Chapter-05:

The occasional company of Lieutenant Marla McGivers in his quarters was a small distraction from the torturous labor he was forced to endure. It wasn't exhaustive work, at least not physically. It would take the equivalent of experiencing three train crashes or more to make him break a sweat. No, it was trying to his otherwise indomitable spirit. His pride was gradually being worn down at its sharp edges by the grip that Admiral Marcus had on him. Had he been without ties, Khan would cheerfully antagonize and rebel against him and enjoy his victory of Marcus's blood dripping from his hands. But he could not lash out for fear of what would happen to his crew.

Admiral Marcus had left Starbase 12 within a week after Khan's revival and returned to San Francisco. His trusted officer, Commander Lassiter, was left to oversee the program that Khan was now implemented it; to make certain that Khan was indeed capable of improving the weapons currently in use by Starfleet.

Meanwhile, Marcus refused to allow Khan to see the cryo-tubes with his own eyes. They expected him to take their word that his crew was being stored somewhere on Starbase 12 and that they were safe. With every passing day that he did not see his crew, he was increasingly less pacified and was increasingly resolved to find and free them. On Earth, they had looked to him for leadership. Though they were all augments, Khan exceeded them all. Therefore, it was his duty to save them from this Federation of mediocrity and hypocrisy.

But even with his superior genes and experience, he simply could not be in two places at once. He needed an accomplice if he was ever to gain freedom. A plan was simmering in his mind, pieced together by intellect but strengthened by his unparalleled zeal.

Nearly four weeks passed where he would intermittently find Marla coming to his room or, on at least one occasion, waiting for him inside. It would have been a lie to say he dreaded the sight of her. In fact, he was surprised to feel that twinge of disappointment when she was not there. As demure she often seemed, she had a suppressed quality of strength about her that he felt the desire to draw out. He wanted to see what would happen when she was provoked into action or backed into a corner.

In the late hours of the standardized day, Khan returned to his room. It was a long and productive day, but his mind was on fire with what needed to be done. When the door wheezed open to his quarters the lights were already on. He hoped it was Marla, but he was ever alert and presumed nothing. When he turned the corner, there she was slouched gracefully in a chair, her head lulled to the side and her breathing shallow with sleep. By the seemingly awkward position it was evident that she had no intention of falling asleep there. He had kept her waiting too long and something reminiscent of guilt panged him.

Whether awake or asleep, Marla was beautiful. He was well aware of it from the moment he first saw her. Her hair was a startling shade of red against the neutral colors of the uniform that clung to her curves. There were many reasons why he yearned to get her out of that uniform…

She didn't stir when he entered, sleep having too strong a hold on her. Carefully, he slipped one arm beneath her bare knees, the other coiling at her back to cradle her against him. She might as well have been a pillow, she was so easy to move. Carrying her to her own quarters—which were on the other end of the Starbase—would have been idiotic. Not only would it advertise his association with her, but it would demonstrate compassion in him that he was not prepared to show. He was residing in enemy territory, they did not need to see that he had weaknesses. And waking her? Her vulnerability just now made him all the more intent to keep her.

Her relaxed body was laid carefully on his practically untouched bed, the red tresses of her hair spilling over the pillow with such likeness to fire that it made his breath catch. He flattered himself with his superior willpower, but it was with some effort that he walked away from the beauty that now slumbered in his bed.

Dimming the lights around her, he moved silently to his desk. There was something on top of it that made him pause and stare. It was a small stack of books. The last time she visited him, they had fallen into the topic of literature, discussing the great classics that hadn't lost their profoundness throughout the centuries. Moby Dick, Paradise Lost, The Inferno, King Lear; four books that had once occupied his own personal library in his days as a prince. Four books that contained the best and worst of the human soul and never failed to speak to his.

It moved a stinging nostalgia within him to see fragments of the past that were as out of place as he was with their tree-born pages in a computerized world of glass and metal. The first book was taken in hand, gingerly as if it was ready to crumble into dust, the engraved title of Paradise Lost feeling as deep as a canyon beneath his fingertips. It was familiar and he couldn't have known how much he ached for it until he felt the brush of the leaves and the smell of the pages between its covers. She had brought him a piece of the home he was driven from and would never see again.