KEEPERS OF THE TRUST
Book III
Ambassador Robert Wesley, waiting, with Captain Sulu and Commander Chekov, on Star base 16's Lobby, was feeling impatient. The Enterprise had left for Juno four days ago, Kirk leaving orders for the Excelsior to stay at the star base, along with the rather frustrated Ambassador. Wesley had wanted to go along with Kirk, but the Admiral had been adamant…
"Bob, we all know what Janner did in that park," Jim had said. "We know what he's capable of. Disturbing him in his lair will be extremely dangerous"
"But I was the one who put him down!" Wesley had protested. "I-"
" You almost died, Bob," Kirk had remained firm. "And Janner's still alive. You're the Ambassador here. You're not supposed to expose yourself to the dangerous aspects of this mission. Unless you want me to take this to Admiral Noguchi?"
That threat had settled the matter. Nobody in her/her right mind wanted to engage in a war of wills with Admiral Noguchi.
So, now, the Enterprise was gone, leaving Wesley fretting on the star base…
"We should've heard something from them by now," Wesley set his coffee-mug down with perhaps a little more force than was necessary.
"Don't worry, Ambassador," Sulu smiled. "You're talking about Admiral Kirk, remember? They're fine. But why isn't Lieutenant Santirez with you? I distinctly recall you telling him to stick by you. Like glue, you said."
Wesley sighed, not really fond of lying to Sulu. Chekov was staring into his coffee, seemingly not paying any attention. Wesley brought his gaze back to Sulu.
"Sanctuary Alliance wanted to meet someone from our mission now," he said. "Since I couldn't go, because of the Quest, I sent Lieutenant Santirez as my representative. The Alliance said his blindness wouldn't be a problem."
"I see," Sulu sipped his tea. "It's funny, in light of who he looks like, but I liked him. He was a good Fencer. I'm going back to Excelsior. Pavel?"
"Aye, Captain?"
"Why don't you stay with the Ambassador for a while? There isn't much to do until Enterprise returns."
"Aye, Sir," Chekov grinned up at Sulu. "You want me to make sure the Ambassador doesn't take the first freighter to Juno?"
Sulu glanced over at Wesley, who didn't look too happy.
"That's one way to put it," he said. "I'll see you."
Chekov waited until Sulu was gone.
"I hate keeping things from Sulu," he sighed.
"Me too, Pavel. I just had to lie to him," Wesley took up his coffee-mug.
"Khan's not with Sanctuary Alliance?" Chekov was stunned. Wesley shook his head.
"Actually, that part is true," he said. "But, he's not there as a diplomatic exchange. He's there because I don't think we can protect him anymore. At least, I hope he's there…"
Wesley found it profoundly relieving to talk to someone who knew the truth about Khan. The stress of keeping things from Sulu-a fellow Starfleet Officer-had brought more than its share of tension during the last few days. And Jan Freburg's information concerning Janner's vengeful proclivities…
The irony was that Wesley, still, had no clear idea of what he had done when he had confronted Janner. Khan said the crystal hilt had flared brightly…
No matter… There had been no choice. Kill or be killed…
He took a sip of his coffee, made a face. Cold. He hated cold coffee
"Ambassador," Chekov's voice brought him back to now. "Why is Khan so important?"
"There are several possibilities, Pavel, too many to get into now."
Just then, Sulu's voice came on the wall-intercom.
"I thought you'd like to know the Enterprise is coming back."
"Finally," Wesley stood, adjusting the sword in its scabbard.
Ambassador Wesley walked into Admiral Kirk's Ready Room about twenty minutes later. Dr. McCoy and Ambassador Sarek were also there.
"What took you so long?" he demanded. "I was ready to start climbing the walls!"
"Captain Sulu tells me you passed that point yesterday," Kirk replied. "Have a seat, Bob."
"How did it go?" Wesley asked as he sat down.
"Janner's long gone," McCoy said. "But he left a lot of stuff behind."
"What kind of stuff?"
"He had a Cloning Unit there," Kirk said. "The Director thought it was a new mental therapy device, like the Chair. He thought the Director had used it twice."
"Twice," Wesley repeated the word, horrified at the implications. "There's another one running around somewhere?"
"I've already sent word to Starfleet HQ about this. The clone could turn up anywhere; could do anything. It's a good thing Khan's safely out of this…"
"Are we sure he's safe?" Wesley asked.
"We weren't attacked on the way, or coming back, Bob."
"Which could also mean that Janner does have Khan," Wesley said.
"You're a real bundle of joy today, ambassador," McCoy observed. "Well, what's next?"
"We rendezvous with Jan Freburg," Sarek commented. "At the planet Quo H'mar."
