Chapter One: The Known Unknown
There were a hundred things James Kirk could be doing at this moment, and at least half of those options would have been relevant to the Enterprise's mission. Instead, he was sitting on a bed in the medical bay with one sleeve rolled up, waiting for a test he didn't need. The only part which made this remotely tolerable was the company.
Kirk propped his forearm carelessly against his knee while he craned his head over his shoulder. "I'd ask why we didn't do this yesterday if I didn't know we already had. You miss me that much?" he joked.
"Yeah, Jim, you caught me. I destroyed your blood work on purpose just to get you down here," Bones answered, his voice saturated with sarcasm.
Kirk leaned back against the wall, turning his head just enough to follow Bones' path. He maintained a smirk even while he spoke. "How is that possible? Isn't that supposed to take about three seconds?" he asked.
"When it works. The tricorder broke while processing the sample." Bones adjusted the settings on his medical tricorder as he approached the table. He removed a probe from the base of the device.
"So, even it thinks this is a waste of—ow." While Kirk was busy speaking, Bones jabbed the probe against Kirk's arm, taking the sample. Kirk flinched instinctively.
"If you're going to stab me, can't you at least ask permission?" Kirk asked. He lifted his hand, reaching for the point of contact.
Before Kirk could graze it, Bones pat his hand over the supposed injury and stepped away. "Suck it up, kid, it didn't even break skin. Stay put. This time, you're waiting here." Bones re-attached the probe to the base of his tricorder. He continued to watch the screen.
"Next time, you should invite me out for drinks. There's a port at Argelius II. You could find a girl, scare her off by frowning too much and wallow in drunken misery while I have a good time for both of us," Kirk quipped.
"Great idea, Jim. And tomorrow, you can captain a hundred men with a hangover."
"Killjoy."
Growing impatient, Kirk stood up. He took a few steps forward, approaching the doctor. "Seriously, Bones, we have to re-stock somewhere. We may as well enjoy it."
He was answered by the ding of the tricorder. Bones stared at the display, reading and re-reading the information. His eyebrows furrowed at the sight of it. "Your immune system's overactive, but it's not detecting a pathogen," he stated, sounding troubled by this in a way that Kirk failed to grasp.
"What, I had a cold?"
"Something's not right, that's what. I'll have to look at this more closely. Don't move." Bones set his tricorder back in its side container. He snatched a hair off of Kirk's head as he walked past.
Kirk raised his hand to his head, pressing his hair down. "What will that even do?"
Bones stopped beside one of the lab tables. He placed the piece of hair between two glass plates to seal the potential sample shut. "It'll cooperate."
At this point, not even joking around could get rid of the bigger issue here. Kirk let out a silent, impatient sigh, anticipating how little this would help, but he had to say it anyway.
"You've been going on with this cryptic crap for a year and a half. I wasn't dying and I'm not now," Kirk stated firmly.
Bones' eyebrows tilted in wordless disapproval. "You did die, Jim."
"Not from some galactic bacteria or whatever the hell else you're thinking it is. Have fun obsessing over nothing. I'm going to transport."
Before there was an opportunity for Bones to argue against him, Kirk began to walk towards the door. The automatic door slid open as he approached it. Bones set his slide down on the countertop and started to stride after him. Kirk increased his pace almost the same amount, avoiding him.
"If you don't wait, I can report you unfit for duty," Bones called to Kirk's back.
"On what grounds?"
"Recklessness, emotional distress and being a goddamn idiot!"
The sound was loud enough to make Kirk stop in the doorway. "Are you sure that's not you? You're delaying a mission because maybe I had an allergy."
As Kirk was just about to pass through the door, Bones took a few sprinting steps towards him. He grabbed Kirk by the shoulder, holding him in place. "Damnit, Jim, whatever it is you keep avoiding, you've made less sense than putting hot sauce in sweet tea. It isn't gonna stop until you talk about it or you get yourself killed, again."
Kirk placed one hand against the door frame. He looked back at Bones with a defensive glower. "You're a doctor, not my therapist. I'm telling you, I'm fine."
"That's reassuring," Bones said flatly.
The speakers in the medical bay switched on with a simultaneous crackle. Another voice called throughout the room, drawing Kirk and Bones' attention to the ceiling. "Captain, we have arrived at the designated point of access. Have you received medical clearance for your departure?" Spock asked, his voice echoing through the room.
Kirk reached into his pocket to take out his communicator. He flipped it open and spoke into it. Send Chekov to the transporter. I need someone to work the tricorder. I'll be there in five."
"You have not answered my question."
"Yeah, I'm set. Kirk out," Kirk lied. He grabbed Bones' hand inside of his own and pulled it off of his shoulder. "My pulse is steady. My vitals are clear. If I was any other officer, you'd have already told me to go," he stated, much calmer but still authoritative.
"You'd better check in when you're back on board," Bones hung on the end of his sentence, implying a second clause somewhere along the lines of 'or I'll wake you up at three in the morning and force you back here'.
