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Having experienced a call to battle stations more than once since the Enterprise left its orbit of Earth, the on-duty staff of Sickbay responds to the red alert swiftly and neatly. Christine Chapel locks a standard issue belt about her waist, clips on a small medikit to the belt, and slips out of the line of other nurses and techs who are following the same procedure. She beckons a young man named Traye and together they begin to set out extra medical equipment so it will be near-to-hand, essentially prepping the main area of the bay as a trauma unit. When a petite brunette reports that all in-patients are accounted for and stable, Christine asks her to help Traye finish with the supplies. The Head Nurse steps away from them, close to a wall, and surveys the area, seeking one person in particular.
She ought to have heard a familiar drawl of orders by now. Frowning, Christine walks through the medical bay until she runs into Geoff M’Benga. The doctor looks grave. She sucks in a sharp breath then quickly tells herself to calm down and not jump to conclusions.
Chapel asks bluntly, “Where’s Doctor McCoy?”
“He has not reported in.”
“During a red alert? That’s strange, Doctor.”
M’Benga considers her for a moment then motions for her to follow him. Christine hesitates before she obeys. She doesn’t know the solemn man very well yet but he is the secondary medical authority to Doctor McCoy and, in their current circumstances, rank matters. The pair finds a private corner to talk.
Christine jumps straight in, voice lowered. “If McCoy were injured, we would know already.”
“I agree. I commed his quarters but received no answer.”
Leonard should be in Sickbay now, she knows, but he isn’t and he hasn’t let them know where he is.
“I have not informed the Captain of McCoy’s status yet,” M’Benga admits quietly.
M’Benga will have to soon. They both know that. Chapel hopes her boss has a damn good reason for his absence. She cannot imagine that he wouldn’t.
The woman squares her shoulders and says, “You’re in charge, then, Doctor.”
“Please, Nurse Chapel, call me Geoff.”
“If you call me Christine,” she responds automatically.
He nods, his small smile softening the gravity of his countenance. “I must confirm that the OR is prepped. Please excuse me, Christine.”
They step out of the corner and into a well-ordered med bay waiting on stand-by. Christine feels proud of her team and expresses it freely as she makes her rounds. Beneath her calm and pleasant face, her worry grows.
Leonard, Chapel sends out in a silent prayer, I hope you aren’t in trouble.
The Captain who enters the Bridge is not a happy man. His First Officer is en route to Sickbay, his Senior Medical Officer is not in Sickbay and has disappeared, seemingly determined to be elsewhere. Worse yet, Khan is Khan Noonien Singh, the most tyrannical of the rulers during the Eugenics War; and Khan knows that Kirk, obligated by duty as much as personal belief, will apprehend him and hold him responsible for his war crimes, even two centuries after the fact.
How did things go so awry?
In the privacy of his Ready Room, Jim only had to read halfway through Spock’s report before he knew he needed to take prompt action. He had handed the conn to Sulu, since Spock was not on the Bridge, and headed for Security. The Chief of Security took one look at the Captain’s expression and immediately began assembling a team of his best men. They worked well together, Kirk and Giotto, against all odds and a rocky history.
At Starfleet Academy, cadet James Kirk was willfully disobedient, late for the classes he deemed worthy of attendance, and a natural genius; Samuel Giotto was punctual, no-nonsense, ate and slept by a schedule, and only engaged in ridiculous behavior (like laughing) if protocol demanded it of him. Kirk irritated the hell out of Giotto on principle. The sentiment was obvious in the few tactics and defense courses they shared.
On the first occasion they were sparring partners, Jim had joked, “What crawled up your ass and died, Sammy?” Giotto blocked one of Jim’s wild kicks with precision and silence, and Kirk ended up face-down on the mat. Samuel advised him afterward, “Talk less when fighting. You expend energy you can’t afford to lose.” Thereafter Jim teased less, fought harder, and developed an unexpected respect for Samuel Giotto. They did not socialize on a friendly level but they weren’t rivals either; simply two men who recognized their differences along with their common goals.