"Yes," Wesley lifted himself from his seat. "But what will we find?"
"According to the information Mr. Freburg beamed over on our last encounter, there is a primitive society there. One of their chief Medicine Men is a Vani operative."
"You've got to be kidding…"
"I recall you telling me these people were everywhere, Bob," Kirk said. "This Medicine Man will help us with the rendezvous."
"Great," Wesley grumbled. "Now, we've got the Prime Directive to worry about on top of everything else. We'll be needing disguises, won't we?"
"Yes," Kirk replied. "Fortunately, Commander Uhura was involved in a covert study on these people some time ago. She'll design our costumes. You do understand we'll have to play the roles of gods?"
"As long as they're not Greek Gods, I really don't care," Wesley spoke earnestly.
Deadly Encounter
Jan Freburg was on the surface of Quo H'Mar, running for his life. His ship had been attacked and destroyed just after entering planetary orbit. Now, without Phaser to defend himself, or communicator to call for help, he knew he was a dead man. It was just a matter of time. But, this pursuit did have one positive meaning.
Khan's still free. They wouldn't be after me if they had Khan…
Still in Starfleet uniform, wig and medallion in place, hearing his pursuers just behind him, Freburg stumbled, but didn't fall. Then, something struck him in the back, throwing him to the ground, stunned, and out of breath. He heard the footsteps, more than one set. He only recognized Janner.
"We've got him," one of Janner's companions said. But Janner wasn't smiling now.
"We've been foxed," he said. "By experts."
He strode up to the fallen man, tore the wig off. His eyes widened in surprise.
"Jan Freburg?" he said. "What are you doing here?"
"Just protecting a friend from the likes of you," Freburg replied. He was going to die anyway…
"Where is he, then?" Janner demanded. "To use an old, rather hackneyed phrase, we have ways of making you talk."
"But I don't know where he is, Janner. The whole thing was designed to be a whole series of revolutionary cells."
"What's that mean, Boss?" one of the men asked Janner.
"It means Jan Freburg gets to die horribly," Janner replied, eyes beginning to gleam. "Tie him to the tree over there."
Janner's men did as ordered, binding Freburg to the tree. Then, Janner directed his men to go back to the ship.
"I don't think they need to see this," he explained, almost apologetically, to Freburg.
"See what?" Freburg asked. Then, he saw it…
Freburg's shrieks of agony shattered the peaceful evening air…
Khan Noonian Singh sat bolt upright in bed, bathed in sweat, shrieks of agony echoing in his skull. The dream…
Reaching for a bathrobe, finding it on the bedside table, Khan belted it on with trembling fingers. The Bathroom was also on the same side of the bed, and Khan found his way to it. There, he laved his face with cool water, hoping to wash the memory of that dream out of his mind. But there was no hope of that…
"Khan?" that was Danae, the AI that was the ship. "Are you all right?"
"Yes," Khan tried to still the trembling. "It was just a nightmare."
"Your pulse is up thirty points. Would you like a relaxing drink?"
"I…don't think that would help," Khan found his way back to the bed, pulled the blankets around him. He couldn't stop the shivering. The door beeped.
"Khan?" It was Keilan.
"Yes," Khan said. "Come in."
He heard to door slide open, smelled Keilan's perfume as she sat down beside him.
"Danae tells me you had a nightmare."
Khan tried to pull himself back together. It was just a nightmare. So why am I so frightened?
Jan Freburg, wrapped in silken spider-webbing, chest punctured again and again, writhing in agony as the poison took him…
There was no way it could've been true. No way at all…
Khan felt Keilan's hand on his shoulder, offering comfort.
"Lie back down, Khan, and get some sleep," she said. "Would you like me to stay with you?"
"Ah…" she was offering more than comfort, it seemed. "Thank you, but no. It would not be…proper."
Indeed, Khan still felt fresh grief over the death of Marla McGivers. This grief was all so new to him. All of the dreams he had envisaged, all of them had been destroyed in a matter of days. There was only one dream left to him now, and this one tasted of bitter ashes. To kill Janner, before he, himself, died…
The Gods Themselves
When the Enterprise and Excelsior arrived at Quo H'mar, they found something very worrying there. Jan Freburg's ship wasn't there.
"But we're picking up traces of a battle in the space around Quo H'mar," Sulu told Kirk from the Bridge of the Excelsior. "There's also debris in a high orbit which suggests a ship might've been destroyed."
"Use long-range scanners," Kirk ordered. "Make sure nobody sneaks up on us. If Jan Freburg's alive, he might've beamed down; he might be with that Vani operative. We'll try to get in touch with him."
"Aye, Admiral," Sulu switched off.
