he was looking for it.”
“The chronicles’ relevance, Doctor?” Spock asks him softly.
“If we are lucky, identification.” He meets Spock’s eyes. “This is important, Spock. I’m just a doctor. You need to take this to the Captain.”
Spock’s eyebrows can frown after all. “You are this ship’s senior medical officer. Your position affords you the Captain’s confidence; it also requires that you bring attention to any potential harm to this vessel and crew. I fail to understand your evasive actions, Doctor.”
“I have my reasons, which do not—I assure you—affect my ability to serve as CMO. ‘Sides, you are First Officer and technically I just entrusted you with my confidence. All I’m asking from you, Spock, is to keep my name out of the credits.”
“Why?”
Vulcans are nosy. John raises a hand then drops it in a helpless gesture. “I told you. I’m the doctor—my first priority will always be my patient, no matter who that patient is. I’d wait until he is no longer under my care but by then it may be too late.”
The First Officer inclines his head, accepting a truth which isn’t an answer. “As you wish then, Doctor McCoy. I must return to the Bridge.”
“Thank you, Spock.”
John steps aside to let the Vulcan pass, and as he does so, Spock pauses to say, “I did not realize your interests lay in history as well as medicine. Perhaps, in the future, you would find a discussion of the subject agreeable?”
John sighs. “Perhaps, Spock.”
He lingers in his office only a minute after Spock is gone. Then the doctor goes to Khan’s room to await a confrontation he cannot avoid.
Khan wakes up without a sound; his eyes simply open and he sits up like he has been switched on. Only then does the man breathe deeply once, twice and take in his surroundings. He stretches his arms, pleased at the proper, energetic response of his muscles and stands, certain that his body will obey him.
There is a man across the room, watching him. He feels no fear or worry, only the calm after a long meditation.
Beginning on his left, he slowly turns about the room, cataloguing what he recognizes, scrutinizing what he does not. His eyes skip over the silent companion, saving the most intriguing object for last. As he does his visual sweep, he also skims through his last memories: careful preparations for a new, better ambition; inspecting the Botany Bay which would carry him and those loyal to his command; and his final conscious moment from the past, sharp in his mind, before he succumbed to the coldness of his chamber.
But there is an oddity he cannot place—Khan, someone calling his name in a language he understands. The voice which identified him, though—that voice would make a man wary.
Having concluded what he can, Khan decides it is appropriate that his first steps into a future he dreamed of take him to the frontline of battle. When he is within an arm’s reach of the other man, he says without preamble, “You know me.”
“Yes.”
Excellent. Khan respects a straight-forward enemy.
“Since you know my name, and I do not know yours, you have me at a disadvantage. Please, introduce yourself.”
“I’m your doctor. Have a seat.”
His mouth stretches with amusement. “But I have been prone for much too long, doctor. It pleases me to stand. Tell me, what is this place?”
The man moves, then, toward the bed from which Khan had risen. He has the grace of a man of power but only in his movements.
“You are on the United Star Ship Enterprise.”
“My people?”
“I have been informed that 7 of your cryo-chambers are not functional. The rest remain in stasis.”
Overall, an insignificant number of casualties. Khan inclines his head in acceptance. “The year?”
“2260.”
He cannot help a soft gasp of “So long?” Then Khan is under control again.
His doctor seems unsympathetic. “Your ship survived two centuries on nuclear power, this far into space—even our best engineer is astounded.”
Khan circles opposite of the doctor. They watch each other, the bed between them. Khan doubts it would hinder either of them in an attack.
“I do not find it mysterious; it is destiny,” he says while studying the twitching muscle in the doctor’s jaw, “that my mission should succeed.” He lets his gaze flicker to the medical instruments on his right. He talks as he assesses, finding no adequate weapons. The next move must change then. “You say this is a starship. I see that great technological advances have been made in space travel. I wish to study this. I have an interest in engineering.”
The doctor ignores his request. “Your mission—what would that be?”
“You are important on this Enterprise, yes, but not the leader, I suspect.” Khan adds graciously, “You must correct me if I am wrong, doctor.”
No response.
