The Wrath of Cyntax
A Sherlock/Star Trek/OC crossover
Chapter#8
March.26.4476
3 days. 62 hours. 3725 minutes. That is how long Cyntax+ has been in this prison. Aside from an occasional shut down, she has been awake for all of it. She keeps waking up, not knowing where she is, but knowing better than to make it obvious. Her only source of entertainment has been punching the "glass" wall and an occasional visit from the Starfleet officer. His questioning is getting nowhere. As soon as he thinks he's figured something out, she shuts down and he has to start over. Thank you, security protocol.
Right on cue, the officer appears. Cyntax's mismatched photoreceptors lock on to the rigid landscape of his face. He has dark, weathered skin that clings to angular cheekbones and a beak-like nose. He could challenge Sherlock to a duel with those hard edges. Sherlock. Cyntax+ shoves the image back in to her memory bank. Not him. Not now.
A cold, dark, glare grows in her gaze. The man is unaffected by her stare. He walks up to the glass, posture pristine, features rigid. The two stand in utter silence. The gentle hum of electricity is the only sound.
'Is this what it's come to,' asks Cyntax, 'a staring contest?'
The man doesn't twitch.
'You're talkative today. What's wrong pet? You just have a talk with the Admiral? Is he disappointed? I bet he thinks you're a failure. I mean after all, what kind of officer can't make a machine talk? Isn't computer science the first class you take in the academy?'
The officer says nothing, though his head hangs a little. Just a bit longer and he'll break.
'A toy's only fun if you play with it. Come on, sweetheart. Give me your best bad cop.'
'I'm the toy?'
'That depends' Cyntax smirks, 'can I play with you?'
His icy features melt in to a tight smile, 'is that part of your programming? The endless flirting?'
'Is that part of your training? The endless questions?'
'As a matter of fact, yes.'
'In that case, no. It's not a part of my original programme. That was my own personal touch.'
'It suits your personality Spunky, confident, sexy.'
'If you got it, flaunt it, I always say.'
The guard nods, fading back to silence.
Keep him talking. 'What's your name, love?'
The officer's head pops up. She's never asked that before.
'Arden. Rear Admiral Arden.'
Not a commodore after all. 'Awful young for a title like that. What are you, ten years out of the academy?'
'Six,' he corrects, 'I got promoted early.'
'Wonder boy Arden. You should be off on a ship somewhere exploring the universe. So why are you here talking to me?'
'That's enough,' Arden's jaw tightens, 'I'm interrogating you, not the other way around.'
'Are you? Shame on me. I thought you were staring menacingly at me through the glass. I was just trying to move things along a bit. But if you have something to say, Rear Admiral Arden, by al means, say it.'
Pegs fly to the floor. A wooden board quickly follows. Clutz sighs, picking up the pieces. Again. She has attempted to master one-person chess, but hasn't been able to get past the set up. She tries to set the board, placing each peg with delicate care, but no matter how she tries, destruction is inevitable. She sets the board on the table, trying for the 47th time.
John left over two hours ago, leaving Clutz to her own devices. She sat still for a long while. When it became apparent that he wouldn't be back for a while, she took to snooping around. That's when she discovered his small collection of board games. Some are as old as the 1950s. Others are newer. Clutz chose the one with the fewest and largest pieces. Even in doing so, she still struggles.
'"I've got an errand to run",' Clutz mutters, quoting John's last words to her, ' I thought we were saving Cyntax, not taking a space hopper to London just for you to ditch me in your evil lair.' The butler's trust dwindles more by the minute. She isn't sure she should stay, but is less sure about roaming the London streets alone.
Harrison enters the hub, causing Clutz to jump, and the game clattering to the floor once more. Another sigh escapes her mouth as she picks up the pieces, 'I found it in the cabinet,' she offers as an explanation.
John gives an uncaring shrug, hanging up his coat.
'Where were you for so long?'
'The hospital,' answers John, rolling up his sleeves as he walks over to the lab table in the centre on the room.
'The hospital? Why were you there?'
Khan picks up a syringe, 'visiting a friend,' he takes his time to caress the bare flesh of his forearm, searching for his most prominent vein. Clutz doesn't realize what he's doing until John plunges the syringe in to his arm. He doesn't even flinch as he extracts the blood. Clutz averts her eyes. Robots can't get sick. Can they? She had no idea she was so squeamish. Not after practically raising two Human boys. Once the tube is full, John separates the tube from the needle, capping it, and sliding it in to a metal casing along with a large embossed ring. He closes the box, setting it on the counter.
'What's that? What are you doing?'
'All part of the plan, Clutz.'
Clutz silently draws her sword, coming up behind Khan, 'you tell me what you're up to. Right now! Or I'll kill you!'