"Uhura," Kirk said. "Open up communications to the Vani operative. Maybe he's doing his Medicine Man act now."
Looking back, he saw the rest of the Dream Team. Ambassador Sarek was telling Dr. McCoy and Ambassador Wesley about all the different religious and theological art prevalent in the Federation. There was quite a lot of it. Sometimes, the art could be extremely realistic in the portrayal of a deity. Kirk knew that for a fact. He had met a god once…
Ever since then, Kirk had found it difficult to look at sculptures, or paintings, of Apollo without feeling an indelible sense of guilt. It didn't matter that, at the time, Kirk's actions had been necessary. It had been a frightening thing to realize he had killed a god…
Uhura was busy flipping switches. Then, she frowned.
"Admiral," she said. "I'm getting something. But I don't really know what it is."
"Put it on, Commander. We'll make sense of it as we go along."
What came out of the speakers sounded very much like a totemistic ritual; which, Kirk realized was probably exactly what is was. He caught Sarek listening intently.
"Any thoughts, Sarek?" he asked the Vulcan.
"There seem to be a few Federation Standard words mixed into the ritual," Sarek said. "It seems to be Admiral, please come…
Just then, over the babble, a new voice, raised high in song, said:
"If the Enterprise or the Excelsior are here, I'd really appreciate a divine visitation."
"Kirk here," the Admiral replied. "What can we do?"
Over the speakers, came the loud cries of joyous delight. The lead voice, still in sing-son, chanted on.
"Finally. Have you heard from Jan Freburg?"
"No, we haven't," Kirk sat forward on his Chair. "There appears to have been a battle overhead. We were hoping he'd be with you. But, if he's not, he might be dead."
"Oh, damn," still in singsong. "Could you beam down? I've got costume specs for four men, and I hope you've got a Vulcan with you."
"We do," Kirk assured him. "Why?"
"All the gods here are supposed to look like Humans and Vani," the chanting voice explained. "Except for the leader. He's always been represented as having pointed ears."
"There may have been a visit by Vulcan explorers," Sarek commented quietly. "Maybe an inquisitive native managed to get rather a better look than we would have preferred."
Kirk nodded, and then turned his attention back to the conversation at hand.
"All right," he said. "Will one Vulcan and three Humans do?"
"Splendidly," the singsong beamed. "I've just sent the specs, along with the names of the various deities. I've even got pictures to help you."
"I gather," Kirk said. "That we have to appear at certain times of the day?"
"Sunrise is usually best. That's about four hours away."
"Four hours, thirty-five minutes, and twelve seconds, to be exact," Sarek informed him.
"You do have a Vulcan with you. I'll see you at Sunrise."
Then, the man switched off. Kirk turned to Uhura.
"Did he send the specs?"
"Aye, Sir," Uhura responded. "They're here."
Studying the specs, she looked the four gods-to-be over carefully.
"Okay, Ambassador Sarek is the King. With that sword, Ambassador Wesley will make a great God of War…"
"Oh, for Pete's sake!" Wesley growled. Uhura looked up at him, her eyes twinkling.
"Keep it up, sir. It's perfect."
Wesley shook his head, muttering something rather rancid under his breath. Kirk had all he could do to keep from laughing out loud. Somehow, he managed.
"What about Bones and me?" he asked.
"The two of you are easy," she continued to look at the specs. "When that man called us, you were the one to answer, Sir. That makes you the Messenger of the Gods. Dr. McCoy?"
"Yes, dear?" McCoy was grinning.
"Talk about truth in advertising, you're the healer. I guess it's time we got started. We've only got a few hours to get you ready."
A few hours later, everyone was dressed and ready to go. Uhura had spent some time fussing over Sarek's costume. Then, she stepped back, looking at him brightly.
"You'll do, Ambassador. Turn around and take a look."
Sarek turned around to face the mirror, prepared for anything…
The reflection Sarek saw looked nothing like the image he normally saw there. The white robes, and toga, both trimmed with a material similar to gold, were one thing. But the face that stared back at him…
The skillful application of a wig and false facial hair, both long and flowing, had virtually transformed his features. Sarek was familiar enough with the concept of patriarchal religions to know that Uhura had done an excellent job. The long, white hair flowed past his shoulders, seeming to meld perfectly with the false beard that fanned out across his chest.
"My appearance as a patriarchal god seems well nigh perfect," he assured Uhura. "I do wonder, however, how Ambassador Wesley is handling his own transmogrification?"
"I'll check on him," Uhura promised. "Keep your ears uncovered, Sir. They're the reason you got this post. I almost forgot…"
She handed him a heavy wooden staff inlaid with symbols in ivory with a smile, saying:
"No patriarchal god is complete without one."