Kirk smiled smugly back. "When you find out I'm right, you can buy me a drink for giving me a headache."
With that said, Kirk stepped through the door. He rounded a corner down the corridor and out of sight. The door sealed behind him.
Bones turned his back to the door. He walked across the room, back towards the counter. He switched on a microscope and picked up the glass plates of Kirk's sealed hair. He held the plate in his hand, examining the surface. It appeared to be sealed. He placed the plate into the microscope's stage and leaned towards the eyepiece.
Just as Bones was about to take a look, the speakers switched back online. Spock's voice sounded through the empty medical bay. "Doctor, what were the reports on the Captain's medical status?" he asked.
Bones pulled away from the microscope. He looked to the speaker. "I don't have a goddamn clue."
"Please state your name, Hayato Yamada," a robotic voice sounded through the featureless white chamber. A thirty-something Asian man in a lab coat stood in the center of it, holding his badge to the camera in front of him. He squinted at the lens, puzzled.
"You already said my name. Why would that even help?"
"I'm sorry. Our systems do not recognize that as a registered user. Please state your name."
"Hayato Yamada," the man repeated.
"Access cleared."
The line of a shadow cast across the back of the room as the door in front of him split apart. The wall descended into the ground, allowing the rest of the room to come into view. The expanse of the monochromatic reception area was almost as intimidating as the impeccably uniformed officer who was staring at a monitor on the adjoining wall. A live feed of the white chamber moved across the display.
"Voice recognition and tone monitoring. It's checking for eye movements, blood pressure, anything that might arise if someone's not worth trusting. Surely, you understand," the officer stated to the wall, calculated confidence emanating from every word.
The supposed Yamada his head, bowing in respect. "My apologies, vice admiral. It was only, I would've expected a password," he fumbled to explain.
"More nerve-wracking to stand by and announce yourself with a guilty conscience, or at least that's what the bull-shitters down at research and development had to say." The vice admiral waved his hand towards himself, signaling the other man to come inside. "I was told you had business with me?"
Yamada followed the gesture, entering the reception room. The wall to the security scanner slowly sealed behind him. "Yeah. I mean, yes. Doctor Cothi from the second division sent a request of subject transfer to Dublin. She wanted to ensure that the subject is ready as scheduled."
"That would depend on what the subject is."
"Cryotube alpha one. John Harrison."
The vice admiral paused, questioning internally if he had heard that right. Yamada stared back, tense with enough expectation to not be kidding.
"Well, someone's still a dreamer. She's asking for death in a tin can," the vice admiral said, struggling not to roll his eyes as he did so. "Tell her to send a formal request and proposal to the admiral and come back in a year. It'll take that long to book that catastrophe a shuttle ticket."
"We did, sir. The admiral cleared us yesterday," Yamada answered without hesitation.
The vice admiral paused again. "If that were true, I would've been notified long before you sauntered through my security," he argued.
"I swear, until two minutes into this conversation, I thought you had been."
The vice admiral and Yamada both paused for a moment, staring at each other from opposite sides of the room. Uncertainty hung between them. Yamada swallowed his tension.
"Would you mind checking the database? If she's submitted the clearance forms wrong, she'd want to know, so we can fix it," Yamada asked meekly.
Without a word of what he was doing, the vice admiral turned his back to Yamada and walked away. Yamada stood by, watching through narrowed eyes and general confusion as the vice admiral approached a desk. The vice admiral swiped his hand across a desk to turn on a monitor. He opened the intranet browser and ran a search on in-progress transfers. Sure enough, a sanctioned order from Dr. Cothi was listed among them.
With a deep breath that looked suspiciously like a sigh, the vice admiral turned off the monitor. "When exactly was Ms. Cothi hoping to pick up her psychopathic popsicle?" he asked across the room.
Startled by the sudden sound, Yamada rocked forward on his feet. "Today. Our crew's on standby."
The vice admiral hunched partway over the desk, unintentionally ducking out of view. He dialed a string of numbers against the blank glass and pressed a button on the desk, turning on the microphone inside. "Abernathy, Jackson, Kwon, please locate Green and bring him to the lower storage bay. Retrieve article 27-bz-92 and bring it to the north wing shipping dock. Keep a generator on hand while you do. It needs to be stable if you don't like spikes through your head," he commanded with calm authority.
A speaker built into the desk answered back. "Roger, sir. We'll be there in ten."
The vice admiral released the button. He turned his focus back to Yamada, watching him through a stare so sharp a knife would envy it. "Pull your ship out back. Green and Abernathy'll stay with you until it's situated. Log your crew and ID number with the front desk. I'll send my confirmation to clear you for entry," he explained.
Yamada smiled as subtly as possible. "Thanks, vice admiral. I apologize for the inconvenience."
The vice admiral stepped away from the computer. He shrugged. "Admiral gave her custody. Far as I'm concerned, I should put up a banner wishing it bon voyage," he dismissed, a little more annoyed than he had intended to show. He turned his back to Yamada and left the room.