'Was it Plus?' John asks the question, not turning to look behind him.
The question catches Clutz off guard, 'What?'
John turns around slowly, a triumphant smirk painting his lips, 'who taught you to fight. The way you play chess, only the best could have taught someone as clumsy as you to wield a blade like a fighter. And Plus it the best.'
'Must be second best, then, because she didn't teach me. I only met her a few days ago.'
'Yet you claim to know her better than I.'
'She made an impression.'
'Everyone makes an impression, though not always the right one. Take you for example. You're a service bot. You work for a wealthy family. Well polished, not a hair out of place. Too well kept to be a maid, so a butler then. This is obviously not your usual uniform, but you iron it regularly. You always plan on wearing it though you never get to. You had a life before you became a butler. A life of adventure, but that life was taken from you, along with any chance of finding work. But this family, they took you in, no questions asked. You feel like you owe them everything, so you stay, even though you hate all of them.'
'You're wrong.'
'There's always something.'
'I don't hate all of them. There is one.'
'Oh yes. I can see that. But he betrayed you. So you left him.'
'How can you get all that?'
'Oh Clutz,' John's tone is tantalizing, 'There's a reason they call you that, isn't there? Clutz the Klutz. You've been called that so many times, it comes more easily than your real name. What is your real name?'
'I don't want your mind games, John Harrison. I know all about me. Tell me something I don't know.'
'Alright,' John straightens, taking a breath, 'my name isn't John Harrison. It's Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes. But that isn't my name either. Not really. That man died a long time ago.'
'You're Sherlock Holmes.' Clutz repeats, 'no. No, that can't be. Sherlock Holmes died 2000 years ago. There is no way you are the same man.'
'2464,' Khan corrects, 'and you're right. Sherlock Holmes is dead. I am not the same man that I was.'
'She doesn't know you're still alive,' says Clutz, returning her sword to its sheath. It's obvious he doesn't feel threatened by it. It isn't doing her any good to hold it in front of him.
'Good,' Answers John, relaxing against the ledge of the lab table. He doesn't speak for a few seconds. For a moment, Clutz think he's talking about the sword. Then he speaks again, 'It's better that way. I am not the detective she once knew. Seeing what I have become will only disappoint her.'
'And you think she hasn't changed? You think your death didn't affect her? I've never met a person so cross, much less an automaton. She uses anger to cover her pain. She won't let anything but black touch her skin and I'm sure she hasn't taken off that stupid coat in a good hundred years. The only reason she came to see me was because she was tired of traveling alone. Not all impressions are wrong, Mr. Holmes. I deserve a little more credit than you're willing to give. So if you think your death didn't affect her, if you think she will just forget and move on, then you're not the genius I took you for. She's not human. Time will not heal her wounds. She will, can, never forget.'
Khan shakes his head, confusion furrowing his brow; 'she could easily delete me from her memory.'
'And what makes you think she wants to forget? She loves you, Sherlock. She needs to know you're alive.'
John looks down at the floor, eyes focused on nothing in particular. His face is rigid, cold, emotionless. It is a short while before he speaks again, 'you're right,' his hazel eyes flicker up to look at Clutz. They twinkle with a hint of sorrow, though his features remain plain.
'I am? 'Course I am. Right.'
'It will only be a minor adjustment to my plan.'
'And what exactly is your plan?'
'All in time, my dear Clutz. All in time,' Khan turns away, walking towards the door. He throws on his jacket with one fluid movement, sliding the metal box in his pocket.
'What, so you'll tell me all your darkest secrets, but you won't tell me what you're plotting? You're an evil man, John Harrison.'
He gives the slightest hint of a smile as he exits the hub, the door clicking closed behind him. Clutz tries to go after him, gripping the handle so tightly it detaches from the door. She looks down at the metal knob with a frustrated sigh, 'crap.'
John's leather boots clack on the smooth marble of the hospital steps. His long coat billows behind him as he enters the building. He avoids the check-in desk, swiftly making his way to room #5. A heart attack in the East wing keeps the staff occupied as he walks the sterile halls. His black ensemble juxtaposed with the dark walks is enough to catch the man's attention. His eyes flicker to Khan's with anticipation. He steps in to the room, reaching in to his pocket and pulling out the metal box. The man takes it from him, his dark skin contrasting with John's creamy complexion. The unnamed officer opens the casing, pulling out the contents.
'What is this?'
'A vile of my blood.'
'This will save her?' the man glances down at the weak child asleep in the hospital bed next to them.
'Yes.'
The man nods, sliding the glass vile back in to its slot.
'And this?' he lifts the ring, allowing the light to glint off of the etched surface.
'The other end of our deal.'
