The Wrath of Cyntax
A Sherlock/Star Trek/OC crossover
Chapter#8
March.23.4476
A large grin crosses Cyntax's face as her head pokes out the door of her time machine. Starfleet officers rush back and forth, too occupied to notice her ship. The automaton gestures for Clutz to follow as she steps out on to the seamless white tile.
'Where are we?' questions Clutz, her awestruck eyes examining her surroundings.
'New San Francisco. Earth. 4475. Starfleet Headquarters.
'Are we supposed to be here?' whispers Clutz.
Cyntax+ opens her mouth to reply but is quickly distracted by the sound a phaser warming up behind her head. 'Put your hands behind your head,' the words come out rushed , the syllables clashing together. It takes Clutz a moment to figure out what she said. By the time she does, Cyntax+ had already turned around, hands up in surrender.
'Who are you?' questions the burly guard.
'I'm Clutz the- just Clutz,' says the butler, solemnly.
'And I'm Cyntax, a smirk creeps on to her face, giving the guard a wink, 'Just Cyntax.'
Her flirting has no effect, 'how did you get in here?'
'Time machine. Warp core infused with red matter. The science is about, eh, 60 years in your future. The way science is going, you'll live to see it.'
'Confiscate the box,' the guard barely gets out the orders before a blade punctures her liver.
'Don't you dare touch my ship,' Cyntax growls, pulling out Excalibur.
'You've really done it now, Cyntax,' says Clutz in a way that really means, "you've made another mess and now I've got to help you clean it up". The robot draws a pistol from her belt, firing at will.
Cyntax+ continues to hack and slash, wielding the world's most powerful weapon with the artistry of a master. They make their way through about 12 guards before a crowd forms and they are surrounded. The automatons look to each other. The fearful look in each other's eyes is last thing they remember.
John Harrison: A name so plain it can only be a fake. It is the name that was given to Khan after he was awoken from slumber. Again. He was reborn in to a life very similar to his last. When his tomb was discovered, he was commissioned by Starfleet to design weapons. This time it is not a world war, but a war of worlds. Having nothing else to live for, he complied, until Admiral Marcus decided John's work wasn't enough, and began to threaten his crew. Khan did not take lightly to this declaration. He has been planning the Admiral's demise for some time now. He has developed an intricate plan to save his crew and get his revenge.
Khan, John Harrison, sits in front of a window, walking the familiar halls of his mind palace. It is the only part of him that has remained whole in his long and argues existence; the only place he can attempt to create peace.
After several hours, he's not sure how many but judging by the sun it must be several, John's eyes focus on the San Francisco Skyline. He rises from his seat, trench coat floating to the floor around him. Some habits die hard. Quite fitting for the immortal man. The future keeps changing and all he wants to do is cling on to the past.
In a sudden fit of rage, sadness, or most likely, sheer boredom, Khan throws his chair through the window. He steps to the edge, watching it fall. A mildly amused smile touches his lips as he watches the passers-by scramble around the landing site, gawking at he dismembered chair, and gazing upward at its source. One step forward, then another. His leather boots teeter on the edge, knocking away a few wayward shards of glass. The Afternoon wind tousles John's dark curls as he takes one more step forward. The tiniest push and he and he is soaring through the air, plummeting downwards. The ground fastly approaches, closer and closer, until the much awaited collision. Then there is nothing. Darkness, numbness, bliss.
Cyntax's systems reboot. Her blue and green photoreceptors flicker back and forth, registering her soundings . She is trapped in some sort of cell. The walls are solid white with the exception of one she hopes is glass. The automaton sits up on the hard cot, looking down to see that her corset and bustle have been replaced by a simple black Starfleet uniform. She checks the storage slots in his arm and leg to discover they have been emptied. She mutters a profanity under her breath, reaching up to feel her goggle is also missing. At least they were dumb enough to take that too. They won't be getting anything out of her. Cyntax eyes the glass wall in front of her. They have truly underestimated her. Cyntax+ runs at the glass, expecting it to shatter around her titanium frame. It doesn't as much as crack as it sends her rebounding in to the wall behind her and face-first on to the floor.
