Holla, this is my 80th story!

Okay, I am not pleased with the title at the moment. It's just a smidge too…cliché for my taste.

This story will flash between two different points in the timeline, 2258 (the year the Enterprise had her maiden voyage and fought the Narada) and 2259 (which is when the events of Into Darkness take place). I'll try my best to indicate which.

-XXX-

2258

When I first started earning my degree in anthropology, I dreamed of visiting exotic, isolated places, roughing it to live in harmony with nature, interacting with natives and learning their way. I wanted to study obscure cultures, understand the vastness of human life in all of its complexities, contribute to a greater comprehension. Of course, I imagined doing all of this from Earth. Never once did I hold any desire to go beyond our atmosphere, to travel among the stars.

But the field was changing. While archaeologists still had an abundant source of undiscovered site, and forensic anthropologist rarely ran out of corpses to exhume, those of us on the cultural side of things were coming up short. There weren't too many unstudied ethnic group or cultures left, and the more contemporary studies weren't quite tasking enough to be considered worthwhile. It didn't take too long for someone to suggest Starfleet utilize this body of bored academics to aid in interacting and better understanding alien cultures encountered on exploration missions.

And so, at twenty-four, with my PhD just under my belt, I found myself being shuttled out to the USS Union for a brief exploratory mission under Fleet Admiral.

-XXX-

"At least I'm not required to wear a uniform," I reason as I strap myself into the thick grey shuttle seat for the long ride. Seeing as I'm not technically a member of Starfleet, they hadn't seen fit to outfit my expedition. Which is fine by me. I've never been one for uniforms. Twelve years of primary and prep school had given me enough of that. Besides, mini-skirts aren't really my thing.

A few lieutenants and cadets are still milling about the cabin. I pull my backpack close to my chest. One officer in blue smiles at me widely before taking a seat beside me.

"Lieutenant Cooper Detharow," he says by way of greeting, sticking out a hand. I accept, shaking firmly.

"Dr. Alya Nejem," I offer back.

He raises a brow. "Are you a part of that archaeology scheme they've set up now?"

"Anthropology," I correct, no offense taken. "Yeah. I've been assigned to the Union for the journey to the Cla'qack quadrant." My orders had only come in last week. And I'd only applied a month ago, at the urging of my advisor. Silas was sick of having me mope about his office, complaining of boredom. I'd been TAing - then teaching properly as a "visiting professor" - for nearly a year.

"You're a little young to be a doctor, aren't you?"

"A bit," I admit. This fact both impressed and bothered my parents greatly – they were proud of their over-achiever daughter, but worried that I would hit the ceiling sooner rather than later.

He grins. Cooper is quite attractive, with carefully combed sandy blonde hair and an easy smile. "How did you swing that?"

"A lot of hard work. What are you on for?"

"Bioengineering," he explains. "I'm collecting data on the environment of plants we encounter."

"Ah."

We're interrupted by the arrival of a harried woman bursting into the cabin. She's obviously running late, out of breath. With a gust of air, she sinks into the seat next to me.

"You almost missed the shuttle," Cooper hisses in disapproval over me.

As if following cue, the shuttle begins to purr, engines called to life. We'll be ascending soon. I look to the windows automatically. This will be the last time I'll see Earth for six months. My chest begins to ache. "You choose this," I remind myself sternly. "You decide to have space adventures rather than remain at university teaching alcohol-addled undergrads."

Having caught her breath, the woman sits up, running a hand through her purple pixie locks. She blinks golden eyes sheepishly. "I overslept, Coop."

"You're not going to get a chance to do that on duty, Ensign," he says primly. I suspect that this is all an act put on to distress the new arrival, as Cooper strikes me as a very easy-going person.

She winces. "I know, I know. This is the last time." She straps herself in. Once adjusted, she turns to me. "Hello, I'm sorry. Luta Me'thon, Union communications ensign."

I shake her hand. "Alya Nejem."

"She's a doctor," Cooper explains. "Part of the new anthropology program."

"Oh!" Luta's eyes widen. "That's awesome. So you're going to be the one interacting with whatever we might come across? I don't envy you."