Following the Narada Incident, expediency made harsh demands of the cadets. Nearly half of the Academy graduated that summer, a majority of whom were surviving third- and fourth-year cadets who had sufficient education to undertake on-ship assignments. Samuel Giotto graduated the top of his class in combat strategy as a Lieutenant-Commander; Jim Kirk graduated with stellar recommendations and a captaincy. When it became apparent Kirk would command the Enterprise, Giotto was one of hundreds of applicants vying for a position on Jim’s ship, with the sole difference that his application read: “I have no great love for James Kirk but he has honor and potential, and a need for a loyal, trustworthy man to guard his back. I can be both.” The kind of man Kirk knew Samuel to be meant that Giotto’s words were not a promise or sycophancy but a statement of what could be, should Jim prove to be the captain Giotto saw in him. Kirk accepted Giotto as his Chief of Security, and Samuel Giotto is one of the few officers on the Enteprise holding Jim to a rigid set of standards that Kirk feels he must not disappoint.
In Chief of Security’s office, Samuel and Jim were deep in discussion over Khan’s history and abilites and the necessary preparation to keep Khan under strict lockdown when the klaxons sounded. Sulu answered Kirk’s call to the Bridge, saying that Spock’s personal code was used to engage the alert. Giotto stated flatly from behind Jim, “Then we have trouble onboard. Captain, Lieutenant Garris will escort you to the Bridge. We’ll begin patrol.” Jim acknowledged the man’s words with a brief nod and dashed for the nearest lift with a security officer close on his heels, knowing in his heart that nothing would prevent a fight for the Enterprise now.
In a corridor, Jim had almost collided with McCoy, who barely slowed as he came around a corner. That collision should have happened, except Bones dodged to the side at the last second with an unnatural ease, like Jim was little more than a prop on a training ground. Next to him, Garris’s reaction was a heartfelt “Holy shit. Sir.”
Jim couldn’t have expressed the encounter better himself.
He is on the Bridge now and his thoughts are screwed every which way, churning with impossibilities, fear, and urgency. Resolved, the Captain tucks aside all irrelevant facts and events to focus on securing his ship from the enemy. He has neither Spock nor McCoy to support his tactical decisions, and though Jim knows he should rely on no one but himself, he cannot help feeling slightly unbalanced. But there is no time for reluctance or hesitation, so he bypasses his command chair completely and steps up to the officer manning the security-relay system.
“I want every deck sealed. Shut down all lifts except ours. Seal off the Transporter Room and shuttle bays. Sulu,” he snaps to his right, barely waiting for Sulu’s response, “do we have any men working on the SS Botany Bay?”
“None, Sir. The last team returned to the ship at 2330 hours.”
“Then disengage the tractor beam. Do it now. I don’t want that ship within Khan’s reach.
Sulu replies, after working for a moment, “The SS Botany Bay has been released, Captain.”
Jim strides past Uhura’s post, listening to her relays of communications. She says between switching lines, “Sir, we have reports of the intruder on Deck 11.”
Too close to Engineering. “Patch through to Mr. Scott, Code Alert 4-A.” Which Scotty will know requires him to lock his department and set guards around the Life Support Room. Once the protocol is enacted, only the Captain has the authority to tell the Chief Engineer when to stand down. Anyone who begs entrance is treated as hostile.
If necessary, Kirk will flood the ship with nerve gas and pick through the bodies to find Khan. Given McCoy’s report on the man’s physical fortitude, the gas may possibly disable the crew without completely stopping Khan and that would make the ship more vulnerable than it already is. Kirk doesn’t want to have to play that card yet, but he doesn’t want to lose officers on a gamble either.
What he needs is to corner Khan somewhere and overpower him. His mind works furiously for a solution but finds none.
Then Uhura grabs his attention with a low but fierce “Captain!” Assessing her expression, Jim leans toward her to keep their conversation quiet.
“What is it, Uhura?”
“It’s McCoy, Jim,” she says slowly. “I am receiving similar reports. He’s in pursuit of Khan.” Her voice is shaded with disbelief and has Leonard lost his mind?
Jim should be surprised but he isn’t. “Bones we can track. Chekov!”
Chekov’s head swivels in their direction, eyes wide. “Yes, Keptin?”
Jim details exactly what he wants the officer to do. Pavel, wise despite his young age, performs the task with accuracy and a keen understanding. Within minutes, Chekov is saying, “Keptin, the holomap is ready. I will download it to a device—if you have a device, Sir?” asks the navigation officer, turning to Kirk.
Sulu offers his watch. “Here, use this. You might be able to alter the display.”
“Yes!” Pavel takes it with enthusiasm, and for a moment Jim watches Chekov extract a chip from the back of the watch. Then Kirk leans over his chair and activates the comm unit on its arm. “Captain to Sickbay. How is Mr. Spock?”
