A/N: I watched Star Trek Into Darkness and I was very intrigued by Khan's backstory, specifically the line about leading others to peace in a world at war. I've created an AU of sorts for this story. Feel free to PM me if it's confusing, but for now, here are the basics. After the Cuban Missile Crisis, Russia and the U.S. signed a non-proliferation treaty, but tensions continued to rise. A group of countries in South America formed an alliance (the Contras), Western Europe formed a coalition to protect themselves from Russia (the European Union), and the Middle Eastern countries have formed an alliance as well (the Sinai Confederacy).
To prevent global war and devastating loss of life, the United Nations instituted a new form of battle, in which each country or alliance fields a champion, who fights with the champions from the other countries in disputes over land, resources, and anything else two countries might pick a fight about. These champions are genetically enhanced to be the best possible fighters. One such fighter is Khan.
Please review/PM and let me know if I should continue this.
the dirty work of battle hymns
In his earliest memory, he is running through the labyrinth, the sound of his bare feet on the concrete echoing throughout the maze. He is nine years old, or maybe younger, but he doesn't remember anything before this so he might as well be an infant. He careens around corners, running blindly, fighting the urge to scream all the while. The half-light of the maze only makes it worse. Those stains on the wall, the ones he uses to track his position, he think they might be blood. And he's never sure if the footsteps sounding all around him are his own or someone - something - else's.
Finally, he breaks. He crawls into a corner, tucks his feet in, and cries. He will never get out of here. He will die, or worse, he'll walk through this twilight forever and never find the way out. He tugs up the sleeve on his left arm and squints at the numbers he knows by heart; 139476, his tattoo. Maybe someday this number will make it into the arenas, etched into someone else's skin. But not his.
"Lost?"
He looks up, horrified, and sees a woman watching him. He wipes his eyes on his sleeve and scrambles to his feet, trying to look brave, trying to feel brave. "Who are you?"
She steps into the light and he realizes that it's not just anyone; it's Chalice, the most powerful champion the United States has ever fielded. She's had twenty fights and she's won all of them. "Chalice. Are you lost?"
He shakes his head. It's better to stay lost forever than let the reigning champion know you're lost. "I'm fine, ma'am."
Chalice comes closer, and he sees that she's not nearly as old as he thought she was. She's nineteen or maybe twenty, and the way she smiles at him reminds him of sun and air and trust, things he remembers faintly but not completely. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone."
She holds out a hand to him, and he takes it carefully. "Come on. I've been in here before and I know the way out."
That was the first time Chalice protected him, but it wasn't the last, and twelve years later, whenever he thinks of Chalice he thinks of that day in the maze.
They are closer than most of the others, closer than they should be. She is like the older sister he doesn't remember, and even though he no longer idolizes her as he once did and he is no longer the nameless trainee lost in the maze, he still trusts her more than anyone else in the compound. She spoke up for him during the vicious years of selection, convinced the researchers and trainers that he was special, tutored him herself until he could beat the other trainees blindfolded.
He asked her why, once. Why him. She'd sat him down in the corner of the training room and pulled a tattered photograph out of her pocket. "This was my brother," she said. "When they wiped my memories, they forgot to take the picture away." She'd smiled at the photograph, but it was a sad smile. He didn't like seeing it. "He was scared of the dark, just like you used to be. And that's why. Come on, Khan. You have sword drills to run."
Khan. The name wasn't his choice, but then again, none of the champions choose their own names. Dr. Singh, the head researcher, chose it for him on the same day Khan learned that he and not his rival would take second position. Second position. The idea is still new to him, even though he's held the rank for more than six months. He is one wrong move of Chalice's away from going into the arena.
That wrong move could happen today, for all he knows. Chalice is still an excellent fighter, but she's thirty-two, scarred from hundreds of fights, six years older than her oldest competitors. Today she fights in an arena in London, in a dispute between Russia and the United States over oil fields in the steppes that both countries have claimed. Her opponent is Taiga, Russia's female champion, and this is one bout that Khan does not want to watch in the hall with the rest of the trainees. They will all be watching, hoping that Chalice will fail and that they themselves will advance further. If he has to sit through that, he'll kill someone.