"Luta, watch it, that's her job. I'm sure Dr. Nejem finds the idea of meeting new life forms fascinating."

The truth is, I'm positively terrified. With little field work under my belt and no time spent outside of Earth's atmosphere save for a few trips to Mars visiting my auntie at a base, I am inexperienced. Besides this, the fact that my degree was earned years before most people even finish their masters, I feel very, very young. But I am determined to make my name.

"You can call me Alya," I say. "And it is exciting. I mean, there is so much to see, and we'll be some of the first people to encounter it."

It's a matra I've repeated to myself throughout the application process and my subsequent acceptance of a research and liaison post on the USS Union. Luta looks a little more convinced.

"Well, I'm just excited to have the job," she crows lightly. "If things go well here, I might be able to look forward to a position on the Enterprise."

I note her red uniform. She's a security person, which strikes me as unusual. She's aslip of a creature.

There is a roar, followed by a jolt, and we're off. The shuttle rises steadily. Again I turn to the window.

"Goodbye," I think.

Six months. It's a long time. But it might not be so bad, with people like Cooper and Luta, who are already joking and conversing easily beside me. Less than five minutes into our flight and Luta is checking our room assignments to see if we'll be near one another, and attempt to discern what shifts we work. Cooper asks if I know how to play 3-D chess, if I'll engage him when we have some time off. I relax, feeling that the half of a year might not be so bad.

-XXX-

"Do you recognize those markings?" Marcus asks sharply.

Three months aboard, and I'm still unnerved by the commands of any officers. Especially the Admiral Marcus. This military life is not particularly to my liking. Admiral Marcus has especially seemed to forgotten that while I'm on his ship and under his crew, I am not a member of Starfleet. I push aside these sour thoughts, however, to focus on the matter at hand. I've not truly worked since we encountered an unidentified species crossing space with us two weeks ago. To be utilized is a temporary break from boredom.

I've been called from my chambers to the bridge to identify something on screen. It's a ship, very old, suspended beside the dark side of the Antillion moon we're near. From this distance, however, I cannot discern anything.

"Can you zoom?" I ask carefully. Marcus is a volatile man. For the most part he interacts with his crew nicely enough. In private however…..

The operations guy complies, and soon enough I can make out the script. My lips purse. "It's English, Admiral. The SS Botany Bay."

"Lazy bastard."

Marcus proceeds to ignore me. "Send a crew down. It appears abandoned, be cautious. And send Nejem with you."

My stomach sinks automatically. In these three months, I've barely spent any time doing field work. While I am excited by the opportunity, and the element of danger only heights this feeling, I'm also terrified. I am nothing to Marcus. I have no doubt that if it comes between me and his men, I'll not just come in second, but dead last. He isn't a heartless man, by any means, yet I get the feeling that he's not afraid of sacrifices.

I follow the commander, a hefty man in his forties. Two security officers meet us in the transporter room, along with Cooper. I shoot him a look, to which he shrugs – "I don't know either." As we're outfitted with phasers, he says lowly, "There are signs of life…but no one is answering our communications."

"So they're sending us down?" I ask, speculative. "An anthropologist and biologist?"

His mouth draws a grim line. "I don't understand it either, but we'll do as Marcus says."

"Like we have a choice," I think. Outwardly, I ask, "How is the air quality?"

"Filtered oxygen," Cooper says. "Surprising, considering this ship has been out here God-Knows-How-Long. We'll be okay. Just stick by me, Alya."

"You two ready?" the commander asks.

"Yeah." Out of the corner of my eye I see Cooper suppress a smile as he answers with a clipped "Yessir." I'll never get the hang of this military life.

We file onto the transporter platform. Beside me, Cooper offers a half-smile The operator gives the go. Bands of gold envelop me, warm and ticklish. I breath slowly as my atoms begin to separate, reminding myself that beaming is very standard, and that nothing terrible had happened since Admiral Archer's beagle went missing in an experiment conducted by some fool engineer.

The air changes. It's colder, staler than that found on the ship. Inhaling, I steady myself. I open my eyes slowly to find only darkness greets me. A light noise alerts me to the arrival of my fellows. In a few seconds I feel the warm and dry hand of Cooper reaching for my own. Thankful for the darkness, I accept his hold, squeezing gently.