He recognizes M’Benga’s distinct accent. “He’s stabilized, Captain. Minor lacerations and some bruising. We have repaired them already. I expect him to regain consciousness shortly.” There is a pause before the doctor continues, “He’ll want to head straight for the Bridge, Sir.”
Jim answers the unspoken question. “That won’t be possible. Tell Spock that he stays in the medical bay until further notice.” Jim adds more quietly, “I’ll need his help soon enough.”
“Yes, Captain. M’Benga out.”
Jim finally settles in his Captain’s chair. He asks grimly, “Is Khan still sighted on Deck 11?”
“Yes, Captain,” answers Uhura.
Unless Khan breaks into the access shaft, they have him locked on that deck. Deck 11, however, has Engineering’s circuitry bay and the phaser banks control room. Were Khan to find his way inside either, he could do a lot of damage. Jim calls into the chair arm’s speaker, “Bridge to Security. Giotto.”
“Speaking, Captain.”
“Khan is on Deck 11. Send in three teams but no more. Phasers set to heavy stun.”
“Yes, Sir. Giotto out.”
“Uhura, patch me through to that deck.”
“Ready when you are, Captain.”
Jim says, “This is Captain Kirk. To all personnel of Deck 11, you have an intruder. He is dangerous, possibly armed. Sweep your area and commence with lock-down.” After a pause, he says, “Khan, you will not be harmed if you surrender. Let’s do this the easy way.” Jim closes his eyes, finishing with “Kirk out” and signaling Uhura to cut the communication.
Khan isn’t going to surrender, Jim knows. He turns to Chekov, asking the officer, “Is it ready?”
“Yes, Keptin.”
Jim accepts the watch and straps it to his wrist. Pavel shows him how to activate the holo-map which the watch projects as a rotating holograph of the ship. Then Pavel presses a button on the side. “I have already input the Doctor’s bio-signal—see? This shows where he is.”
Jim stares at the red dot moving through the holo-map. He adjusts the display to the layout of Deck 11. Bones is at the turbolift but not in it. Jim thanks Pavel and stands up. “Sulu, you have the conn. Do not give up the Bridge to Khan under any circumstances.”
Sulu returns Jim’s solemn look. “I won’t, Captain. None of us will.”
He nods and walks into the Bridge’s lift. His plan for now is to stop at Sickbay on Deck 7, then proceed down to Deck 11 with backup.
He must reach the Botany Bay. He must reach his people. Khan is strong on his own, undoubtedly so, but he needs loyal men to bring this ship under order.
And what a glorious ship it is!
The Enterprise is more than Khan imagined possible, and he has yet to experience all of its capabilities. The tech manuals alone were titillating. Superior weapons, sustainability, speed—these things would not only help attain what he wants but make it seem like child’s play.
Khan anticipates a vast potential for dreaming when the Enterprise becomes his. The thought of Paradise—of bringing an entire world under one rule, his rule—may be the beginning of something grander. Khan will be the man who roams Heaven and Earth, with the power of both at his disposal. To some, that will make him a god.
But a starship is useless without a crew, so Khan will obtain a crew first.
His hard eyes glitter as he recalls the promise he made over two centuries ago. The morning of our new glory, Khan repeats silently.
It has come.
Khan is fast but not as fast as John. However Khan is unimpeded in his run, knocking aside people who have the misfortune of blocking his path like a charging bull while John feels an obligation to move around them or, such as now, stop altogether because someone is bleeding from being unexpectedly tossed against a corner of something sharp, and a nearby ensign calls frantically, “Doctor! Doctor!”
Shit. Of all the times he could ignore what he has become to these people, he is drawn by their distress and open trust in Leonard McCoy. It’s almost as if something inside John compels him to stop. He drops to his knees next to the injured man and tells the woman propping up the officer, “Apply pressure here and lift his arm like this—yes, good. Don’t move him until the bleeding slows down, then go to Sickbay quickly.”
“The lifts aren’t working, Sir,” she tells him.
John grimaces, at the same time thanking Jim for being a smart man. “Then bandage his arm tightly and find somewhere safe to hide. Do you understand, Lieutenant? Stay out of sight.“
She nods vigorously. “No fatalities, no hostages.”
Exactly, John agrees. They both pause to listen to the Captain speak over the deck’s intercom system. John simply shakes his head, certain that Khan loathes the word surrender.