"Dr. Singh!" He catches up with the man in the corridor, heading the opposite way of everyone else. "I'd like your permission to watch the fight somewhere else."
Dr. Singh peers at him through thick glasses. "Where? You're being presented in two weeks. You know you're not allowed to leave the compound."
Khan's temper flares, but he forces it down. An outburst will reveal much about him and gain him little; best to be polite. "No one on the outside has seen me in a long time. With your permission, I will go to the amphitheater in the park to watch the fight. There are enough people there to camouflage me."
He sees Singh considering it. "All right. I will escort you. It's not safe for you to be wandering around."
Khan tries not to laugh. He is genetically enhanced to the last possible degree, stronger and faster than anyone he will encounter, and this man believes he is not safe? His amusement disappears as he realizes that Dr. Singh expects to be thanked, as though this is some enormous favor that Khan has no right to ask of him. "Thank you."
The compound is not situated far from the park. They walk, Dr. Singh shedding his white coat before they arrive on the street. The doctor moves too slow for Khan's liking; he has to double back multiple times to avoid leaving the man behind. It's infuriating. If he would just put his tablet away…but no, Dr. Singh is tapping away at the screen, oblivious to Khan's impatience.
Finally they reach the amphitheater. By Khan's calculations, they have fifteen minutes until the fight begins - or at least, the various commercials that play before the fight begin. He follows Dr. Singh up the steps and the man stops midway up, motioning for Khan to enter the row of seats first. Khan moves down the row and sits, leaving a space between himself and the next person on the row; a young woman, chattering with her friends. Dr. Singh sits on his other side and keeps fiddling with the tablet. Khan can't help but look at what he's doing, and what he sees makes his blood burn. Dr. Singh is designing genetic enhancements for another champion, and he does this while one of his champions fights and another sits beside him. It's all Khan can do not to grab the tablet and break it over the doctor's head.
To distract himself, he listens in to the conversation of the people around him. The conversation of the girls next to him, oddly enough, prove to be the most interesting; they seem nervous and uncomfortable, and they keep scanning the crowd as though they're looking for someone.
"She said she'd be here."
"She said that last time, Kasha, and she didn't show."
"She'll be here," Kasha repeats. "Professor Wallace will flunk her if she doesn't."
Another girl snorts. "You think Malak cares about getting flunked again? She doesn't give a damn about Contemporary Events and Consequences; she's finished her prerequisites for med school and that's all she cares about."
To Khan, the drive necessary to propel someone to medical school seems incompatible with failing classes, but he'll be the first to admit that he knows little about the outside world. He keeps listening.
"Yeah, but she doesn't graduate unless she passes this class," Kasha says, "and she's flunked it three years in a row. She'll be here."
Kasha glances down the row, past Khan, and visibly relaxes. She points. "See, there's Malak. I told you she'd be here."
Khan follows Kasha's finger and sees a dark-haired woman with a book tucked under her arm picking her way down the row toward them. She has trouble getting past Dr. Singh; he's so absorbed in his genetic design that he fails to hear her asking him to move his feet. Eventually she just shoves through, trips on Khan's foot, and topples into the empty space between him and her group of friends. The book lands in Khan's lap.
"Malak. Glad you could make it," one of the girls says.
Malak nods distractedly and looks at Khan. "I think I stepped on your foot. I'm sorry."
"It's nothing," Khan says. He passes the book back to her.
"You sure?" Malak glances down at her shoes, a pair of black boots with chunky heels. "These things might have crushed your instep."
"I am fine, I assure you," Khan says. It is an annoyance, nothing more, and he's learned over the years to ignore pain. Malak looks at him for a second longer; then she opens her book and starts reading.
Dr. Singh chooses this moment to look up from his work. "Who were you talking to, Khan?"
"I don't know," Khan says. "She stepped on my foot and she apologized."
Dr. Singh nods and goes back to his tablet. Khan's attention, meanwhile, is attracted by the giant screen in the center of the amphitheater, which has begun to play commercials. Most of them are for companies, but several are trailers for new champions and upcoming battles. Russia is planning to introduce a new champion soon, and they're proceeding with a media blitz, hoping to strike fear into the hearts of other countries. Khan has actually met the champion they're advertising, a man called Alexei. He was unimpressive, all savagery and no intelligence, but of course, the second position for Russia's male champion does not need to be excellent. Baikal, Russia's current fighter, is in peak condition.