"Thank you, Commander."
Then, she was off to see Ambassador Wesley.
Robert Wesley was not very happy with his disguise. Not that it was a bad disguise per se. Rather, it was too good…
The long, lightly gathered trousers were okay. But that Roman Legionary breastplate, he thought, was a trifle overdone. Even so, he could've lived with that. But this blasted wig…
Riotous curls, of a red too red to be real, tumbled everywhere, into his eyes, around his shoulders, down his back. He had heard the phrase spitting hair before, had never expected to be in that position himself. The door buzzed…
"Come in" Wesley almost snarled, totally exasperated.
Uhura entered.
"Very nice, Ambassador," she said. "You'd better put your sword on."
"Uhura," Wesley bent to pick up the scabbard, red curls falling into his eyes. "I'm supposed to be a god of war. How can I be a god of war when I can't even see? I feel like a sheepdog."
"You'll make out fine," Uhura assured him. "Mere mortals won't want to take you on, and Janner isn't here."
"You'd better bloody hope not," Wesley muttered as he belted the scabbard on. Sliding the sword into the scabbard, he added. "I probably look ridiculous."
"No, you don't," Uhura's eyes got a mischievous look. "But red simply isn't your color."
Uhura led the two Ambassadors to the Transporter Room. Kirk and McCoy were both already there.
"Well," McCoy observed the newcomers. "You're both looking fine."
McCoy was dressed in robe of sky blue, with no toga. The wig, the same almost-black as his own hair, was long too, but tied back into a thick braid.
Kirk had trousers, and tunic, of a vivid emerald green. His wig, of a bright gold, was almost as curly as Wesley's, but much shorter, stopping at his shoulders.
Looking his friends over, Kirk was grateful McCoy had spared Sarek the Pitchforks and pointed ears routine…
Uhura had done an excellent job. Sarek, in particular, represented an intriguing image; although Kirk wasn't reminded of any god so much as he was reminded of that famous Durer self-portrait. Only the Vulcan's ears jarred that particular image.
And Ambassador Wesley…
"You look like a barbarian," Kirk chuckled.
"Thanks," Wesley spat out a lock of hair. "I wish I had something to tie this back with. This wig has a life of its own."
"Well'" Kirk said. "It's Sunrise, and that means its show time."
He looked at the transporter technician.
"Beam us down when the ritual reaches its high point."
"Aye, Sir"
It took a few minutes. Ambassador Wesley thought they'd never get there. Then, finally, he found himself, along with the others, standing in front of a large group of kow-towing hominids. In front of the mob, knelt a man who looked fully Human; or Vani, as the case may be…
This man cried out, at the top of his lungs.
"Please do, or say something! Don't just stand there!"
"My cue, I believe," Sarek murmured. He stepped forward, and announced, in a voice meant to carry over the crowd.
"I am here!"
The hominids shrieked, throwing themselves flat on the ground. The man, still on his knees, whispered harshly.
"Don't just stand there. Bless me."
Sarek hastily laid fingers on the man's bowed head, whispering:
"What should we do now?"
"Are you carrying Universal Translators?"
"Yes, we all do."
"Then tell them I'm so highly favored by you that you're taking me up to Heaven for a brief visit."
Sarek turned his Translator on, made the required announcement. The hominids moaned in fearful ecstasy, as Kirk whispered into his communicator.
"Five to beam up now."
The man relaxed when they were all in the Transporter Room.
"There was a battle, and Freburg was involved?" he asked.
"It looks that way," Kirk replied. "He might've beamed down. Would it be all right to send out a search party? He could be injured."
"Only if they're willing to dress up," the man said. "Your Prime Directive is a good philosophy to go by. I wouldn't even be here if it weren't for, well… You know… By the way, my name here is K'taal. I don't want you knowing my real name, much safer that way for all of us."
"Agreed," Kirk looked at the man. A Vani, and I would never have known unless Freburg told me…
"Admiral!" Uhura's voice sounded over the intercom. "I'm getting something from K'taal's people. They sound scared."
"Pipe it here," Kirk ordered. K'Taal paled as he listened.
"They've found something," he whispered.
Kirk, and the others, went back to the transporter platform.
"Find out where they are, and beam us there!" Kirk ordered.
The five men found themselves in a beautiful glen, not very far away from the hominid settlement. Terrified hominids ran up to K'taal, grabbing his hands, bowing to the visitors, speaking in their harsh, guttural language. One didn't need PSI powers to sense the fear in the air. The group was led to a nearby tree. A silk-shrouded figure dangled from the tree…
Kirk grabbed K'taal's shoulder, steadying him.