He stands up and moves into an adjacent corridor, remembering Khan had turned this way. John stills, chin slightly lifted, like an animal catching a scent.
Sounds of commotion; a hint of chaos. Khan. Left.
He catches up to Khan three corridors away, pulling on a wall panel next to an inoperative turbolift. Khan’s head swings up when John says, “You don’t have time for that.”
He seems surprised to see Doctor McCoy but masks the surprise quickly. “Doctor, I must say that you are a rare treat.” Khan slowly straightens, then rips off a long, narrow strip of the paneling with ease, and narrows his eyes at John. “You are also foolish.”
“You have nowhere to go, Khan. No way off this ship and no one to help you.”
Khan laughs. “What makes you think I need help?” He steps forward, saying, “I am stronger, McCoy, in every way. You have seen the results of your tests; this I know. The question remains: will you join me, or must I kill you? I could use a man of your knowledge and skill.”
The man takes measure of John’s silence.
“So be it,” Khan declares and launches at John, using the piece of paneling like a sword, swinging it in a broad arc. John twists to the side but the end of it catches his side, ripping shirt and skin alike. He ignores the sudden, sharp pain to grab for Khan’s weapon.
Khan lets him have it, pivoting sideways between one second and the next to slam his shoulder into John’s unprotected chest. Their momentum drives them backwards into the wall, John crying out—more in frustration than fright. The ship’s metal groans under the impact (later an ensign will see the dent and wonder of its origins), and John uses Khan’s moment of unbalance to grab the man’s arms with bruising hands and hold the man still while he drives a knee into Khan’s solar plexus. In retaliation, the top of Khan’s head cracks John under the chin, snapping his teeth together. They wrench apart. John spits blood out of his mouth, and Khan, slightly bent at the waist, inhales sharply before snapping upright.
John taunts, “You want to fight, Khan? Then let’s fight.”
Khan tilts his head for a split second, as if McCoy is a strange sight, and starts forward but feigns left and dives to the side to grab the abandoned paneling. John had anticipated this move because a man like Khan pictures himself as a warrior of old Earth and skillfully arms himself out of vanity rather than common sense; John’s weapon is his body, impervious to harm, and he uses it first.
Khan’s hand latches onto an end of the strip of metal at the same time John kicks it with enough force to make Khan lose his grip. Then John jumps in close to Khan, using his elbow to hit the man in his collarbone. Khan stumbles back, snarling, and John shifts his body enough to block another attempt for the paneling, which has skittered into a corner behind him.
His opponent isn’t laughing anymore. “Afraid yet, Khan?” the Reaper sneers.
Khan replies, “Fear is for the weak,” and barrels into John, sending them to the floor. One of Khan’s hands is on his throat, the other digging into his scalp. John works an arm between their bodies, flattens his hand against Khan’s chest and pushes. Khan hisses, using his full weight against John’s strength but John is strong, much stronger than Khan could have anticipated. The man lets go of John’s hair to join his hands together in crushing the doctor’s throat. John’s eyes water as his lungs burn from too little air but he knows he can last much longer than a normal man before he suffocates completely. After a choked attempt to breathe, he cries out in renewed anger, bucks, and drives his free fist into Khan’s exposed side twice in rapid succession. The grip on his throat loosens in surprise and pain, and John grabs Khan’s wrist, grinding the bones together to force Khan’s hands to open further. Then he gives a mighty push, though his body feels heavy from the lack of oxygen, and forces Khan off him.
Khan rolls away as John turns on his side to lever himself upright. When John is on his feet again, Khan rises from a crouch in the corner, the paneling in his hand.
Just fucking great, he thinks, watching Khan’s body coil in preparation to attack and deciding he’s had enough of this and end it now, John, just smash his head into the wall when the worst possible thing happens.
“Doctor McCoy! Doctor, get down!”
John makes the mistake of letting his attention waver, glancing at the two security officers pelting down the corridor, and he pays for it dearly.
A heartbeat later and John experiences searing pain as Khan spears his stomach with the makeshift weapon. John’s knees buckle on instinct, and his vision momentarily greys but his ears still pick up sound: someone screaming “Doctor!” and “Shit, shit, shit!” Then there are more shouts, none of them Khan’s, and the whine of phasers. John gasps “fuck” as his brain fires off pain signals because the wound tries to close around the object but can’t. He groans, then curses as he twists the piece of metal to widen the hole in his body and slide it out (Khan had driven it all the way through; John feels the back of his shirt pull as he moves it), tearing more organs and flesh.