"This place is as stale as a tomb," one redshirt remarks.

There is a click, and a faint lightly illuminates our surroundings. It's an emergency motion-sensitive light, just the kind we have in all officer's rooms. A moment passes before I can make anything out, though, from the deep shadows. We're in some kind of expansive room, a hanger I suppose. And we're surrounded by caskets.

Or, at least, that's what I first take them as. Cooper leads me to examine one. I hang back as he leans in close, removing a small pen light from his belt. Flicking it on, he directs it at the head of the case, peering in. The beam casts into the surface – "Glass," I realize – to reveal a face. But this isn't any Snow White crystal coffin. Ice crystals gather at the seams, and the face is ghostly pale. I draw back.

"Commander," Cooper calls sharply. He's speaking in his Lt. Detharow voice. "I think you should see this."

Everyone gathers to examine the case. After circling it, Cooper discovers a readout display that details all of the occupant's life readings.

"Cyrogenics," Cooper says in wonder. "Who knows how long they've been here? How many are there?"

One of the security fellows does a quick count. "Eighty-four, sir."

Cooper and another security guy began examining all of the cask's displays. The commander and one security guy, Harlan, went off to search the rest of the ship.
I hung back with the last red shirt, who introduces himself as S'van. With nothing left to do, I search our initial casket, the one Cooper had lead me to, for…something. They're very old, with display read out written in English, but not the Federation Standard I am familiar with. It's curious.

We gather back in an hour. Cooper informs us gravely that only 73 of the crew are still in a cryogenic state. 12 have passed, either from an inability to survive the circumstances or from awaking too early. Some of the casks are failing in maintaining life systems.

"This guy," Cooper says, jerking a finger towards one of the furthest casks. "Has a few years left on him, but after that…." He makes a thumbs-down gesture. "I don't know how you wanna call it, Commander. We could beam them up, keep them in the hull and attempt a revival once we have a sufficient medical team. But that might be a while – I wouldn't recommend reviving them with our medical staff on ship, they're not enough. And we don't know anything about these people, anyways. I can barely distinguish if they're human. Did you find anything in the ship's log?"

Harlan holds up a small green chip. "It's encoded. We'll have to get someone in communications to open it."

The commander sighs. "We'll take them aboard. Let me contact Marcus –"

An urgent beeping punctures his works. Cooper spins, flying to the distant bed he's only just pointed out.

"He's slipping," my friend gasps. "He's got minutes."

"I thought you said he had a few years!" the commander shouts.

"I was wrong, I was wrong!" Cooper is grim. "I don't know…I can't…to take him out of cryo without a medical staff would be practically murder. I can't know if he'll make it out alive! It's too risky, we need to beam him up –"

But the commander ignores this. Shoving Cooper aside, the man begins tapping on the display, coding it to open the lid of the cask. All at once, a flash erupts from within the glass box. A warming device, I suspect. Cooper protests loudly, to no avail. The glass slides back, steam erupting from the seams as soon as they're unsealed. It takes some time for the fog to lift, revealing the person within.

Despite the dark, I can make out the pale, sculpted features of a man with dark hair. He lies so peacefully, with a clear brow and arms straight at his side, if I didn't know better I'd suspect him to be sleeping. I stare while the commander pounds on the chest of the frozen man. There is no reaction. Cooper is pulling him back, shouting.

"You've already killed the best chance he had! That's no way to wake a cryogenically frozen body. He can't endure that shock well enough to reestablish homeostasis!"

They're occupied with their arguing. So I am the only one that sees the fist of the frozen man's hand twitch. Aghast, I watch as the muscles of his face and arms begin to move. His chest rises, then falls, breath coming to him quickly. While the arguing commences, I near the pallet the man rests upon, stopping just before him. S'van watches me, wary. Standing over the figure, I can now see the muscles of his eyes flickering. And then, they open.

Bright, brilliant blue-grey eyes flare meet my gaze with one quick flicker. I utter a low cry, wishing to draw back but finding myself held in place by those marvelous eyes. Cooper and the commander pause. Upon seeing what, exactly, was going on, Cooper runs to the open cask, pushing me aside. I move to stand against the wall, between the open cask and the nearest unopened cask. The frozen man breathes heavily, eyes flashing, gathering his surroundings. He makes to sit up.

