Prologue
His brain felt sluggish, annoyingly uncooperative. He knew he should be able to identify the familiar sounds around him, yet everything seemed just beyond the grasp of recognition. The beeps of some machine (but which?), the rising and falling murmur of voices (but whose?), the steady background hum of some system (transport? climatic? monitoring? imaging?). He had to fight the reflexive need to open his eyes to get answers, but aside from the fact that he could not be sure whether his vision would work at all, some persistently nagging inner voice told him not to betray his wakefulness. To who or whatever might be observing.
He didn't even consider not following that intuitive instruction. Although he knew he would not be able to fool their monitoring instruments for very long.
To keep his mental activity as low as possible, he focused on his physical functions. In the first minutes after his awakening, neither his lungs nor his ribcage had seemed to work at all, both having felt utterly inflexible and constrained, but now breathing was becoming easier with every time he inhaled. His heartbeat, which had initially slammed against the inner walls of his skull with alarming force and frequency, seemed to be gradually settling. As was the unpleasant prickling of his skin that had run up and down the entire length of his body. The searing stings that were piercing mainly his long muscles had not eased, though, and his tongue and mouth still felt numb and severely swollen. Swallowing was downright painful and the lump of mucus clogging his throat required all the discipline of his still torpid mind in order to quell the threatening urge to cough.
But he managed. Of course he managed. Perfectly motionless, he listened to the blood rushing in his ears, sensed it pulsing through arteries and veins, reveled in the painful reviving of nerves and muscles. Savored how, with every heartbeat and every deepening breath, he became more and more alive.
"…obviously got the sequence right. His vitals are stable and there is no reason why he shouldn't be awakened. I can…"
"No, Doctor. An abrupt and disconnected return consciousness is the last thing we want. Nobody can say how he will react as soon as he wakes and we have no idea of what he recalls. We need him as cooperative as possible, so let's make this as gentle as we can."
"With all due respect, Admiral, a gentle treatment is the very last thing this man deserves and I'd sleep much easier if we didn't need him at all."
"Your…assessment of the situation as well as your concern is appreciated. Still the issue is not open for discussion."
"Sir, a discussion is a verbal involvement taking place when there is more than one possible opinion on a subject."
"And the opinion of Star Fleet command on this particular subject is clear and irrevocable, Doctor, your very explicit disagreement notwithstanding."
"Sir. Yes, sir. We'll refrain from any further medical support then, but will proceed monitoring and sustaining the…individual until he regains full consciousness by himself. In which case I will alert you immediately."
"Very well. I await your report."
"Admiral."
Two voices, one of them he was sure he should know. A set of retreating footfalls, clipped and purposeful. The swish of an opening and closing door. Someone fussing over him, moving some device across and along his body, most likely a medicorder, if the soft buzzing and chirping was anything to go by. Something cool made contact with the right side of his neck and was immediately followed by the hissing sound of an emptying hyposyringe. He sensed a presence hovering over him, invading his personal space in a way they would not have dared had they known he was fully awake and aware. In a way he himself found surprisingly difficult to tolerate. It worried him a little, the rapidly growing, itching aggressiveness he felt due to the ongoing but unwanted proximity. This evident lack of emotional self-control was not something he was used to, and it would most certainly not serve him well during whatever was about to come. Willing his subconscious to settle down with more effort than he would have preferred, he made a firm mental note not to underestimate his obvious (and hopefully only temporary) mental depletion. The possible consequences might be severe and he had watched too many go down because of imprudent overconfidence. An unacceptable mistake he would most certainly not make.
When the presence above him finally withdrew and the vaguely familiar voice rang out again, he could tell that this time it was directed away from him.
"The readings indicate that on a physical level, he is fully functional already. Regarding what this man is capable of, it bothers me a little that he is still out, to be honest. We have not the slightest idea of what will actually happen when he wakes, since Admiral Marcus did not keep any records the first time he revived him. He'll probably try to jump you the moment he realizes he can move."
Somewhere in the back of his mind, a memory was triggered.
Oh yes. He knew that voice.
"We'll keep him under constant and close observation, Doctor."
"You do that. It still doesn't reassure me much, no offence…And don't rely too much on your phasers. You've been told that stunning doesn't work on this guy as it does on mere humans, right?"
