Chapter-03:
It was an ink-drenched shroud, punctured to let in only specks of lights. Even the nearby planetoid was barren and lifeless. To most people, this infinity was enough to drown their self-worth. To him, it was infinite potential waiting to be realized. But not alone.
He awoke in a foreign place, being examined and scrutinized by an alien. This creature seemed human in all aspects, save for the pointed ears and unusually keen expression. The room, when he was able to focus through the waning effects of the sedative, was an infirmary. The few questions he managed to voice were answered by the pithy, pointed-eared doctor.
How long?
We estimate you have been sleeping for approximately two-hundred and sixty years.
My crew?
Safely recovered.
That was two days ago. Since then, they had denied him very little and introduced him to their computer systems so that he could pass the time in his recovery while educating himself on this strange new world what he found himself in. Just the same, they clearly didn't know what to do with him.
They prodded him with endless questions regarding his name, origin, and destination. Some questions were blatantly direct, such as whether or not he was the result of genetic engineering. It was obvious that he was, but he did not empower them with certainty. All the while, his crew—his people and only family—were maintained in their cryogenic sleep, stored away and referred to as little more than artifacts. They did not belong here, and he did not want to.
He sat quietly in his room, watching the field of stars pass by as the starbase moved slowly in its orbit around the planetoid. His so-called rescuers may have been courteous to him, but there were guards posted at his door. If they expected him to be contained for their entertainment, they obviously didn't know who he was.
There wasn't even a knock before his door suddenly hissed open. He listened as three sets of boots entered, one lighter than the other two. He kept his back against them his eyes fixed on the star field.
"Is it common hospitality in this century to post security officers at your guest's door?" he asked quietly.
"If you'd cooperate and talk to us, such precautions wouldn't be needed." The voice that replied was new. It was gruff, matter-of-fact, and generally repellent in its arrogance.
He turned to survey his callers. An Admiral, a Commander, and a red-haired Lieutenant. It was the latter who held his gaze the longest. The two superior officers made no attempt to hide their regard for him as a potential threat. It was how he was used to being seen. But the Lieutenant… a fine featured, but by no means frail, woman. She looked at him differently. She seemed to be smiling.
"Admiral Alexander Marcus," the arrogant one introduced himself with apparent anticipation of applause. "I've been told some interesting things about you."
"And I've read some interesting things about you, Admiral," he pointed to the nearby desk that held a computer. "A prestigious career."
The admiral's face soured a bit at the smug attitude. "We're not your enemies here. We can't much help you if we don't know who you are."
"By the laws of your Federation, neither can you harm us if you don't know who we are."
"If you are who we think you are, we could promise you your life." Such mercy somehow sounded unnatural from Marcus.
It was not yet easy to tell if this Starfleet was as knowledgeable as it praised itself to be, and he did not know if his people or even his name held any weight three hundred years after the dust of war had settled.
"And who am I?" He kept his voice cold, but severe.
"Khan Noonien Singh," a silken voice replied, but with a confidence and certainty that made his eyes flash to her, taken aback.
The admiral and commander seemed just as surprised, the former looking to her skeptically, then back to their mystery guest.
"Are you certain?" Marcus asked her. "What's this based on?"
Her eyes never left Khan, a small smile touching her full lips and her cheeks flushed ever so slightly. "Am I wrong?"
She ignored her superior officer and spoke directly to him. Her bravery, or perhaps stupidity, provoked an approving smirk from him. He was out of his time, yet she gave him the honor of recognition. She was the first thing to stand out in this world of conformity.
"You are not."
"Holy shit." The oath wisped out of the commander.
"That changes things," said Admiral Marcus. Taking his commander by the elbow, he pulled him towards the corner for a hushed conference.
The lieutenant, meanwhile, watched him with a childlike intrigue. "I'm a historian," she volunteered the information. "I've made a particular study of powerful figures in Earth history. I would know any Alexander the Great or Leif Erickson if they walked into the room. I know you."
She was not afraid of him, but she was not condemning him either. In fact, in those bright eyes of hers, he was sure he saw enthrallment. In spite of her rank, there was something superior about this woman.
"But I don't know you," he moved nearer to her. With each step, he could visibly see her heart pound harder in her chest. Yes, she was attracted to him. He extended a hand to her, palm up. "What is your name?"
"McGivers, Marla," her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, apparently at the automatic militaristic response.
Her hand rested on top of his. It was soft, warm, and could be crushed as easily as a bird's egg. His fingers had just begun to curl gently around her knuckles when the admiral and commander reappeared from their huddle. She withdrew from his grasp and stepped back, hands clasping at her back as she made room for her superiors.
"It seems in the best interest of all parties involved that the name Khan Noonien Singh fades away this very moment. That is, unless if you want to be subjected to a tribunal for your war crimes, which are among the few records to survive the war. Here's what'll be done…" The Admiral propped his fists on his hips, no doubt to convey some authority.
Khan only narrowed his eyes with merciful tolerance as he listened.
"Starfleet can use a man like you," the admiral showed some veneration. "God knows we're short on people who know how to fight a war, especially with the Vulcans always breathing down our necks about protocols and regulations. We have a war on our horizon with a race known as the Klingons. They're barbarians who have about as much regard for our 'logic' and 'morals' as a boot has for a beetle."
"It isn't my war," Khan almost wanted to laugh at his trifling cause.
"It is now," the Admiral's brow furrowed fiercely. "Whether or not you like it, you're in Federation space. As an Earth inhabitant you are subject to Federation laws. You could be put back into suspended animation with the rest of your crew and quite possibly be condemned to death. Or…" He changed his voice to make the alternative sound more appealing. "We assign you a new name, put you to work in whatever way you're most skilled. If I were you, I'd go with the latter. I think you'll agree we could all benefit from it."
Khan could feel the embers in his blood catching flame with insult. "If you were as wise as you flatter yourself to be, Admiral, you would provide me and my crew with a ship and allow us the freedom to continue on our journey. We were destined to forge on to prosperity, not follow in someone else's war."
"If the Klingons conquer this galaxy, you'll see just how small space can get and how quickly. You of all people should know how easily populations are conquered and manipulated."
Marcus spoke as though he knew what it was to live in those days. He was miserably ignorant and Khan craved to hear the snapping of his neck. But, the unfortunate truth was that Khan was equally as ignorant of the present time in which he occupied. He could not hope to advance or survive on his own until he learned more. He could not help his people. And Marcus was inviting him directly into the heart of the power of the Federation.
"And the rest of my crew?" he asked at last, keeping his voice level. "Will you wake them?"
"I don't think so," Marcus scoffed. "One of you is enough."
One is more than enough. "Then will you guarantee their protection?"
"It's guaranteed," he said with a confident nod. "We have highly equipped facilities to keep their cryo-tubes working and their vitals monitored."
The thought of his closest friends—his family—being stored like frozen meat was infuriating, but he breathed in slowly to maintain calm. "You said you wanted to employ by strongest skill." He canted his head slightly to the admiral. "What skills do you need?"