Khan casually lowers his body into a sitting position on the bed. “I will speak to your captain now.” When the man turns, he prompts, “Your name. We are officially acquainted, are we not? Tell me your name.”
“McCoy.”
Khan tests it. “McCoy. Doctor McCoy. Well met.”
McCoy leaves without replying but Khan hears his voice outside the room a moment later. “Sickbay to Bridge. Captain, you’re needed here. He’s awake.”
A male voice replies, “On my way. Kirk out.”
Khan settles against his pillows, closing his eyes but still aware, and says nothing as McCoy returns to the room to watch him again like a prison guard.
When some of the tension in the room has settled, Khan speaks without opening his eyes. “You have an accent. I did not notice this until the moment you asked for your captain. Most interesting, McCoy. You are a man of many mysteries.”
“I am Chief Medical Officer of the Enterprise. The rest is irrelevant.”
Khan murmurs “Excellent,” opening his eyes to see McCoy cross-armed, face unreadable.
How little human nature has changed in two centuries, he decides. If Man is unchanged, so is War. That, more than anything, tells Khan he shall do well in the 23rd century.
Khan is the sleeping tiger. Once Khan is awake, John recognizes him on a gut level, senses Khan’s power. The man has an almost hypnotic magnetism, the kind that a predator uses to distract its prey before making the kill.
John reverts back to Sarge’s strict rules: don’t give yourself away, keep the target in sight, and bluff like a dead man.
He fails in at least one aspect of this, because Khan already sees him in layers, the doctor McCoy and the man beneath who sounds nothing like McCoy. John hardens his resolve to remove Khan from the Enterprise as quickly as possible.
Jim arrives and McCoy is back, explaining to the Captain that their patient is in perfect health. Khan, however, cuts into Doctor McCoy’s report with “You are Captain?” said in such a way that Kirk instantly stiffens, despite the mildness of his expression.
“I am,” Jim replies. “James Kirk, commanding the starship Enterprise.”
“You are young,” Khan remarks.
John says pointedly, “He is capable.”
“Forgive me, Captain Kirk,” Khan backtracks with ease, ignoring McCoy. “I was merely surprised. Do not take offense. The Emperor Alexander went to war at the age of sixteen; by twenty he held a seat of power. The greatest of men begin as ambitious youths.”
John says, somewhat grimly, “I told you, Jim. He’s perfectly lucid.”
“You are fortunate,” Kirk tells Khan. “Doctor McCoy saved your life. Your cell malfunctioned and he found a way to open it.”
“Did he?” asks Khan, heavy-lidded eyes fixed on the doctor. “Then, McCoy, perhaps some day I will repay the debt in kind,” he says genially, and an unpleasant feeling crawls along John’s spine.
Jim shifts on his feet, drawing Khan’s attention again. “I know that you have questions, but for the safety of my ship and crew, you must answer my questions first.” Kirk makes an obvious effort to lighten his tone. “For now, I have only two.”
“You may ask,” allows Khan.
“What is the purpose of your starflight?”
“Do you know of the world I left behind, Captain?”
“I believe I do. Your vessel is of the DY-100 class, the best of its kind during the 1990s.”
“Yes,” replies Khan. He looks so relaxed, propped by pillows. John wonders why his own heart rate is rising.
Khan waves his hand like a man speaking of triviality. “Earth was not as welcoming as it had once been, Captain. I and those who felt as I did left the world behind, in search of our Eden. Can you fault us for our dreams?”
Kirk doesn’t take the bait. He asks instead, “Who are you?”
Khan’s posture visibly changes, not tensing but coiling back, as if in surprise. John remains motionless, eyes meeting Khan’s, when he looks sharply at. The man is silent for a moment before he turns back to Kirk.
“Khan,” he says. “I am Khan.”
“Welcome to the 23rd century, Khan,” Jim replies courteously. “Once Doctor McCoy releases you from Sickbay, guest’s quarter will be available for your comfort during our journey.”
Khan sits up. “Time must not be wasted. My crew—you will revive them.”
Jim is equally implacable. “No. The Enterprise is headed for our command base in this sect. My decision stands in the best interest of all parties, Khan. I hope you understand that.”
