He was not accustomed to being… nervous. Anxious. But that was how he felt today, being shepherded by the man he had come to view as his worst enemy, from the facility he'd been held in for the last few weeks towards what his captor called the "Kelvin Archive".

His reading during his captivity had told him about the USS Kelvin, the attack on Vulcan, everything he could get his hands on to give him information about this place he found himself trapped in. The one thing it couldn't tell him-yet-was how to get out of this mess he'd found himself in.

The uniform was stifling. The standing collar he was used to, as it had been his preference once upon a time, but the material was coarse and hot, nothing like the rich fabrics he was used to. Black from head to toe, unrelieved by anything save for a silver pin on his left breast.

Starfleet, he thought bitterly. I will make you pay someday, Starfleet.

"Let's run through this one more time," the grey-haired bastard sitting beside him in the car said. "Who are you?"

"John Nathaniel Harrison, born 2222, to Richard and Sara Harrison. Graduate of Oxford, joined Starfleet in 2242, graduated from the Academy in Engineering in 2246. I've been stationed near Vulcan since and recently recalled due to personnel losses whilst fighting the Romulans."

Alexander Marcus smiled. "Good. Stick to that."

Unspoken was the threat that he'd heard so many times in recent days: deviate from your role and everything you love burns.

It was galling that he was at the mercy of this sociopath. If it were only himself he needed to worry about, he'd kill the man right now and be done with it. But he wasn't alone, as isolated as he felt. There were lives, many lives, depending on him.

The car pulled up outside a 19th century building that had been converted and expanded into a much larger facility. As they exited the car, he looked up, and up. and even further up. It wasn't even the tallest building on the city block, but it had a wide footprint. It looked unassuming from the exterior, but from the briefing he'd been given, it was anything but.

He followed Marcus through the glass doors, then through a set of security scanners manned by grim-faced security officers. They deferred to the admiral but paid him no mind. He found he actually preferred that. The less attention on him, the better.

"This facility was named for the USS Kelvin, which was destroyed by Romulans back in 2233, you remember," Marcus was saying, as they approached a desk where two women sat, clad in the same black as everyone but the white-and-grey attired admiral.

"Yes," he replied drolly, "I do recall that."

They'd reached the desk. One of the women was brunette, the other blonde. He looked at the blonde, immediately dismissed her from his notice. Her side of the broad desk was cluttered, a mess littered with junk. The brunette's side held a PADD, a travel mug, a communicator, and, sitting just to her right and almost out of view, a phaser.

"You," Marcus said to the dark-haired woman. "Name?"

She straightened, having stood at their approach, and her gaze flicked his way for a fraction of a second before returning to Marcus. "Anthea Mackintosh, sir."

"And what do you do here?" Marcus asked her.

"I'm an archives specialist. I assist visitors with- "

She had, he thought, beautiful grey eyes. Finely sculpted brows, a heart-shaped face, cheeks currently a little flushed.

Marcus interrupted her. God, he wanted to strangle him. "Not anymore. You're gonna be Commander Harrison's assistant."

Well. That was a surprise.

She scurried after them to the lift. Marcus wasn't paying her any attention, but he slowed his stride just enough that she could gather her things and catch up with them.

In the lift, he studied her. Average height, she had not a slim build but a trim one. Her uniform did a fair job of making her curves disappear somewhat, but he still found her intriguing. He just wasn't sure why. As the lift descended, they eyed each other for a moment. He smiled, probably the first one he'd had in… a long time.

Then she looked down at her PADD and cleared her throat. "Admiral, sir, am I to understand that I will not be a general assistant to the others, from this point?"

Clever, he thought, letting him know in a round about way that she was more than a pretty fans at the visitor desk as a cover, but knew the facility as a whole. Marcus wasn't interested in anything she had to say, clearly, so she was letting her new supervisor know she could help him despite her rather abrupt and seemingly incongruous reassignment.

He could use a quick thinker like her.

"Right. I'll find someone to replace you at the archive. From now on, you report only to Commander Harrison. Your security clearances will be adjusted accordingly."

"Yes, sir," she said, and something in her tone made him glance over. Her face showed nothing, though.

He was given a rather perfunctory tour of the facility, then escorted down to an office on the 10th subbasement level. Other than a retinal scanner, the door wasn't marked to set it apart in any way. Marcus said something about getting them both access, and then let them in.

The outer room wasn't much to look at. It held a desk, a chair, a computer set up, and a trash can. That was it. A device on the desk was probably an intercom. A second door, behind the desk, opened into the real workspace.