Yamada stood his ground, observing the vice admiral until he was out of sight. He rolled up his sleeve and turned on his communicator.
Far outside of where Yamada was staying, a Federation freighter was waiting away and above an agricultural facility. Somehow, the ship's long, almost pistol-shaped frame made it appear small and bulky at the same time. The top nettle was inscribed with the identification number NCC-F1913; the USS Huron. The controls, which had been designed for three people, were currently being manned by two. Israfil sat facing the rear console, monitoring the controls. On the opposite side of the bridge, Azrael sat on the floor between two chairs, typing frantically at his control board. The section 31 administration page shined across the view-screen.
"Serra, pull the ship to the north dock. We've been cleared," Yamada's voice sounded through the bridge.
"Thank god. I've seen pyramids with fewer encryptions than their channels. Three more seconds and it'd driven me mad," Azrael spoke back to the screen, pausing mid-sentence as he struggled to multi-task.
Israfil's eyes shifted towards Azrael in a dull stare. "I was fairly sure you were mad already."
Azrael forced a lopsided smile. "Madder," he corrected. He leaned towards the helmsman's side of the controls, toggled to an exterior screen and flew the ship towards the building.
About ten minutes and two arguments about directions later, the USS Huron backed up to a shipping bay along the north side of the greenhouse tower. The setting sun shone through the glass walls, sending slight glares through the ship's window. Azrael remained focused on the exterior screen. The supposed Yamada stood at the side ledge of the docks, waiting.
The center of the dock slid open, revealing a ramp beneath the building. A crew of four people in uniform marched along each corner of a long cart. The sealed cryotube rest between them. The officer at the front left corner lifted his head to Yamada. "Which way inside?" he asked.
Yamada waved his hand in front of him, limply gesturing along with his instructions. "Straight up the ramp, round the left. There're restraints in the center. You'll know."
The leftmost officer nodded his head. He gave a forceful tug on his side of the cart and pulled the cart forward. The other three officers soon followed. They strode in unison up the ramp, towards the cargo bay. The cart rocked forward over the hump between the ramp and the floor, shaking slightly. Yamada pulled his hands behind his back and followed behind them.
The cargo bay was wide enough to hold a two-story home, yet it was strikingly barren. Only three boxes stood in the corner, all of which were sealed. A ladder planted at each side gave access to the upper deck which ran around the room.
Israfil stood along the back of the deck, observing the group from afar. Her hand hovered over a switch on the wall, waiting. The cart's wheels bounced against the surface as the final man stepped inside. She flipped the switch.
The leftmost officer raised his head. He squinted at the upper decks. He could vaguely make out the image of movement as Israfil strode gracefully along the wall. He opened his mouth, bracing to say hello.
Before a word could escape him, an electrical charge pulsed through the floor. The pulse ran into the metal cart and through the officers' hands, searing them instantly. All four of the officers' bodies convulsed as they collapsed to the ground. The leftmost officer's face pressed against the floor. Another spark ran through it, burning his cheek.
With his hands still behind his back and his head held low, Yamada stepped off of the ramp. He pressed two buttons on his wrist. The loading ramp began to rise, slowly sealing them inside.
As the light faded, Yamada's face began to twist, morphing back into his chosen default form. His hair pulled back into his body, a full beard grew from his face and his eyes began to widen and sink simultaneously.
Israfil extended her hand, turning the lights back on. She placed one hand on each side of the ladder and stared down to the lower level. "Should I dispose of the corpses, Osullo?"
"Set them outside. They'll need to file the report," the shape-shifter answered succinctly. He walked further into the ship, turning his back to her in the process.
Isra steadied one hand on each side of the ladder. She slid down the poles and landed cleanly on the floor. She stared down the long corridor, watching Osullo's back. "Shall I deactivate the cryogenic process?"
"Wait. We'll transfer to a proper starship with medical personnel. I'm trusting you're capable of removing the cargo!" Osullo shouted back, sounding authoritative yet kind and being as deceptive as ever.
Israfil stood alone in the near-vacant expanse of the cargo bay. She tapped her foot against one of the officers, nudging his body aside. She placed one hand on each side of the cart and rose onto the tips of her feet, examining the cryotube. She could barely see the outline of a body through the freezing condensation. Israfil raised a hand and wiped it across the glass. Her eyes lingered on the vague impression of Khan's face. "We'll have you soon, I promise," she whispered softly.
As Israfil continued to lose herself in the moment, the intercom flipped on. Azrael leaned too close to his microphone, sending a pulse of static even when he wasn't speaking. "Oi, Isra, did you get him?"
Israfil let go of the cart. She grabbed one of the corpses in a backwards embrace and hoisted it up. "We have the capsule. Whether it's Khan has yet to be determined." she stated, doubtful.
"Well, that's disconcertingly ambiguous," Azrael muttered.
As Israfil prepared to walk away, her focus drifted back towards the cryotube. Her rigidly straight posture seemed to soften with uncertainty. "...But it has to be."