John shifts so that he can easily block an attack on the captain.
Khan states flatly, “I see.” He lies back, languid again, and declares, “I must rest. I grow fatigued.”
Kirk nods. “Very well. Bones, with me.”
John follows Jim from the room. When Kirk stops along the hall, clearly wanting to talk, John shakes his head and leads Jim far out of Khan’s hearing range. They step into a private examination room.
Jim looks bemused. “Is this really necessary, Bones?”
“Yes,” he says but explains no further. “Do you recognize his name, Khan?” he asks before Jim can say anything.
The kid frowns. “No.”
John rubs his knuckles against his mouth then drops his hand back to his side. “Look, we need to figure out who he is and what he wants.”
“I agree with you, Bones. Spock will find something useful.”
Yeah, he’d better, John wants to snap. “If anybody on this ship can dig up Khan’s records, it’ll be the hobgoblin,” the doctor says sourly.
“Bones, what’s the matter with you?”
John pulls his shoulder out from under Jim’s hand. “Nothing except that we can’t let Khan blindly wander the ship. He’s strong, Jim. I estimate he can lift us both with one arm, and his vitals are more efficient than I’ve ever seen in a human.” His voice softens. “Do you understand what I’m tellin’ you?”
Jim’s jaw flexes, a sign that Kirk is grinding his teeth. “Khan is dangerous.”
John snorts. “That’s part of it, kid.”
Jim turns away, but there isn’t much room to move, let alone pace, where they currently are. “Okay, Bones. I do know what you are driving at. Contrary to belief, I didn’t sleep through my history courses.” He is facing John again, without warning, breaching the personal space between them. “I don’t cry foul until I am certain of my accusations. We’ll monitor his activity for now.”
“And if he proves to be a threat?”
Kirk does not answer; he doesn’t need to.
“Do you not sleep, doctor?” Khan asks when McCoy checks on his patient for the third time in a couple of hours. Gamma shift is in full swing, and the ship’s subtle hum of power is more noticeable to John now than during any other shift, when the hustle and bustle of the Enterprise is at half its usual intensity.
John doesn’t answer that, though they are both aware of why he refuses to retire from the medical bay. Khan treats his doctor like an amusing entertainment, but beneath his smooth talk Khan is prodding at Leonard McCoy for weakness.
Khan is cross-legged on his bed, a small reading tablet in his lap. The scene is not uncommon for bored patients. Still, John has to resist the urge to snatch the PADD from Khan. Perhaps the man observes a hint of that sentiment in John’s tightly pressed mouth. He explains, “A nurse brought me reading material to pass the long hours.”
And what the hell have you been studying so intently, Khan? He’ll hack into the system later and track Khan’s activity.
Khan continues, “This device proves helpful. I am learning much of this century.”
Better for John to rip his own band-aid off quickly. “I’ll sign your release papers in the morning.”
“Excellent, excellent. I desire to see more of your ship. Perhaps Captain Kirk might be prevailed upon to assign me a guide.” Khan’s dark eyes are watching John closely. “Would he grant me this courtesy, Doctor McCoy?”
Oh, how John hates word games. Khan already knows that John does not like him. Undoubtedly he also suspects John hasn’t shared his opinion—or information about Khan—with anyone. Of course Khan is right, but John will be damned if he confirms it.
“I can’t speak for my captain.” Then an idea comes to mind, one which could potentially be helpful in exposing Khan. “However, I do know the perfect person to give you a tour of the Enterprise. I’ll see if he’s available—and if Kirk approves.”
Khan frowns in response to John’s unexpected good humor.
“You might find him… different,” John remarks pleasantly as he fiddles with his tricorder and pretends to scan Khan’s arm.
“Explain,” Khan fairly orders.
Doctor McCoy raises his eyebrows and rocks back on his heels. “He’s not human. Vulcan, actually. The first sentient alien race to contact Earth. I think you’ll find the mindset of a Vulcan very educational.” He adds more quietly, expression bland, “It’s one thing to know there is other life in the universe—it’s quite another to meet them.”
“Yes,” Khan says slowly, “you have a valid point. Arrange a meeting with this Vulcan.”