A Starfleet officer chuckles as he steps in front of her cell, 'you're a feisty one, aren't you?'
Cyntax+ eyes the officer's uniform. A Commodore. Why is a man of his standing bothering to deal with her? There must be far more important things for him to be doing. She can't worry about that now, 'What have you done with Clutz?'
'Is that its name?'
'Her. Her name. Now tell me where she is.'
'It's a girl? How can you tell?'
'Automatons are the only reason your kind walk the Earth, and you repay us by degrading us, by referring to my friend, as an it? We may be machines but we have emotions, personalities, and genders. Clutz was one of thousands, male and female alike, all identical. She can't help the way she looks but that doesn't make her less of a woman.' Cyntax is infuriated. 'When I escape, you'll be the first to die. That's a promise.'
'Believe me,' the Commodore chuckles again, 'you won't be escaping.'
'Good to know,' Cyntax sits down on the cot, 'since I'll be staying, you might as well tell me why I'm here.'
'The Admiral doesn't want you getting in the way.'
'The Admiral? I've got no beef with him.' Yet Cyntax adds in her head. There's no knowing what her future holds.
'It's not him he's concerned about.'
'Then who?'
'John Harrison.'
'Who?'
Dull grey photoreceptors flicker to life as Clutz returns to consciousness. She wakes up on a stiff cot in the Starfleet med bay. A doctor in a white uniform hovers over her, looking down at his holographic tablet. He looks to Clutz when she begins to stir, 'good, your systems are functioning normally. Our mechanics expert said you're good to go as soon as you came to.'
Clutz sits up and looks around, 'Where's Cyntax?'
'Cyntax+?' questions a dark-haired man on the cot opposite Clutz,' Robot. Young, smart, beautiful, bit of an attitude.'
'That's the one. You know her?'
'I did. A long time ago,' the man sits up, 'the name's John Harrison.'
'I'm Clutz the- Just Clutz,' the automaton sighs, 'She's never mentioned you.'
John raises an eyebrow, 'nor you.'
Clutz rolls her eyes, 'typical,' she says the word as if she's known Cyntax longer than a few days. It doesn't take long to notice that the person Cyntax enjoys talking about is herself.
John laughs for the first time in 2000 years, 'isn't it?' his face grows grave, 'It's been so long. I was beginning to think I would ever see her again.'
'Knowing Cyntax, you may not still.'
'You think she's in danger.'
'I think she's off seducing a Starfleet officer, leaving me here to rust.'
John's eyebrows furrow. He is off put by the robot's accusation. There is no arguing that Cyntax+ is easily distracted, but more over, she is strong-willed, and would not leave a friend behind, 'That's not the Plus I knew.'
'Since when does she go by Plus?'
'There is much to her that is left unspoken. I have a feeling neither of us know as much as we think we do.'
Clutz stands up, testing her arms and legs to make sure they are still functioning properly, 'so, are you coming with me or not?'
John looks around to see that the doctor has exited the room. A smile creeps on to his face as he jumps out of bed. He had been declared dead only an hour earlier and now he's spry as ever, 'I know where we can go. Follow me.'
The man slinks out of the room, Clutz close on his trail. The pair make their way through the base, trying to be as low-profile as possible. Clutz tugs at her uniform. The scratchy grey fabric hands off of her frame. She wishes she had snagged one that fit better. All uniforms are custom tailored. No Starfleet Officer would walk around like this. The robot trips over nothing in particular, gripping on the John's arm for stability. She quickly lets go, hanging her head and shuffling behind him, praying she didn't draw any unwanted attention.
Khan navigates the building expertly, slinking along every hallway. After a while, it becomes apparent to Clutz that they are working their way to the centre of the building, rather than outwards toward daylight. The robot's footsteps cease. She stumbles briefly but finds her balance, trying her best to hold herself with authority, 'where are you taking me?'
A sly smile creeps on to the man's face as he slides open a hidden door. Bright white lights flash on to reveal a small jump ship.
Clutz stares at the chrome-plated vehicle, 'Oh.'