Cooper makes a soothing sound. "Easy there. You're likely enduring some shock. We're friends. Members of Starfleet. From Terra. Earth," he adds, for clarification. The man blinks. He seems a little slow. Confused, though, that's to be expected -

Without warning, he strikes. Cooper is on the floor, incapacitated by a quick a brutal blow to the head. I shriek to see my friend crumpled on the cold floor. The security officers begin shouting, with S'van launching himself at the frozen man. By now, the man has risen from his cask, and strikes S'van squarely in the stomach, causing the man to double over. Another two strikes to his neck render him, too, unconscious.

Our commander moves in next, with Harlan at his side. The pair issue and defect blows effectively. I can tell they've fought side-by-side before and know each other's style intimately. Nevertheless, it's not long until they're worn down – the frozen man seems to be incredibly powerful, and greatly skilled in hand-on-hand combat. The commander is beaten, and he collapses abruptly in the middle of a punch.

Harlan, as if just remember he has it, pulls out his phaser. Settings on "stun," per regulation, he issues shot after shot into his attacker's chest. But the man is only temporarily halted. He descends upon Harlan with a snarl, placing long-fingered hands on either side of the security officer's head, like a lover about to impart a kiss. A beat passes, and then he twists savagely. Harlan sinks to the floor slowly, head flopping to the side heavily. Out of all four men, I am certain Harlan is dead.

Which leaves me.

The man turns slowly, chest heaving. A terrifying sight. His face is slightly bloodied, nose leaking a black-red liquid. Another cut just above his left eyebrow seeps more sticky blood. Eyes are in dark shadow, making the blue stands out. Those blue-orbed eyes alight upon me. Again, I feel utterly trapped by them. I've shrunk in the gap between casks, and scramble to press against the wall when he looks at me. Advancing forward, he carelessly steps over the bodies of my fellows, face slipping into an impassive mask. I bite back a whimper as he nears. Tears stream down my cheeks freely. This is it. This is the result of all of my work. My phaser is in my pocket, pressing into my thigh, but I dare not remove it. There would be no cause. I shall die here, just as the others.

A though occurs to me. Swiftly, I press my comm pin.

"Dr. Nejem?" sounds softly in my ear. I find that I cannot reply.

He pauses just before me. Those eyes are electric, bright with victory and some other emotion I cannot name. Hate, perhaps. An excitement that only causes me to further recoil.

The stare changes as he tilts his head. The eyes narrow. Now it appears he has truly reached confusion. "Where am I?"

To my surprise, the voice is slightly slurred, yet still deep and powerful. As if all the force in his chest is behind those words.

"SS Botany Bay." This cause him to sink just slightly. In relief or disappointment, I cannot discern. He's coming near still. Mere feet from me.

"W-who are you?" I demand. A heavy heartbeat has risen in my chest. I grasp it deliriously. If I am to die, let me die foolhardy and brave.

Something like surprise rises in the man, and he stares at me. It takes me a moment to realize his eyes are loosing focus, and I lean forward, straightening myself just before he gasps, "Khan."

After this he plummets to the group. Equal with the fallen officers.

There is a crackle in my ear. "Dr. Nejem?" the voice repeats, a note of concern evident.

"Took you long enough."

I lower myself to check the frozen man's – "Khan's" - pulse. It's struggling, but present. "We've encountered an attack. I am the only person still conscious. Send a medical crew immediately. We're in the same holding bay we were beamed in. Bring a few additional security personal as well." I move to S'van, who is also alive. Cooper is too, thankfully, though his pulse is sluggish, dangerously slow. The commander is only out, but poor Harlan is gone entirely.

"Attack?" The communications officer sounds astounded.

"Yes, lieutenant, an attack. I'll have a full report for the Admiral later, right now beam out a medical crew, and get on it. We'll also need to make sure the hull is clear. We're going to need quite a bit of space." I look around to the rows of glass boxes. "Room enough for seventy-two bodies."

-XXX-

Annnnnd we've had our introductions. What are your thoughts so far?