“Mr. Spock,” John corrects. “He is also Kirk’s second-in-command.”
Khan’s sharp mind misses nothing. “Very good. You continue to exceed my expectations, doctor. Now, if you please, I would prefer to be alone. Attend your other patients.”
Khan is used to giving orders and John is trained to accept orders from men who expect unquestionable obedience. When he finds himself in the hallway of an unconscious volition, the realization is bitter. Khan has some measure of advantage, from his natural arrogance and automatic assumption of superiority. John hates with every fiber of his being that he reinforces it simply because he cannot do otherwise.
Scrubbing a hand over his face, Doctor McCoy stops one of the techs on duty in the hallway. “Make sure our special patient stays in his room tonight. I’ll be back in a while.”
“Yes, Doctor,” the young man replies.
John is about to step away when the tech opens his mouth, only to close it hastily again. John works hard not to frown—it doesn’t pay to intimidate someone he needs in his corner. “Go on, Lieutenant. Something on your mind?”
“Sir,” says the fellow, face flushing under the doctor’s full attention, “is Khan, I mean, the patient—is he really from the past?”
“Did he tell you his name?” John asks too softly.
The man nods. “He likes to talk t-to us, sometimes, and I try to be friendly, you know. He’s alone.”
John crosses his arms, pretending to be annoyed while actually feeling slightly afraid. He prompts, “About what?”
“Huh?”
“What does he talk about, Lieutenant!” Shit, don’t snap, John. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.”
“It’s okay. You’re tired. You aren’t supposed to work three shifts in a row, Doctor McCoy,” replies the tech with a sharp look.
John snorts. “Don’t tell Christine. My reason is a good one this time but she won’t care and I don’t have the patience for an argument right now.”
The tech lets out a short laugh but sobers, his face growing thoughtful. “Mostly Khan describes ‘Paradise’—that’s the word he uses. A world of unity and peace, without war. A leader who cares for all people.” The young man shrugs, juggling his clipboard and tricorder. “Sounds like everybody’s version of paradise to me. Unless you’re Mr. Spock or the Captain. I think they’d prefer space to Paradise any day.”
“I doubt you’re wrong there, son,” John mutters. “Let me know if Khan’s chats turn into recruitment sessions, a’right? That’s the last thing we need on this ship.”
John receives a hearty salute, at which he rolls his eyes and tells the young man to quit dallying and earn his pay. Most of the medical staff know Doctor McCoy hates public displays of deference. John had rounded up the nurses, doctors, and techs during the Enterprise‘s first week in space after he had hit his tolerance for ceremony, and told them directly: “We’re all equal in this med bay, saving lives and caring for the sick and injured. When a CMO is needed, I’ll be one, but spare me the ass-kissing… and for God’s sake, don’t bow at me. Politeness is fine, respect is better. Poetry gets you janitorial detail for a week.”
John exits Sickbay thinking of how well Leonard McCoy is liked by his staff (“A lot, you grumpy old bear,” Christine had informed him when he asked one day) and doesn’t know if he should be grateful or wary. Then he dismisses his concern altogether and goes in search of a Vulcan.
“Why aren’t you sleeping?” demands McCoy when Spock invites the man into his personal quarters.
The quirk of Spock’s eyebrow could easily mean Why aren’t you? “I am perusing Dr. Exeter’s chronicles, per your insistence, Doctor.” Spock leads McCoy over to his computer desk, which is brightly lit in the otherwise dim room. “I find his exposition fascinating. He calls the rise of genetic engineering ‘Man’s eternal quest for God-dom’…”
John quotes, “‘Should Man achieve his Godliness on Earth, he will have no need of Heaven.’ Exeter was a religious old bastard. A hypocrite, too, considering he was the lead geneticist of the project.”
“Humans are inclined to equate absolute power with absolute wisdom. Idealistic but also illogical.”
“I’m not here to philosophize with you, Spock. Did you find anything useful?”
“I regret that I have not. The experimentation with human genetics spans several decades, most of which Dr. Exeter directed. His project did not reach its culmination until the early 1990s, when the subjects of the experiment matured into pique physical form.”
“How far along are you?”