A commercial for a fight comes on, a dispute between the Sinai Confederacy and Russia that will be decided next week. Baikal will be fighting for Russia. The Sinai will be represented by their only champion; Azrael. Azrael was introduced a year ago. Since then he has had two fights and two losses; one against the champion from the European Union, and another one against Chalice.
Khan taps Dr. Singh's shoulder. "Azrael is fighting Baikal next week."
Singh makes a dismissive noise. "He'll be crushed. If Azrael could not beat Wyvern, he has no chance against Baikal."
While the prevailing view among the researchers is that Azrael is weak, Khan has a different theory. Both of Azrael's fights have been trivial, and both of them have been instigated by the Sinai. In Khan's opinion, Azrael isn't fighting to win; he's fighting to learn, to figure out how to beat the other champions for when it really does matter. Hopefully by the time the Sinai comes up against the United States again, Khan will be fighting and not Chalice.
Chalice. Khan is more worried about her than is probably necessary. She has more fighting experience than any other champion, and best of all, her opponent has never won a fight against her. He does his best to put the worry out of his head and searches for something to distract himself. There's a disturbance beside him. Khan looks back to Malak and Kasha, who are arguing. "You're supposed to be watching."
"I'll watch when it matters," Malak says, eyes still on her book. "Right now it's just commercials."
Khan sneaks a look back at Dr. Singh and decides that he can risk it. "Do you follow the fights?"
"No," Malak says automatically. She looks over at him. "I don't think we've met. I'm Malak Campbell."
Khan shakes her hand and offers his own name in return. Why Dr. Singh insisted on attaching his own name to Khan's, he will never understand. "Khan Noonien Singh. Why don't you follow the fights?"
"I just don't," Malak says with a shrug. "It's not something that appeals to me. What about you? Do you follow the fights?"
Khan doesn't just follow the fights. He lives them, breathes them, studies them over and over again. "Sometimes. What do you know about the fighters today?"
"Chalice is going against that Russian brat," Malak says, "and they're fighting over oil in the steppes."
Khan smirks at Malak's characterization of Taiga. It's rather apt, considering that she's never met the champion and by her own admission doesn't follow the fights. "And you believe this is unimportant?"
"If the U.S. spent as much time developing alternative fuels as we do fighting with Russia over oil, we'd have solved the energy crisis years ago," Malak says. "So no, it's not unimportant, but it's a simple solution to a complicated problem."
"So you believe that Russia should be able to nationalize U.S. holdings in the steppes?" Khan responds. He's studied the conflicts themselves more carefully than most of his fellow trainees, mostly because the monotony of the compound gets to him.
Malak smiles, one side of her mouth tugging up higher than the other. "I told you it was complicated."
"Khan?" Dr. Singh is finally paying attention. "Would you like to introduce me to your friend?"
Friend. Khan glances at Malak, then says, "This is Malak Campbell. Malak, this is Dr. Singh."
"Are you two related, then?" Malak asks as she shakes Singh's hand.
"He's my adopted son," Dr. Singh says, and Khan bristles at the designation. It's a bit presumptuous for Dr. Singh to think that, just because Khan hasn't killed him yet, it's all right for him to claim some familial connection. "Nice to meet you, Malak."
Trumpets sound from the speakers, alerting Khan to the start of the fight, and all of his attention goes to the screen as the arena appears. This time, it's set as a primordial swamp, with small islands scattered throughout and mangrove trees with twisted roots. The terrain changes for every fight, and Khan's practiced eye catalogues the advantages and disadvantages of it, picking out the position he would take if he were the one fighting this battle.
"I think there are crocodiles in there," Malak says.
Dr. Singh squints at his tablet again. "Yes, I think so, too. That should be interesting."
Khan looks at the screen. Dr. Singh has accessed Malak's government file and he's studying it intently. Whether by accident or design, he angles the screen, making it impossible for Khan to see, but not before Khan notices that Malak's scores on intelligence surveys are in the ninety-seventh percentile. Khan himself scored in the ninety-fifth percentile on those same surveys, but then again, one does not have to be a genius to do what he is trained to do. He supposes Dr. Singh thought it was better to be safe than sorry.