When John is free of it, he staggers to his feet, hands and clothes slick with blood. Khan is gone and the two security officers are sprawled on the floor, dead. John searches them first, finding no phasers, and swallows hard. Then he uses one of the communicators to alert other officers in the area, voice thick with accent and regret, “Two men down, Deck 11. Also wounded in Sector B13.
A voice responds, “Report name and rank, over.” Then after a second of silence, incredulously, “Doctor McCoy?”
John drops the communicator and walks away.
When Jim walks into Sickbay, he finds Spock arguing with Doctor M’Benga and Nurse Chapel. The Vulcan is insisting, “I must return to the Bridge.”
“The Captain ordered—” M’Benga begins in a weary voice that indicates he has explained Jim’s orders more than once already.
“I am First Officer,” Spock retorts, like that clarifies everything. “Please stand aside, Doctor, Nurse.”
Christine turns partially, spies Jim, and tosses up her hands in a McCoy-gesture of exasperation. “Of all the— Captain, either you take him with you or I want explicit permission to use the body restraints.”
Jim looks over Spock, noting the bruising along his jaw. He asks, “Do you need to remain in Sickbay, Mr. Spock?”
The Vulcan is quick to answer, “Negative.”
At any other time, he would ask for Bones’ opinion. Today that is neither possible nor an option he would consider. “Follow me,” Jim says as he pivots and exits Sickbay.
“Captain,” Spock starts but says nothing more.
Jim understands all too well that Spock wants to reprimand him for not staying on the Bridge but the Vulcan is pleased to be out of the medical bay; silence, of course, would be the logical course of action on the subject.
“Khan is on Deck 11,” he informs his First Officer. He pulls a second phaser out of his belt and hands it to Spock. “McCoy, too.”
They wind their way through the ship to the only operative lift.
Spock wants to know, “Is the doctor a hostage?”
Jim chooses his words with care. “Before today, I would have thought it a possibility, Spock.” He steps into the turbolift after keying his access code. Jim looks at the Vulcan and shakes his head. “I am not certain but I think he is after Khan, not the other way around.”
Spock’s silence is brief. “I have noted unusual patterns of behavior concerning Doctor McCoy in the past.” The confession is flat, almost reluctant, like Spock did not intend to reveal this conclusion so soon.
Kirk stares straight ahead. “We’ll deal with Bones later.”
Spock is never afraid to ask the hard questions. “If the doctor interferes with Khan’s capture?”
“We’ll deal with that, too.”
The turbolift doors open on Deck 11, and the Captain shows the First Officer the holo-map display. “That’s McCoy,” he says, indicating the red dot currently moving along the other side of the deck.
Spock nods once. Then they begin their cautious search, phasers at the ready.
Engineer Scott would not initially strike a person as someone capable of giving orders and expecting them to be unerringly followed. He is easy-going and friendly, hardly imposing; the kind of man who finds a niche in the world and is satisfied to spend the rest of his days there, puttering away.
Perhaps, Lieutenant Romaine muses, the engineer has found his niche in the depths of the Enterprise and that is why Mr. Scott is extra protective of his domain. He is mostly certain at home here. He looks happy—or did before the chaos began.
Another engineering ensign scampers past Mira, chased by loud, profane Scottish and “How many times do I have tell ye NOT to tinker with t’controls! Help ma boab—!“
She laughs into her hand, needing the relief from the high tension of Engineering’s lock-down. She had accepted Mr. Scott’s offer of a peek inside “the fair Lady Enterprise” after days of companionable discussion over their favorite starship models. It was her misfortune to be off-duty and enjoying a debate between Scotty and another engineer tech over material for capacitors when the red alert sounded. Engineering is by no means a small department and when she was finally in an area close to a turbolift, the lifts stopped working. Mr. Scott had dragged her back to his office, saying she’d be safer there. She didn’t argue the point, especially after he sealed all the entrances and exits by order of Captain Kirk.
The Chief Engineer appears on her left, looking harassed and slightly worn. Mira touches his shoulder in concern. “Are you all right, Mr. Scott?”
“Fine, lass. I just—I have this feelin’ we’re in for a bit o’ a rough ride.”
She nods. “Yes. What can I do to help?”