“1985.”
“Exeter’s notes are sparse in the ’80s.” John leans against Spock’s desk, recalling his own research. “They had not perfected a way to change the DNA of an adult yet, so they had what… twenty children, tops? A small control group. If I am not mistaken, only a handful of those children lived to adulthood.”
Khan Noonien Singh was one of them, John had once theorized, and that is why Khan rose to be a King among kings.
Spock settles behind his desk, John on the other side. “Then only a percentage of the super-humans at war had time to acclimate to their abilities. Fascinating.”
“Right,” agrees McCoy. “In 1991, Exeter had a breakthrough, so they began putting adult males through what they called ‘The Transformation.’ It is an excruciating process—here, skip to the next set, page 4. See? Exeter writes: ‘051 described the sensation as fire in his veins. My colleagues and I agree that we must keep the men separated, lest their strength of character becomes weakened by gossip…‘ Including the surviving children, they successfully created over two hundred enhanced humans.”
“73 of which you suspect escaped prosecution and currently reside on the SS Botany Bay,” concludes Spock, turning to look at John. “The Captain has informed me that he names himself Khan.” The Vulcan doesn’t need to specify who “he” is.
John nods. “So which one of Exeter’s successes is Khan?”
“Not if, Doctor?”
“We’re past that point, Spock.”
“Yes,” agrees the First Officer. Then, almost casually for a Vulcan, “I have concluded that your extensive knowledge of the Eugenics War is rooted in personal significance, Doctor McCoy. Given the nature of that time period, I must ask: what intrigues you?”
You think too much, Spock. “There’s no shame in curiosity. You of all people should know that.”
“I do not judge your curiosity. I wish to understand it.”
John folds his arms. “It’s the act of playing God. I don’t think we have the right to alter a man’s life.”
“By your argument, one could contest that doctors do not have the right to intervene when a man is dying.”
“That’s different! We give our patients the choice of treatment. Most people choose to live.”
“Would not most humans choose to physically improve themselves?”
“I don’t know about other people,” he answers honestly, “but I would want to stay normal.”
Spock blinks. “Normal is the perception of an individual.”
“Yeah, well, my perception of normal is human, Spock—not super-human.” He slumps in his chair.
Spock says, in that inflection-less tone of his, “Your definition may change.”
John’s gaze is steady on his. “Not today, though.”
Spock faces his computer again, a clear end to the conversation. John is relieved, swallows down a bitter taste in his mouth.
The Vulcan asks, “Have you a specific suggestion that I might pursue in Exeter’s works, Doctor McCoy?”
John reaches across the desk and keys in a few commands. “Have fun with that,” he drawls and stands up. Then he grimaces, knowing he has to say something while he is here. “Khan wants a guide tomorrow. I recommended you.”
Spock raises both of his eyebrows. “I shall endeavor to do your recommendation justice.”
“Just don’t be too informative, Spock. Khan has already learned more about the Enterprise than is comforting.”
“Understood.”
John wishes him happy hunting, Spock states that he finds the sentiment to be illogical, and they go back to more familiar level of interaction; in their hearts, however, they accept that, to protect the ship and its crew, they must remain on pleasant terms. This is, perhaps, the first time Spock and McCoy have striven to do so without orders from their Captain. John wonders if the mutual decision will change anything between them.
The night after meeting Khan, Jim dreams of Kodos, the governor of the Tarsus IV colony—Kodos the Executioner.
The Enterprise was quiet, the Bridge screen showing only empty space and promising stars far, far away. Jim lounged in the Captain’s chair, an apple in his hand. He admired its shiny red skin before taking a large bite. As he chewed, he closed his eyes and enjoyed the silence and the taste of apple.
Silence was a rare commodity, unless he purposefully engaged sound dampeners in his quarters. Not that he blamed anyone. Poor Scotty would scuttle around the ship at all hours, blissfully tinkering until the Enterprise purred. Jim asked the man once if he slept and the Scotsman had replied he’d slept enough on Delta Vega to last a lifetime.
Jim sat up, then, realizing the silence wasn’t rare, it was wrong.
“Sulu? Chekov?”