Russia instigated this fight, meaning Chalice will be the first to enter the arena. It's a penalty to the aggressor and a small advantage for Chalice. Once she's inside the arena, she will have one minute to establish a position and wait for Taiga's arrival. Chalice comes through the doors, her face set and masklike, the weak sun casting dappled patterns on her dark skin. She lifts one hand, shading her eyes.
Khan knows which position he would set. He would lie in wait as close to the doors as possible and take his opponent by surprise, but Chalice is more cautious than he, and Khan is not surprised when Chalice bolts from the doors and makes for the largest mangrove tree. The cameras zoom in on her face as she tucks herself into the roots, adjusting her knives so they will be easy to reach.
"Is that a good spot?" Malak says to Khan, and he tears his eyes away from the screen to look at her.
"It's not where I would have picked," he says without thinking, and Malak gives him an odd look. Then she glances back at the screen as the countdown to Taiga's arrival reaches its conclusion.
Taiga bursts into the arena with a howl and Khan rolls his eyes. Russia's champions have this sense of the theatrical, both of them; Baikal likes to climb the highest object in the arena and beat his chest like an ape before going on a hunt. Thankfully, Chalice has never been dramatic, and the noise will hopefully alert her to Taiga's position. The camera cuts from Taiga's demented features - no champion is ugly, but she is less attractive than most - and back to Chalice, who is working her way from mangrove to mangrove, searching for the best angle of attack.
Suddenly Malak winces. "Uh-oh," she says.
"What?" Khan demands, but then she shakes her head.
"It might have just been my eyes, but I thought I saw a crocodile in there."
"Where?"
"See, that log -" Malak starts, and then the log she's indicated lunges out of the water toward Chalice, jaws wide open.
Chalice twists aside just in time and the beast flops down into the water, producing a massive splash. It's impossible to miss, even for Taiga, and her lips curve up into an awful smile as she spots Chalice, leaping from island to island in an effort to escape. The Russian champion nocks an arrow to her bow, takes aim, and fires.
Chalice's head snaps up, and Khan knows that her enhanced hearing has alerted her to the fact that she's under attack. She drops, avoiding the shot, and the arrow impacts into a mangrove tree at exactly the same height as her head. Chalice, flat on her back, looks up at the arrow in horror, and she realizes the truth at exactly the same time that Khan does. Taiga wasn't trying to incapacitate Chalice. She was trying to kill her.
Khan turns to Dr. Singh, heedless of Malak sitting right beside him. "Stop the fight."
Dr. Singh's full attention is on the screen at last, but he shakes his head. "I can't. There's no positive proof that Taiga was trying to kill Chalice."
"We all saw it!" Khan spits. "Everyone who was watching this fight saw it, and Taiga has never, in six years of fighting, missed a target she's aimed for. Baikal must have given her orders to -"
Dr. Singh makes an impatient motion with his hand, silencing Khan. "Chalice can survive this situation. She's done it before."
Yes, she has, but that was against the Contra champion Mayari, a weak, untrained fighter, the best that the rebel nations in the south could field. Khan was eleven years old when he watched that fight, and even then he could have beaten Mayari. Fighting against Taiga is another matter entirely. On screen, Chalice rolls to the side to avoid another arrow, and Khan can see her making the calculations in her head. Going into the water with the crocodiles is dangerous, but staying within reach of Taiga's arrows will lead to death. Chalice makes the decision in an instant. She gets to her feet, takes three running steps, and dives headlong into the water.
Khan's heart is pounding in his chest as though it is he and not Chalice beneath the surface of the water. Fear, such terrible fear, is clawing at him, worse than the fear he felt in the maze. He doesn't understand it. He's watched hundreds of fights, seen his fellow trainees pitted against each other thousands of times, and yet, none of them are as important to him as Chalice is. Chalice is kind, Chalice is good, in a place where those traits are stamped out. She cannot die here. Not like this.
Khan turns to Dr. Singh again, ready to shake the man by his shoulders until he calls off the fight or his neck breaks, but then he feels a hand on his arm and he glances down. It's Malak. He rears back, ready to pull himself free, but the expression on her face stops him. "Let go," he hisses.