As much as he hated to admit it, the engineer and unabashed science nerd deep within him made happy noises on seeing all of the equipment, the workspaces, the clear-fronted storage shelves filled with supplies, and the wall-sized touch screen computer display behind the primary work desk. It was a lab, yes, but also an engineer's playroom, and while he loathed being here, his fingers itched to start poking around.

"If anything here doesn't suit your needs," Marcus told him, "and you need to upgrade it, go for it. You'll have access to the rest of the facility and its staff, and you'll oversee a private staff for anything we discussed. If there's anything you're not sure how to find, I'm sure Agent…"

"Mackintosh, sir."

"Agent Mackintosh will be able to help you. I'll check in frequently." There was no disguising the threat in those words, and he met Marcus's icy gaze with one of his own. If the admiral were a wiser man, he'd have flinched. But for all his supposed brilliance and experience, Marcus was more arrogant than he was intelligent. "And while I expect you'll need to perform recon trips, I need to be informed."

"Yes, I am quite aware, Admiral. Thank you. I'm sure that if I have further questions, I will let you know."

Marcus stared at him for several long, tense moments, then turned on his heel and left.

Beside him, still holding her PADD, Mackintosh said, "Well, that was…"

He gave himself a mental shake. "Forget about it. The admiral and I don't see eye-to-eye on a few things, is all."

Turning to face her, he forced a small smile and said, "We have not been properly introduced. I am John Harrison."

Had she sensed the ever so slight hesitation before he got "John Harrison" out? If she had, she gave no indication of it as she shifted the PADD into her left hand, held out her right, and said, "Anthea Mackintosh. Lovely to meet you."

Her grip was solid, not hesitant, and her fingers callused. From what? he wondered. For a woman who seemed to basically be an office manager, she certainly gave off a different vibe. In the old days, he would have thought her a soldier. As soon as he got a chance, he was going to look into Anthea Mackintosh.

"To use a very antiquated phrase, what is a girl like you doing in a place like this?"

She began studying the nearest equipment with fascination and curiosity. "I was recruited while in the academy. Amongst the reasons cited were an 'aptitude for understnding when the ends justify the means outside of Starfleet regulation' and a 'penchant for thinking outside the box in problem solving'."

"Both of which will serve well here," he commented, trying not to notice her long legs in the ridiculous skirt that was apparently considered appropriate for a uniform. What sexist nonsense had women in the 23rd century wearing mini skirts as part of a military style uniform? "And you needn't feign interest in the synchronic metre, Agent Mackintosh."

She smiled at him and it stole his breath. "Isn't that for transporters?"

Ah, there was definitely a brain in there. Good. "Yes. One of the many projects I have … been requested to develop, is a portable transwarp device."

"So you're an engineer."

Engineer, literal rocket scientist. Dictator. He'd been many things in his twenty-eight years. "Of sorts. You should probaly get yourself settled in the outer office, Agent Mackintosh. We shall likely be here for some time."

"Anthea," she said. "Call me Anthea."

She had, he sensed, aligned herself with him then, inexplicably. "Anthea, then."

Aftter she left and the door slid shut behind her. he leaned his head against the closed panel and shuddered. Impotent rage and despair washed over him, and he clenched his fists at the surge of grief and loneliness, helplessness.

Then Khan Noonien Singh shoved those feelings aside. They had no place in his plans. They would not serve him in fulfilling his end of the bargain and breaking free.

First, he would design the things Marcus asked of him. After all, they would be very useful both in escaping and afterwards.

Then he would kill Marcus. Preferably with his bare hands, but a phaser would do if necessary.

He needed an edge, though, a leg up in his struggle.

Going to his new desk, he picked up the PADD he'd been given. Surprisingly, there were very few restrictions on it and his security clearance was laughably high, given how Marcus regarded him. Again, arrogance that would blind the admiral to what was coming.

It took seconds to access Agent Mackintosh's records. He skimmed them, then stopped and began reading in depth from the beginning. When he reached the end of the file, he sat in silence, staring at the closed door between them.

"Anthea," he murmured. It was a lovely name, deceptively pretty for a woman with her skills. The blonde one upstairs was exactly what she seemed: an administrative assistant.

But Anthea Mackintosh was something else entirely. And it wasn't going to be a hardship at all to turn her to his cause. Not if the looks he'd caught her giving Marcus behind his back, or the contents of her file regarding her "testing" for Section 31, were anything to go by.

Smiling with genuine pleasure for the first time since 1998, Khan pressed the button on the intercom and said, "Anthea, how about you give me a real tour of the facility?"