Jim turned, craning around to look at the empty stations behind him. “Uhura?”
Spock had excellent hearing. Jim stood up, calling “Spock!”
Frowning, he commanded, “Computer, locate Doctor McCoy.”
Location unknown. The computer sounded strange, staticky and male.
Would Bones abandon him?
“Locate Mr. Spock.”
Location unknown.
He demanded, “Then find someone!”
James Kirk, Captain, Bridge.
Jim circled the Bridge, uncertain. Would his crew leave?
James Kirk, Captain, Bridge, the computer repeated, clearer than before.
And shit, he knew that voice, has heard it more than once. Jim could almost…
To survive, we must sacrifice.
He stumbled back into his chair like he was under attack, unaware he had dropped his apple. It rolled away, a flash of red against the cool white of the deck.
A pale Jim Kirk cried, sick with denial, “Not on my ship!”
Kodos said from everywhere: To survive, we must sacrifice. Today, I make a difficult choice for all the people of the Enterprise…
He wakes up sweating, panicked, and thinks repeatedly Kodos is on my ship! Get Kodos off my ship! As Jim lies in bed, tense and a hand pressed against his mouth, he shivers. It takes a long time before he calms down and can remind himself that Kodos is gone, nothing more than a nightmare from his past.
His chances of sleep for the night are ruined, so Jim showers and dresses. He leaves his quarters, finds himself first at Bones’ room but doesn’t have the heart to knock. Jim keeps going until he reaches the Observation Deck, locks both entrances, and lies on the cold floor under the pane of stars.
He hasn’t dreamt of Kodos since Nero. That had been a violent dream, where he had killed Kodos with his bare hands, strangling the life from him with the strength of an enraged Vulcan, only to realize that it was Nero who was dead beneath him, not Kodos. Kodos had tricked him—escaped again.
He sought out Bones the following day, unable to speak of the dream but fairly desperate for comfort. Bones had withstood Jim’s anger and pain like a man used to broken people; Bones had made Jim a promise, sworn to keep Kirk from becoming a monster, and Jim never thought of Kodos again.
Until now, that is.
He lies on the floor, thinking Why now? until the answer is apparent. Jim’s instinct recognizes Khan as another Kodos.
Kirk swallows, throat dry, and climbs to his feet. The stars tell him nothing, unchanged while Jim’s world shrinks to a single realization: If he has sufficient evidence against Khan, Khan won’t make it to Starbase 12 alive.
Jim is going to kill him.
Spock answers each and every one of Khan’s questions with care and consideration for who Khan is. When Khan makes an appreciative noise over the warp drive, Spock informs him that the engineering dedicated to the maintenance of the Enterprise‘s core systems is a fine art and takes years of skill and experience aboard a constitution-class starship.
Khan replies, “When a man is smart enough, Mr. Spock, he will master any art in a fraction of the time a person of average intelligence would require. Imagine a crew of such people—it would revolutionize the efficiency of your ship.”
“The Enterprise maintains high records of efficiency,” Spock feels inclined to say.
“Of course, of course,” soothes the man as they walk slowly about the Engineering decks. “Your men perform their jobs admirably. You oversee all departments as Kirk’s second-in-command, Mr. Spock?” It is a polite question.
“Affirmative.”
“Then I must commend you. Now, tell me more of your culture.”
Spock shares only the most common of knowledge about Vulcans that any man in the Federation might garner. He says nothing of the endangerment of his species, or of their early ancestry before the teachings of Surak.
Khan nods occasionally, hands behind his back, matching the Vulcan’s stride. Then he stops without warning and turns to Spock. “In comparison to your peaceful race, you must consider us humans to be barbaric.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Were humans solely capable of barbarism, Sir, they would not be numbered among the founding forefathers of the United Federation of Planets.”
“And this… Federation is built upon the principle of peace.”
“Correct.”
“Peace, Mr. Spock, is only attainable when a man has no enemies. Does your Federation have enemies?”
“No ideal is without its antithesis.”
Khan chuckles. “Very good.” Then he pivots away and asks to see the beauty of space. As they approach the Observation Deck, Khan says, “Governments crumble under diversity. The time will come when your government longs for unification.”