"If you don't control yourself," Malak says in a low voice that his enhanced hearing picks out over the roar of the crowd, "everyone else will know who you are."
It does not surprise Khan that Malak has made the connection. He was about as indiscreet as it is possible to be without coming right out and announcing that he is part of the program. He nods to show that he understands her and she cautiously lets go. They both look back to the screen. Chalice has yet to resurface, and although Khan knows that her lung capacity allows her to stay underwater for three minutes, he can't stop himself from thinking that she's been attacked by one of the crocodiles.
Chalice surfaces, a dark head in the water behind Taiga's island, and swims toward the Russian champion, silently cutting through the water. Khan is amazed at how much ground she's managed to cover, and the knot of terror in the pit of his stomach relaxes slightly as his friend advances. Chalice draws one of her knives and emerges onto the island, crawling on her belly, and then, in a smooth, practiced motion, she slices through Taiga's Achilles tendon and drops the other woman to the ground.
Taiga's scream is so piercing that the speakers screech as they try to accommodate it. The bow falls from her hand and Chalice seizes it, breaking it in half over her knee and backing up, waiting for Taiga's next move.
"No," Khan hisses. He stares at the screen so long without blinking that the image begins to blur. If it were him in the arena he would not be standing back, allowing his opponent to recover. But Chalice has always been nobler than he. "Finish her!"
The countdown begins, and Khan knows that if Taiga makes no attempt to continue the fight in the next twenty seconds, the fight will be called in Chalice's favor. Chalice obviously thinks that she's dealt the Russian champion a match-ending blow; she's standing still, waiting for the countdown to end. The cameras zoom in on Taiga's face and Khan sees the Russian close her eyes. Then she opens them again and lunges up.
It happens so quickly that Khan himself can barely make sense of it. Taiga, one leg hanging useless, throws herself at Chalice, collaring her around the legs and toppling them both to the ground. The knife flies from Chalice's hand and Taiga, pressing her momentary advantage, pins her opponent down. Chalice arches her back and flips them both, trying to escape. She turns, scrabbling through the rough grass for her knife, and Khan's heart sinks; never turn your back on the enemy. How many times did Chalice drill that into his brain?
A wordless howl rises in his throat as Taiga rips an arrow from her lost quiver, flips it in her hand, and drives it into Chalice's back.
Chalice slumps down to the ground face-first, her lower body going boneless. Khan knows by the angle at which the arrow entered her body, the placement of the strike, that Taiga meant to break Chalice's spine, and she succeeded. The Russian champion limps toward Chalice, leering down at her.
Taiga spits in Chalice's face. She says something in Russian, and Khan does not want to hear it, but he has learned the language too well to stop himself from translating. "Say hello to Liberty when you see her in hell, would you?"
"Tell her yourself," Chalice gasps, and then she throws her second knife.
It is perfectly aimed. The silver blade disappears into Taiga's throat and blood pours from her still-open mouth. A gong sounds somewhere, signaling the end of the fight, and an announcer says, "The fight goes to the United States."
The last thing Khan sees before the screen goes black is Taiga, her knees giving way as she collapses to the ground beside Chalice.
Dr. Singh is snapping at someone on his phone. "I don't care what is going on in there, get her out! Arrange for the nearest transport, and - what? No, cost is not an object. Get her back to the States immediately."
Khan can do nothing but sit there numbly, and Dr. Singh has to shake his shoulder to get his attention. "Khan, we must go now. There are plans to be made."
Khan stands up and moves as if to leave, still in a daze, but Malak's fingers close on his sleeve again. He looks down at her, wondering if she'll let go on her own or if he'll have to break her wrist. "I'm sorry about your friend," she tells him.
Khan just nods, and Malak keeps talking, quickly, furtively, as though she expects Dr. Singh to stop her. "You're in training, aren't you?"
As she says it, it hits Khan for the first time, the truth of this situation. Chalice can no longer fight, and he is second position. "Not anymore," he says. He moves his arm quickly, expecting to dislodge Malak's hand, but she is hanging on tighter than he expected. They look at each other for a second; then Malak deliberately loosens her grip and steps back.
"Good luck," she says to him, and then Dr. Singh tugs hard on Khan's arm and they move into the crowd, shoving through the masses to return to the compound.