"You're the Shaman, dammit! Don't pass out!"
His words notwithstanding, he felt fairly close to passing out himself. Although wrapped up in silken spider webbing, the body was instantly recognizable as Jan Freburg. His arms had been bound together, high over his head; Kirk would see the wire binding the wrists together through the silken stuff. He had been wearing a Starfleet uniform. Now, it was slashed and torn, leaving the muscular torso naked.
"Oh my god…" Kirk heard Robert Wesley just behind him.
Freburg had died in agony; his torso bearing the marks of a…spider's…bite…on the ribcage and belly…
Kirk brought his gaze up to the face, swathed as it was in silken strands. The dead eyes stared back at him, pupils dilated, unseeing…
Brining himself back to the needs of the moment, Kirk said:
"We'd better get him down from that tree."
"I would suggest beaming the body directly to Sick Bay," Sarek spoke quietly. "The webbing can be stripped off his body more easily there."
"Agreed," Kirk nodded, intensely thankful for Vulcan logic at this moment.
"Bones," he said. "Get the body up to Sick Bay. I want to know how he died."
"Thanks, Jim," McCoy muttered darkly. He walked up to the body. A minute later, he and the dangling, silk wrapped body were gone. Kirk turned to the Vani operative. K'Taal had a dazed expression…
"K'Taal," Kirk said. "Snap out of it! Did he send you any messages at all?"
"Just one, Admiral. He said the mission was accomplished. Whatever he meant by that."
"When Dr. McCoy is finished with the autopsy, do you want the body for Last Rites?"
"Thank you, Admiral. I would."
Back on the Enterprise, Kirk didn't even bother to change uniforms. He went directly to Sick Bay, followed by Wesley and Sarek. They found McCoy, already in Medical fatigues, staring at the body.
The spider silk had been mostly wiped away, just a few strands remained, in his hair, and one or two stubborn strands glued to the naked torso. Now, they could see the total of what had been done to Freburg, the puncture wounds, and the blood that had trickled from his nose and mouth, along with other body fluids…
It hadn't been an easy death by any stretch of the imagination…
"So, what killed him?" Kirk asked.
"A giant tarantula, I'd say," McCoy answered.
"That narrows it down, doesn't it?" Wesley said. "Janner turned into one when he attacked us in the park. It looks like he took his time with Freburg."
McCoy drew a sheet over the corpse.
"What do we do now?" he asked Kirk.
"K'Taal wants the body. Prepare the body, give it to K'Taal, then we are getting out of here."
A Klingon, a Bar, and Two Dinnetarans
The Danae had reached her destination, pulling into orbit around Shadcombe IV. Keilan guided Khan to the transporter platform, explaining why they had to beam down, if they were only picking up two Dinnetarans.
"The only things any of us know are our own assignments. And what you look like. It'll be the same with them. They've got their assignment, but they won't move until they've seen you."
"You said they were big?"
Keilan felt relief. Khan had been so silent these last few days…
"Yes, they're big, Khan. They average around three, to four, of your meters. I don't know your weight systems quite as well, but they're not beanpoles, if you get my drift. We'll have to be careful. The bar we're going to is a little rough. The Galaxy's worst come here. Klingons come here too. But I guess they come here for the action."
"I've been told Klingons are natural fighters," Khan spoke quietly.
"Yes, they are," Keilan squeezed his arm. "I've been told the Klingons are a lot like the Vikings of your Earth."
"I would like to meet them one day."
"Maybe one day," Keilan agreed. "For now, I've got to keep my eyes peeled for our Dinnetarans."
The pub they entered was a large one, smelling of Romulan Ale, and Saurian Brandy. Khan could hear voices, in languages he had never heard in his life, some raised in joy and song, others sounding quite argumentative.
"Look where you're going, you idiot!"
Someone shoved Khan into a wall.
"Khan!" Keilan's voice was filled with alarm. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," Khan straightened, a sudden, icy-cold rage filling him. "Has no one here mastered the term Excuse me?"
"You were in the way," a deep voice spoke nearby. "I had no time for Terran trivialities."
"Khan," Keilan's voice held a warning note. "That's a Klingon Warrior."
"I wouldn't care if he was the Pope," Khan replied, aiming his gaze roughly where he guessed the Klingon was. "Even the greatest warrior knows that politeness is paramount."
"What do you know about me?" the Klingon demanded, a slight slurring in his voice indicating he was drunk. "I am a great warrior."
"You are a rude warrior as well."
"Khan!" Keilan hissed. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"
Khan couldn't help it. This… putz … was asking for it. Literally. Khan could hear the sudden silence in the pub as everyone there began to focus on the brewing fight.