Spock blinks. “Unification, Sir? The universe is naturally and infinitely diverse. Our goal is to preserve and protect individualism under common laws. Should we desire to conquer above all else, we would be named an Empire and not a Federation.”
“The history of men is born of empires,” Khan speaks like he is gently reminding the Vulcan of a fact.
Mr. Spock stands aside, allowing the guest to precede him onto the Observation Deck. Spock says nothing of Khan’s last remark, though he wonders how the human cannot comprehend that a race born of empires is destined to outgrow them someday.
“‘And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by’,” murmurs Khan, facing the stars. Spock has heard the quote before, said once in a strangely serious tone by his captain.
Khan wants to know, “Is it true, what I read of Vulcan strength?”
“A Vulcan has three times the strength of a human.”
Khan’s voice lowers but Spock has no trouble making out his words. “Do you know what I am, Mr. Spock?”
“Khan Noonien Singh. A ruler of more than a quarter of Earth, and a ruthless dictator, Sir,” he responds. He had sent a full report to the Captain only two hours ago, fully expecting that Kirk would issue a security detail on Khan before the tour reached completion. Spock is disturbed that he has had no communication to this effect as of yet.
Khan turns slowly, a backdrop of starlight outlining his profile. “I know who I am, Mr. Spock. I have always known this. But you must concern yourself first with what I am.”
Spock has a good sense of danger, having honed it significantly since the Enterprise began to undertake missions under Kirk’s captaincy. It is because of this sense that he lets his hands drop to his sides and calculates the time it will take for him to reach the emergency notification system situated approximately one meter from the deck’s entrance.
Khan is facing Spock fully now. “I have not been able to test my reflexes,” he says, “since awakening upon your ship. I would like to do so now. Of all the creatures onboard the Enterprise, you shall prove the most challenging. Let us spar.”
“I do not engage in recreational activities while on duty,” the Vulcan answers flatly.
“How unfortunate.”
Khan closes the distance between them until they are an arm’s reach apart. Spock estimates, by the shift of Khan’s weight, that he will attempt to strike from the left.
Khan is saying, “Then you may consider this a fight between enemies.”
Despite Spock’s readiness and expectations, Khan’s first blow is unprecedented in its speed and power. The Vulcan rocks back, off-balance, and Khan hits Spock again, a quick upper-cut, before he can block it. Then the human withdraws suddenly, laughing, and allows Spock time to recover. Spock doesn’t think about his actions, simply spins and runs headlong for the alarm. It costs him, in the end, to activate it. When the ship’s klaxons begin to blare, Khan drops all pretense of fairness and Spock finds himself fighting for his life.
Knowing that Spock is with Khan—guard duty poorly disguised as playing tour guide—John finally relaxes enough to rest. He has been asleep for just shy of two hours when the red alert goes off. Without hesitation, John slips from his bed, dresses quickly as he commands the ship’s computer to locate Mr. Spock. He charges out of his quarters, not bothering to slow his speed to a normal run in the presence of crewmen heading to battle stations, and flies toward the Observation Deck. John catches a glimpse of Jim’s startled face as he barrels down a corridor, and ignores the call of “Bones? Bones!”
Fuck it all, he curses in his head; then aloud next to two gaping ensigns in the turbolift, “Fuck you, Khan. Fuck you.“
John rounds the corner of the corridor on the Observation Deck to find Khan stealing a communicator off a limp Spock. Khan turns, hearing him, and he smirks at John. “Hello, doctor. Forgive me if I don’t linger to chat.” Then Khan takes off in the opposite direction. John breathes deeply, catching his scent, and pauses to call into a wall intercom for Sickbay. “First Officer down,” he barks and also, “Tell the Captain to engage the intruder alert.”
Then the Reaper begins his pursuit of Khan.
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Related Posts:
- Of Sacraments and War – Posting Date – from April 29, 2011
- Of Sacraments and War – Epilogue – from April 28, 2011
- Of Sacraments and War – Chapter Five – from April 27, 2011
- Reaper vs Khan Countdown – from April 29, 2011
- PODFIC HAS ARRIVED! – from March 15, 2014