The man glances around. “What’s your expertise?”
“Specialist, Sir, in the sciences division. We’re somewhat short-staffed in the Science department since, well…” Mira bites her bottom lip, thinking of long memorial services for those lost to Nero’s rage.
There is understanding in Mr. Scott’s face. “We’re all doing the best we can, lass,” he says gently, “with what we have.” He points to a control board some feet away. “I’ll be thankful if ye could keep an eye on those monitors.” A sudden twinkle appears in his eyes. “That is, if ye can stand havin’ a bunch of me lads making eyes at ye. It’s not often we get a pretty face doun here.”
He leaves her standing at the control board, blushing, saying he has to check in with his men guarding the Life Support Room. Mira sighs, eyes the array of buttons and screens. A nervous young man named Greg offers her a chair. “We don’t have many of them around here but I took this one from Riley. He won’t mind.” Looking over her shoulder, Lt. Romaine sees a broadly grinning, sandy-haired man wink at her. Mira accepts the chair with a polite thank you, not surprised in the least when Greg mysteriously finds another chair and joins her.
These men are sweet, she decides, if slightly silly. It is truly a shame it took a crisis for her to meet them. When this ordeal is over, she will come back for a visit. After a pause, Mira admits to herself that there is one man in particular she will return to see—even if he is hustling his crew this way and that with barely a thought for her.
Some minutes later, Riley has wandered over to tell Mira that he is part of the ship’s choir and would she like to listen to him sing some time? As if on cue, the control board acts strangely, all the buttons flashing simultaneously before dying out completely.
Greg says, next to her, “Oh, that’s not good.”
Then someone calls from across the room, “Mr. Scott, we can’t access the system!” Mira’s heart leaps into her throat and she is absolutely certain not good is a grave understatement.
John has already evaded two teams of Security searching for Khan, and he doesn’t doubt that there are more on the deck. But where has Khan gone?
Khan had undoubtedly been working his way down to the Transporter Room on Deck 14 or farther below to the shuttles before they were both subsequently isolated on Deck 11. John knows where the manual access shaft is, on the opposite side of the deck, and it wouldn’t take more than Khan forcing the door open to start his descent to the other decks. Only the Bridge is not accessible that way—a small favor, John decides, from architects and designers determined to fortify the command center of the ship.
Unfortunately they can play this roundabout chase for hours. This deck has neither crew quarters nor departments. It serves mainly as a maintenance deck, frequented by engineering techs. In the ship’s schematics, Deck 11 is a midway point between the power relays from top of the ship to the bottom. If Khan retains the details of the Enterprise‘s tech manuals, he can create glitches in several computer systems: short-circuit the atmospheric controls, fry the intercoms ship-wide. Any number of things that, while individually are low risk, could culminate in breaches of ship integrity.
John is stealthily making his way through the deck, investigating all the sectioned bays of circuitry. He remembers his textbook studies of engineering from the early 22nd century but that education did not include training on a starship. Once John had confirmed that his assignment would be on the Enterprise, he familiarized himself with the basics of a constituion-class ship in case he needed to escape. Khan, no doubt, has a similar plan. Except Khan is unlikely to slip away in quiet secrecy like John would.
Then he thinks about Khan remaining on the ship, commanding it, and John feels a measure of fright. Khan would reduce the crew immediately, beginning with the command officers on the principle of old loyalties. Then Khan would discover that the crew’s loyalty to Kirk is almost unbreakable, and the result would be a massacre. Should the crew consent to serve under new leadership, John knows Khan is not a wasteful man. Those crewmen who were not eliminated would live enslaved, performing the odd task when Khan’s people had need of them. A future under the heel of Khan—it would be no future worth living.
John is forced to keep moving, seeking Khan on a nearly invisible trail. His hunt could be the mission at Olduvai all over again. The air may be cleaner here, the halls brightly lit, but that does little to suppress the memories. John recalls the water in his boots as he waded through wet tunnels, floating bits of people catching against his pants. The sightless eyes of a beheaded scientist are the eyes of a young starship lieutenant, neck broken. If he breathes in just right, he recognizes the scent of carrion. Someone, security probably, barks out an order two corridors over, and the echo sounds like Sarge, commanding the Kid to shoot first, ask later.