"Do you know what I am?" the warrior demanded. "I am a Klingon warrior!"
"I wouldn't care if you were Kahless himself," Khan remembered the name from the recent histories. "You don't shove people aside like that. It shows considerable lack of manners."
"And you feel yourself qualified to teach me manners?" there was no mistaking the menace in the Klingon's tone.
"If your parents failed to do so I don't think anyone else would have much luck either."
That was, apparently, the last straw. The Klingon raised a mighty roar, and rushed Khan. Khan was prepared for it. As the Klingon grabbed one arm, Khan moved. Grabbing the Klingon's arm, he moved quickly, hurling the Klingon over his shoulder. The Klingon sailed right over the bar-counter, crashing into the display case of rare beverages behind the counter. Everything crashed to the floor; the Klingon, the glass display case, all the bottles, and the entire pub went silent as everyone realized a blind man had taken on a Klingon' and the Klingon, lying amidst broken bottles, wasn't getting up again…
"Khan!" Keilan's voice was shaking. "Are you all right?"
"Yes, he hardly touched me."
"That was impressive," another voice, much deeper than the Klingon's voice, said just behind them. "I never expected to see a blind man best a Klingon in unarmed combat. That's something I'll remember to the end of my days."
Khan didn't bother to turn around.
"Unless you're Dinnetaran, I'm not interested."
"He is," Keilan's voice was happy. "They're here."
"Good," Khan said. "Let's get out of here before I really lose my temper."
Back on Danae, Khan realized he felt better than he had for a long time. Maybe I needed to have that bout with that Klingon. The Lord knows he had it coming…
Following Danae's murmured guidance, Khan made his way to the Bridge. If he could've seen the Bridge, he might've felt misgivings. It had the look of being designed for royalty, opulence; an attention to comfort that might've alarmed him.
"Khan," Keilan sounded happy to see him, as usual.
"Keilan," Khan felt around for a nearby seat. "Are the Dinnetarans here?"
"Yes. They're Jaim, and Halan. Say hello, guys."
Jaim and Halan said "Hello" in voices deep enough to belong to the pit of doom. Judging by their voices, Khan could tell they were tall, as tall as Keilan had said they would be.
Nine to twelve feet tall…
Experimentally, Khan held out a hand to each Dinnetaran took the offered hand; Khan felt his own hand get engulfed in the other hand.
In size, I must seem like a child to them…
"You'll have to tell Danae our destination," he said aloud.
"I know," Jaim murmured. "But, first I bring sad news. Jan Freburg is dead."
"The news hit Khan hard.
"How?" he asked. But, he knew…
"It was Janner," Halan put in. "Jan Freburg died hard. That is all we shall say of it."
Khan felt profoundly shaken. All of these people are dying to protect me. What am I to them?
"Where do we go from here?" he asked
"We go to Keir J'Taal of the Shao."
He taught Robert Wesley," Khan remembered hearing the tale.
"Robert Wesley was fortunate," Jaim said. "He was taught by the greatest of the Shao," he turned to Danae's vocal interface. "We go to the Shao priest. Do you hear?"
"I hear," Danae responded. "Khan?"
"Why ask me? Of course we go there."
"Thank you, Sir," Danae headed off into space.
A Dream Team Meeting
The Dream Team assembled for their daily Breakfast meeting. Not that anyone had much appetite this morning. But they did have their meeting.
"Dreams, anyone?" those were the first words out of Kirk's mouth.
"A few," Wesley admitted. "But nothing to do with Matt, or Spock. Just your average garden-variety nightmare. Did you get any clues at all while you were at Juno?"
"Sort of…" Kirk replied.
"Sort of?"
"Bob, when Janner left, just after Khan's escape, he told three different people where he was going. Trouble is, he named three different places each time."
"Then we must check each location out," Sarek said. "What are the names of the three planets?"
"Marisan, Nova Chalcedon, and Avalon," Kirk replied. "I wish I knew where Khan is right now. He could've been killed. Or, worse, taken by Janner by now."
"He's still alive, and free, as of last night," McCoy said. Chekov got a report from a friend of his on Shadcombe IV late last night. It seems a blind man got into a fight with a Klingon last night. According to Chekov's friend, the Klingon got the worst of it."
Khan took on a Klingon?" Kirk was incredulous.
"It sure looks like it, Jim. Apparently, the Klingon was drunk, throwing his weight around, shoving people around. He apparently shoved Khan, and Khan…shoved right back."
Kirk smiled, trying not to laugh.
"It looks like there's one Klingon who picked the wrong patsy. I trust Khan wasn't hurt?"
"Not at all, although the Klingon was down for the count. Khan apparently entered the pub with a woman. They left a few minutes after the fight, with two, extremely large humanoids."
