Two guards escorted him down a sleek black corridor. They wore trim blue uniforms-they possessed something akin to military training; both ranking at crewman first class, both had been working at their positions for two years; the man was married with two children, and the woman was sleeping with somebody's fiance; the man was not likely to be promoted any time soon, but the woman was in line for ensign; both were carrying sidearms that could be set to lethal. And both were trying to appear unafraid-and failing
All this he could tell from one glance.
He was silent as they led him along. They were wary and anxious, but not enough to escort him along by the elbow. He ignored their sidelong glances and focused on observing his surroundings. He was either in an underground facility or a starship. The corridors didn't give much clue as to the year. Humans-regular humans-moved cyclically between energetic fits of remarkable progress and long periods of regressive lethargy. And as he had been asleep there was no way of knowing by deduction alone which had taken place during his slumber. Thirty years could have passed, or three hundred.
The escort led him through a set of doors that slid smoothly open of their own accord. he stepped into a large room with sleek computer banks along the walls, with desk-like consoles at the front of the chamber. A large chair was just a step above the others, overseeing the empty room.
He smiled to himself. The bridge of a starship.
"Down here," the woman guard directed. The two crewmen led him down to the far front corner of the bridge, where another door awaited.
"Captain's cabin," he observed just loud enough to be heard.
The two guards stared at him uneasily. "The ready room, yes," the female crewman said. He followed his escorts through the door.
His eyes immediately began analyzing the room and the person in front of him. Tall widower in his late middle ages; admiral rank; probably came from a family with a history in the military or law enforcement; had at least one child, a daughter; allergic to dogs.
The admiral rose slowly as one of the guards reported: "Sir, the man from the cryotube has been revived."
"I can see that, crewman," the admiral said sharply. His voice was gruff and chipped.
The admiral stepped forward and looked at him. They would be the same height, if the admiral would only remove his orthopedic inserts. A stupid, decaying old man. How delightful.
"What's your name, frozen man?" barked the admiral.
"My name is Khan Noonien Singh," he answered smoothly, unruffled by the admiral's sharpness.
"Do you know why I had you taken out of that cryotube and woken up?" the admiral demanded curtly.
Khan's lips curled up into a wicked smile. Oh yes. Of course he knew. He knew everything. He could see it all so clearly, even more clearly than this buffoon in front of him. Did he know? What a tiresome question.
"I know why," he said, letting his low voice rumble. "Because you need my help."