Khan is the monster in the dark, waiting. Given the chance, he will spread his disease like the mutants of Olduvai: turning those who are useful, killing those who are not. John won’t allow that to happen, not to a ship full of innocents, not in Leonard’s lifetime. Doctor McCoy has a home on the Enterprise, something John Grimm has wanted since he returned from Mars as someone who no longer existed. Leonard is loved as John wasn’t. In destroying the Enterprise, Khan destroys Leonard, too.
John finds he isn’t ready to let McCoy go just yet.
Spock watches the Captain kneel beside the two dead officers, not touching them but with his hands hovering like he wants to do something despite that nothing can be done. When Kirk stands again, his usually expressive face is shuttered. This disturbs the First Officer deeply.
“Captain, we must proceed.”
Jim reactivates the holo-map and stares at McCoy’s movement through the deck. “Red turns to blue if Bones is dead. I hold my breath every time I look at it.”
“Captain,” Spock reminds his commander in a gentle voice.
Kirk nods, saying somewhat hollowly, “Let’s hope we have seen the worst of Khan’s actions today, Mr. Spock.”
Spock would wish that also but he is certain to do so would deny the inevitable. Instead the Vulcan concerns himself with forming a strategy on how to disable Khan without endangering the life of the Captain of the Enterprise. If Spock spares a thought for Doctor McCoy’s safety as well, it is coupled with the explanation that the doctor’s demise would prove equally detrimental to Jim’s well-being.
Spock wonders, not for the first time, if he has underestimated the significance of Leonard McCoy to the Enterprise crew. He finds the doctor unnecessarily antagonistic, excessive in every way Spock prefers brevity—from speech to opinions to physical contact. The Vulcan simply does not understand half of McCoy’s actions and often does not approve of what he does comprehend. The human displays genuine concern for others, yet he spurns tentative appeals for interaction beyond the boundaries of professionalism, save for Jim Kirk; the doctor never speaks of a personal past, even wistfully, as humans are wont to do; and when McCoy pursues a cause for the crew, he usually indicates in a subtle manner that he considers himself and the crew as mutually exclusive, despite retaining the position as CMO.
The disparities of Leonard McCoy are numerous; Spock has yet to determine the common factor between them.
Nevertheless McCoy is an asset to the ship, an asset whose value Spock has been assured he will discover in time. In reality, however, what Spock’s older self has experienced may not be truth in all universes. Is the Leonard McCoy of the present the Leonard McCoy of an alternate past? Or did the other Spock journey into a universe too different from his own?
The brash, charismatic James Kirk has become worthy of Spock’s trust, against all logic. Spock would find it doubly shocking if Leonard McCoy proved to be the same. He thinks, in all likelihood, Leonard McCoy will remain a mysterious human being, even to those who profess to know him.
Spock realizes belatedly and with dismay that his thoughts have wandered into irrelevant territory. He consciously turns his attention to the task of tracking the errant doctor. Jim has already proceeded on, as suggested, and it is the Vulcan who has to catch up.
He is a trained killer and a man of mercy. How is it then that John is no longer certain which he needs to be? Khan will surely kill to survive, that much the man has proved. John kills for peace, not because his survival is at stake (he can survive almost anything) but because survival is pointless without peace. Leonard McCoy is no killer and is bound by an oath to prevent harm and promote life. He is wearing McCoy’s clothes, tattered as they are, and living McCoy’s life.
Who is John willing to betray?
John thinks for a terrible moment that this is why he cannot find Khan: he doesn’t want to. If he doesn’t find Khan, he doesn’t have a choice to make. Even before, when they fought, he hadn’t been ready to make that choice, had been distracted by McCoy’s instinct rather than following the Reaper’s training. It is so easy to start a hunt, so much harder to finish it. John earned the name Reaper because he always eliminates his target. Now he wonders what happened to that man from so long ago. Is Leonard’s conscience a manifestation of what his own would have been, had he chosen a different path? There are times when he thinks so, thinks that he chose to be Leonard McCoy not just out of a need for light in his dark life but as an homage to a John that never was.
All these thoughts fly through his head in seconds, a sign of his uncertainty, while his body automatically carries him on his mission. Search and destroy—it’s an ingrained part of Reaper, the code that drives the soldier. He needs nothing but the weight of a gun in his hand. John has been that man through several lives, carrying weapons and destroying life; it is a profession that never dies. Less often, he has been better men—but never as good as he is now as Leonard McCoy.