"We've been fully briefed on the individual's exceptional physical characteristics, Doctor."
" 'Exceptional physical characteristics' " A snort. "That's certainly one way to put it. A weapon of mass destruction disguised as a human being, but without even a grain of conscience in his lethally brilliant mind, that's what this man is. I wouldn't put it past him to break right through that security barrier without sustaining any critical damage whatsoever."
"We've been told that security barriers restrained him perfectly well while under arrest on the Enterprise."
"The fact that we've not yet been seeing him doing it doesn't mean he's not able to."
"Doctor…"
"Yeah, yeah, I know. All that desperate times calling for desperate measures-nonsense." The sounds of putting away instruments, of rearranging others on some surface. "It's too late now anyway, the thing is done and here's to hope that we haven't made the situation worse by adding a megalomaniac, virtually indestructible terrorist to the mix."
No answer. Footsteps directed away from him, less noisy and more measured than those before. The door again, opening, closing.
Silence.
But not within his mind, which was already considering and discarding countless options while the latest pieces of information were still falling neatly into place. Completing the not altogether delightful picture that had begun to form ever since his brain had jump-started again.
A Star Fleet medical sector it was, then. Judging from what he had just heard, he was currently located behind a security barrier with additional guards positioned at some door. Which, according to the direction of voices and departing footfalls, was behind him to his left. In his still weakened state a detail not necessarily relevant on a short-term basis, but he liked to have a concept of his surroundings all the same. One never knew.
The fact that it was Doctor McCoy in charge of his revival suggested that at the most a few decades had passed since Star Fleet had put him back to cryosleep. The detached way in which the Enterprise was mentioned indicated further that they were not on board that particular ship. He hadn't sensed any motion so far anyway, meaning that this room was probably not even located on any starship at all. Still, wherever it was they actually were (a planet? Earth?), McCoy was here, so either he had quit, had been transferred – or had been especially assigned for this very job. Considering that among the living, McCoy was the one with the most profound medical insight where he was concerned, the doctor's presence certainly made sense. And implied that, based on their exclusive experience in dealing with him, he would probably have the chance to renew his acquaintance with other crew members of the Enterprise as well at a later stage of…whatever this was.
Which brought him to the one answer that still eluded him, though it was the most crucial: Why was he here at all, breathing, thinking, feeling?
He did not delude himself into hoping that there may be any other reason but the same old why, and the conversation he had just witnessed confirmed that: They had brought him back again because they needed him. They needed his abilities, his skills, his cooperation, would try to instrumentalize him once more to fulfill their wants. Considering the results of Star Fleet's first attempt to exploit who and what he was, he was truly and utterly surprised. The situation at hand must be dire indeed and the decision to wake him had surely neither been easy, nor one all of Starfleet approved, judging by McCoy's comments and that unknown Admiral's reaction. A factor that could probably be put to use, if the right opportunity presented itself.
Used to achieve what, exactly?
He silenced the bitter inner voice immediately, resolutely closing his mind against that particular and most dangerous path of thought. He would not let himself go there. Allowing the loss to surface would ultimately render him unable to function. He could not free himself from the dull ache that pulsed around the emptiness where once seventy-two souls had been the center of his motivation, but he could (and had to) suppress it until the time to grieve had come.
With one last fierce inner jolt, he pulled free from the threatening grip of sorrow and refocused on his present status. They had had him at a serious disadvantage, throwing him into a time, place and situation he knew virtually nothing about. Exaggerating his still slightly insufficient state of mind had bought him some time to collect information and recover to an acceptable mental and physical condition (albeit not at all up to his usual standards). It had been his only chance to prevent them from completely forcing their game on him.
A lesson he had learned from his dealings with Admiral Marcus.
But the ploy had now come to the end of its benefit. Waiting any longer would not yield anything more valuable, but force him to further keep his mental functions down as much as possible to avoid detection. It would prevent him from being able to thoroughly analyze his present situation, from completely regaining his physical and mental abilities. It was essential to be able to move. It was essential to be able to think further. It was essential to know and to assess his options.
The call for stalling was over. Time to enter the field.
Khan Noonien Singh opened his eyes.