"How large were they?" Wesley asked.
"According to Pavel's friend, they were about nine, or ten feet tall."
"Sounds like they met some Dinnetarans," Wesley mused. "At least Khan's still free. You have no idea how relieved I feel."
"I think I've got a good idea," Kirk smiled. "And it's nice to know he can still handle himself in a scrap. To business… of those three planets, which is closest?"
Sarek glanced up from the computer screen.
"Marisan," he said. "It's four days away at our present speed."
"Good," Kirk Commed the Bridge. "Lieutenant Saavik, change course and heading for Marisan."
Glancing at Wesley, he added:
"Bearing recent events in mind, I'd appreciate it if you would stay on the Excelsior for a while."
"Come on, Jim!"
"Bob, we've seen how Janner kills. Or have you forgotten Jan Freburg?"
"Jim, the Speaker laid this Quest on me. I'm the one who has to go out there."
"The Speaker doesn't want you to get yourself killed un-necessarily either," Kirk pointed out. "This Quest isn't the token gesture we thought it was going to be. It's every bit as dangerous as Frodo's Ring."
"I hate this," Wesley growled. "How I wish I were an Admiral again. What I can't understand is what made J'Taal decide to teach me the Shao Sword. Apparently, the Shao don't normally go out recruiting among non-Shao. Why me in the first place?"
"Maybe he saw something in you," Sarek set his tea down. "If I may ask, when did this begin?"
Wesley sighed, collecting his thoughts.
"It started a few weeks before that M5 experiment. I was on Shore Leave when I met J'Taal. We seemed to click as friends. One morning, I was out doing my morning exercises; I noticed he was out too, doing his morning exercises, including Sword Forms. We got into a discussion about it; he started teaching me a little bit right there. Later, after M5, I got a big surprise. He got himself invited to be a special kind of Liaison to the Federation. Guess what ship he chose?"
"The Lexington," Kirk grinned. "Looks like he didn't want to let you go."
"No, Jim. He didn't. He said I had the instinct for it. He also said I might be capable of more, but it would have to wait. And that is the whole, unvarnished story. Okay?"
Reunion
Danae finally arrived at her destination. The planet, in no known registry, wasn't even in the registry of Sanctuary Alliance. That struck Khan as odd. But HQ, as everyone called it, was the chief nexus of the Network; the group of people risking-and giving-their lives for him…
For me. Why does this feel so new?
Three hundred years ago, he had ruled one quarter of the Earth's population. There had been assassination attempts there as well. And Khan had accepted that and the inevitable bodyguards as part of the price one paid to be a world leader.
So where does this feeling of newness come from? As if I didn't know…
Back then, he never truly believed that he had limits of any kind. He was a King in every sense of the word.
My parents even named me thus, knowing I would be King. But now, I see I didn't rule wisely.
Now, his world had been destroyed right under his feet. His people, those last few who had been loyal to him through all of the Eugenics Wars, were all dead. And Marla McGivers, too, was dead.
All because of actions taken, or not taken, by him…
Sitting there, in his quarters aboard Danae, Khan was reading historical records of Sanctuary Alliance. They had come from a different universe. In fact, they traveled between universes quite easily-with impunity, even-settling small planets wherever they wished, gathering incredible amounts of information that people within the Federation would probably never see.
Their written history was stupendous, going back at least twelve million years…
The door buzzed, sliding open at a word from Khan.
"How's the study coming along?" it was Keilan.
"It's…coming along," Khan shrugged. "I had no idea you history was that vast."
"We do go back a bit," Keilan agreed. "But, you must remember we are Technically Immortal. We don't die of what people here call Old Age. We can die of virtually anything else. But not by growing old."
"Amazing," Khan turned the computer off. "Why is that?"
"I don't know. I'm not a White Eyes Medic. But that's not what I wanted to tell you. We've arrived at our destination."
"We're here?" Khan got to his feet. "What do we do now?"
Well, Jaim, Halan, and I, escort you down to the surface. There, you'll meet Keir J'Taal, and a friend of his called Jose. Are you ready?"
Presently, the four people beamed down to the planet. Khan, feeling Keilan's hand on his arm, sensed they had beamed into the middle of a large gathering. He heard the crowd settle into a low murmur.
We were expected…
He heard Keilan speak into the whispering silence.
"I am Keilan," she announced. "And I have brought him. He is Khan Noonian Singh."
"Indeed, you have," another voice spoke. "After many perils and dangers, he has come to us, as it has been foretold in ages past."
"Aye," another voice responded. "But, is he the one? He is blind. The Prophecies never said that of him that he should come to us without sight. Who shall vouch for him; say that he is the one we have waited for?"