John is sidetracked from the mixture of memories and contemplation when he hears Jim’s voice in the distance. His first thought is You idiot, it’s too dangerous for you to be here! Then he remembers that Jim wouldn’t be anywhere else; Kirk is always at the forefront of the danger zone, and never simply because Kirk happens to be the Captain. Jim has a crazy notion that he is expendable, which makes Leonard’s job a lot harder than it might normally be. Even Spock’s job is, causing the Vulcan to work diligently to preserve his Captain. Yet Spock does not indicate that Kirk’s habits bother him, as though the Vulcan had never once doubted Kirk’s ability to lead. (John wonders about that change of heart, he really does; some day he may actually ask the First Officer about it.)
His second thought is I can’t let him see me like this, in a torn, bloody uniform with smooth, clear skin underneath. John slips around a corner, presses against the wall and listens. He hears quiet footsteps within minutes, picking out two distinct sets.
Closing his eyes, John quietly thumps the back of his head against the wall. Of course Jim isn’t alone. The Captain is at least intelligent enough to have a security officer with him.
“Fifteen meters ahead, Captain,” intones a familiar voice and oh shit, that’s Spock. John has the unexplainable insane urge to jump into the corridor and yell at the Vulcan for leaving Sickbay. He realizes with a start that Leonard McCoy would do exactly that, in a blistering Southern fit of temper. But John isn’t Leonard; if anything, Leonard is John in disguise. The puppet shouldn’t control the puppet master.
“Captain,” Spock says so quietly that if John didn’t have enhanced hearing he would have missed the word altogether. “The doctor is stationary. Perhaps he knows we are here.”
Jim says nothing for several seconds. When Kirk does speak, his voice is much too close to John. “Bones?” is said softly. Kirk makes John sound like an animal to be coaxed out of hiding.
John’s fingers twitch by his side, and he thinks fiercely, Say nothing, say nothing. Just because Jim is Leonard’s friend, someone Leonard can trust, doesn’t mean that John is included in that trust.
John is the unknown, the aberration, the liar.
“Bones?” There is an edge to Jim’s voice now, as though he suspects McCoy might not be alone or conscious.
John’s decision is stalled by a communicator beep. He can hear someone flip it open and say, “Spock here.”
“Mr. Spock!”
Scotty. The engineer’s tone has that stomach-flipping hint of You aren’t gonna like my news.
“Is the Captain there?”
“Affirmative.” Then Jim must have taken the communicator because Captain Kirk replies, “What is it, Scotty?”
“Someone has blocked Engineering’s controls, Capt’n.”
Jim’s voice is sharp. “Can’t you override it?”
“Override is disabled. Capt’n, the intruder has to playing with our circuits in Section A3. Ye got to stop him before he makes a mess. We can survive without our engines but nae the life support!”
“We’re on it, Mr. Scott. Spock, what’s the quickest route to A3?”
“This way, Captain.”
John remains motionless as the running footsteps of Jim and Spock fade. After a quick and nasty battle with himself, he does not follow them. The stakes are too high.
Leonard would say, Damn the stakes to yourself, John, this is about them! They’ll die without you.
Jim and Spock are going to die in spite of or because of him, some day.
You’re a bastard if you don’t fight for them. Then more viciously, What would Sam think of your cowardice?
Sammy. His sister only barely forgave herself; what she did for him wasn’t a gift, it was a curse made in desperation. She knew that.
She had been filled with such enthusiasm as a young woman, saying the sciences could revive the world, make it better. She had been horrified to discover what her research could lead to. Sam depended on John to stop that horror.
She would see Khan as a horror, too.
If you don’t save them, you lose the part that Sam believed in.
He has already lost so much of himself.
Decision made, John strides over to the nearest wall intercom and flicks it to the proper setting. He calls, “Doctor McCoy to Bridge.”
“Sulu here.” Sulu sounds grim.
“I expect you know where I am. Khan’s still rampant, and I need you to gas the entire deck.”
“Sir,” begins the pilot politely, “I would love to do that but unless the Captain—”
“Damn you, your captain is going to die if you don’t!”
Sulu’s voice is strained. “I can’t.”
“You can. I’m a senior officer, Sulu, and I’m givin’ you a direct order.” He adds more softly, “I’m sorry, Hikaru. I’ll take the heat for this, you have my word.”
There is a moment of silence. “You have three minutes before the nerve gas valves open, Doctor.”
John has never run so fast in his life.
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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
