Thank you for the great reviews, Tishbing.
To Cat4444 - I agree you can say unequivocally that there are no Redwoods or calfing glaciers in BC in the 21st century. But what about the 23rd? What about global warming? Okay, seriously, you caught me. My apologies. Thanks for the encouraging words.
Star Fleet Headquarters
Spock and McCoy were both panting after their sprint across Star Fleet's vast campus in San Francisco. They had located Mr. Scott in an engineering research lab. A quick explanation and they had the man scrambling to find them a way to London.
"Now, Doctor," said Spock. "What is going on and is Jim in danger?"
McCoy hesitated before answering. "Yes," he said then, "No. Christ Spock, really I don't know. Not without more information. But I can tell you what I do know."
McCoy stood, arms akimbo staring out the window. "What you do know as we all do - is that Khan is a remnant of the Eugenics Wars - twentieth century science's attempt at improving the human genome. And boy, were they good at it. Men and women who were five times as strong; twice as intelligent. Super men or so they seemed at the time."
McCoy collected his thoughts and continued, "But those scientists were limited by their understanding of genetic engineering. It is one thing to take a red flower and a blue flower and make a purple one. Humans have been breeding animals and crops for superior characteristics for millennia. But to successfully target genetic sequences with advanced characteristics without some sort of side effect, well that is sophisticated shit. "
"The paranoia that followed the Eugenics Wars muddied the waters. Databases around the world were scrubbed of all knowledge of the techniques used. No one wanted to see a Frankenstein created in some one's garage using information found on the old Internet. Today, it is very hard to find out what they did in any detail at all. I believe it still exists somewhere. I just don't know how to access it."
"Now, fast forward to the 22nd century, where there were thousands of left over eugenics embryos stored in a secure off-world facility. Secure, my ass. A rogue scientist manages to steal some and raise them as his children. He wanted to breed out the aggressive behavior. Once again, some jackass thought he could improve the human genome and once again, the results were disastrous. This time, the Klingons thought we were weaponizing this shit and through a series of misguided events - a mutagenic virus was born that nearly wiped out the Klingon Empire. No wonder those guys are reluctant to be our friend. I wouldn't like us either."
Spock interrupted, "For the sake of brevity, may I assume that the genetic research from the 22nd century is also unavailable, Doctor?
"Not a trace," said McCoy. "Now, fast forward again to the modern era. A superhuman created in the 20th century is awoken from cryo-sleep. He uses the restorative properties of his unique genome to bribe a father into an act of terror, so he could obtain transwarp beaming technology. Miraculously, his sick daughter beats certain death. But no one is quite sure how Khan did this. When I obtained a sample of Khan's blood, I was asked by Star Fleet medical to evaluate it. I injected a platelet-based extract into the necrotic tissue of a dead Tribble. The rest is history. To sum up, Jim is alive because I took a lucky shot in the dark."
"Brevity, doctor, brevity. While I'm still young." Spock interrupted again, "I'm sure it wasn't all luck."
McCoy glared at Spock. "This is the question. Is the instability that is inherent in twentieth century genetic engineering - is that what killed Lucille Harewood?"
"The same issue that nearly devastated the Klingon Empire 100 years ago?"
McCoy mood was somber. "Yes."
Spock meditated for a moment and said, "And then there's Jim."
"Yeah, well. The man's a walking time bomb," said McCoy. "I'm almost positive."
Scotty came running up to the two men. "Don't you worry about finding that mad bastard. He's probably in his apartment right now locked up with a gorgeous Andorian female."
"Mr. Scott, do you have a ride for us?" said Spock.
"Yes. The transwarp beaming device from the crash. I have it here. It's in pretty good shape, all things considered." Scott put the mechanism on a table with a thud.
McCoy's stomach turned. "It survived the crash?"
"And the bombing," said Spock.
Scotty slapped McCoy on the back. "You're not afraid of little beaming, laddy? She's fine; Khan went all the way to Qo'noS with it. You're only going to London."
"Great," said McCoy. The things I do for you, Jim.
"Off you go then," said Scotty.
Harris,'s Luxury Apartment, Pike's Place, Seattle.
Sometimes a man has to admit some things to himself, thought Jim. I am in awesome shape.
He had just finished a work out in Harris's private gym. He was nude to the waist, dressed only in shorts and a towel around his neck. Sweat was streaming off his body. In another room he could hear Harris sparring with his training coach. The life of the very, very rich, thought Jim.
Once again, he was hitting personal bests in the weight room. It made him think of McCoy, that old woman. He would be fussing with his tri-corder, if he told him. Just go with it, he thought. So what if Khan's super blood was taking his body on a bit of rocket ship ride to the moon. He could use the extra help at healing. One way or another he always seemed to be getting into a fight.
He stood in front of the mirror and admired his guns. In the past, no matter how hard he worked, there was a certain pudginess to his muscles. Not now. He felt great. The typical after work-out soreness was absent.
He started to walk towards the showers when Harris's training coach came in the room. A large specimen of a man, he was cut and bruised. They must fight rough, thought Jim.
"Mr. Harris was wondering if you would like to spar with him?" he said.
Jim thought then nodded. He certainly felt good enough to take on Harris. He told himself to pull the punches a bit. No reason to hurt the man. He followed the coach into the next room.
There was a regulation sized boxing ring set up. Harris was dressed in a singlet. No protective headgear or gloves. Huh, thought Jim. Those won't be as civilized as at the Academy gym. But Jim had been through his share of bar fights - so a little mano-a-mano with a middle aged businessman didn't scare him. Although, he had to admit, Harris looked like he was in pretty good shape.
"Just fists," said Harris indicating the use of feet was out. Jim had been originally trained for high school boxing so this was his preferred style.
They circled the ring, fists up. Jim scored the first jab, landing a quick jab to Harris's chest. Then with lightening speed Harris landed two, one to his eye. Jim fell back against ropes. Okay, he thought surprised, no more Mr. Nice Guy.
Harris was quick and Jim had to work to keep up with him. The next five minutes he landed more punches than he could ever remember. Harris too, was hitting his targets with greater intensity. Jim could not remember a fight with such ferocity. He mind was blank, concentrating on nothing but the present. The here and now.
A bell clanged through the fog of the fight. Harris stopped instantly and walked back to his corner. Jim stood panting at center ring. He looked down at his knuckles which he knew from past experience would be cut and bruised. He flexed them. They weren't even sore.
He looked up. Harris was watching him closely. Suddenly, he realized that Harris was not cut. And he could see no bruises. This was not possible. Who was Harris?