The first voice seemed to sigh.
"There is one here who shall give you all the proofs you desire. Come forward, Jose, and tell us. Is this Khan Noonian Singh?"
"He is," another voice responded, a voice Khan did recognize, a voice he had never thought to hear again since the day he had been told all his people were dead…
"I would know him anywhere," this voice responded. "It truly is Khan Noonian Singh."
Khan's legs felt weak from the shock. Keilan spoke up.
"Now that we've settled that," she said with just a hint of asperity in her voice. "Could someone please fetch a chair?"
"Yes, of course," the first voice said. "Jose?"
A minute later, Khan was seated, Keilan, still keeping a protective hand on his shoulder. Khan looked pale, as if he had seen a ghost; which was nothing but the unvarnished truth…
"Is Jose here?" he asked, genuine fear in his tone.
"Yes, my lord," Jose was standing right in front of him.
"Joachim," Khan whispered, wonder in his voice. "You're alive."
He sensed the other man kneeling before him, felt the strong hands pat his shoulders, almost as if afraid that Khan was a ghost too…
Reaching out a hand, he touched Joachim's shoulder.
"How did you escape?" he asked. "Did any others escape?"
"I'm sorry, my lord, but none else escaped," Joachim replied, getting the bad news over with first. "The only reason I escaped was because I tried to attack the man who stunned you. He wound up taking us both. He cloned me, and then set me free, saying I wasn't important enough to keep, and I was too inconsequential to kill. I spent most of my time on Juno trying to find you. But I didn't know where to start, or who to ask about that sort of thing. Finally, a man called Will came to me. He told me there was nothing I could do right then, except to go to a place called Sanctuary Alliance, and wait until I was needed. He found a freighter willing to take me in return for work, and they took me here. I've been waiting here ever since. They have some strange prophecies concerning you."
"What kind of prophecies?"
"I don't know," Joachim shook his head. "It's all as if you are a King of theirs. Are you?"
"Am I what?"
"Their King?"
"It's hardly likely, Joachim," Khan assured him. "We're Terran, right?"
"Yes," Joachim agreed. "But they're so certain of your importance to them. Speaking of which, Keir J'Taal wants to speak to you."
"Well, Khan," the voice of the leader spoke. "I gather you've had a rough last few months?"
Khan almost laughed. A rough last few months? That didn't even begin to describe it.
"You could say that," he agreed.
"I'm sorry," J'Taal said. "I've been told of your recent losses. Sadly, there was nothing we could do. There is, however, something we might be able to do about your blindness. If you will submit to an examination by a White Eyes Medic, corrective measures might be applicable."
"Dr. McCoy told me this is permanent," Khan said. "What sort of corrective measures are you talking about?"
"We'll see what the White Eyes says first. Rhian, look at him. Tell us what may be done."
Khan felt a long, slender hand touch his face lightly, fingers spreading across his eyes, gently stroking his forehead.
"Yes," Rhian spoke. "The blindness is permanent. The optic nerves can't be regenerated. But we can make a neuro-net for him, and weave it into all the clothing he wears. It won't be normal sight, but he will be able to see. It'll be ready for him in a few days. J'Taal?"
"Yes. It's time for Khan to meet his new friends. No, Khan. Don't get up. The people are here."
"J'Taal," Khan aimed his gaze roughly in the other man's direction. "You say you have been waiting for me. Why? What am I to you?"
"It's because of what you are," J'Taal replied.
"Because of my coming from a eugenics breeding program?" Khan was more than a little stunned.
"No, Khan," J'Taal spoke patiently. "You were placed there as a protective measure. That's not where you originated. You are one of the last descendants of a very important royal line. When you have rested from your journey, I shall tell you more of this. For now, here are the rest of our friends."
Khan felt the people gather around him, some touching him with trembling hands, as if her were a religious icon of some sort. One man, Darin, said:
"I'm sorry for doubting," his was the voice who had demanded proofs of Khan's identity. "It's only that we have waited for so long."
"What have you been waiting for?" Khan asked, feeling an intense need to know.
"When the time comes you shall know," Darin said. "Come, Joachim! A place has been prepared for him to rest in comfort."
Joachim took Khan's arm, guided him down a long hall. The younger man said nothing until they entered the quarters prepared for Khan.
"Are you hungry, my lord?"
"No," Khan reached out, touching Joachim's face. "I'm amazed you're here. Is there any tea? Or coffee?"
"We have both," Khan could hear Joachim's smile. "What would you wish to do, my lord?"
"You could bring me up-to-date on these people, Joachim," Khan took a seat. "You've been living with them. Surely you must have heard something about this prophecy of theirs."
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