I realized before my last update that I'd forgotten to list my characters. I feel like that has probably made a big difference, haha.
Thank you for your lovely reviews and support. Feedback is the best thing ever!
Has anyone been enjoying the holiday movie releases? I've seen Catching Fire and Desolation of Smaug, but I'm dying to watch Saving Mr. Banks, Frozen, and Anchorman 2. Desolation of Smaug has sent me on a bit of a LOTR kick, which is weird as I've only seen Fellowship and the first Hobbit, and I've never even touched the books! Dabbling a bit, but we'll see if anything comes of it….
Enjoy!
-XXX-
2258
"Tell me about the others," I say the next time we meet. Marcus, upon reading my report, latched on to the mention of Khan's still-stuck-in-cryogenic-state crew. I've been ordered to seek details.
The Augment's brows rise briefly. "What would you wish to know? They are my crew."
"Are they like you? As strong? As intelligent?"
"I should hope so." He eyes me. "I am aware of what you are doing."
"If you weren't, I should think you terrible stupid. Help me. I'm your best shot at getting you any empathy. Believe or not, I am not a fan of keeping you locked up."
He grunts.
"Can they be awoken?"
"I don't know."
"With the right technology," I muse. "It could –"
He cuts me off, leaning across the table. "I. Do. Not. Know."
Face inches from mine, I can hear his breath, smell the scent of stale soap and sweat upon him. My eyes flicker up to meet his. Dead, cold, blackness meets me. "Do not push me." Unyielding, the augment stares me down until I sink against the back of my chair. For the second time since we've met, I feel utterly, undeniable, plainly terrified.
"Of course," I say quietly.
Without saying much else, I take my leave.
-XXX-
"I should think you would be named for this profession, Doctor," John Harrison drawls when I see him next.
"Excuse me?"
He's been here nearly four weeks. I imagine he's growing quite bored. Therefore, he's placing his energies on being a thorn in my side. We've had another two meetings, both less fruitful than the first. Today I need to find something relevant for Marcus – or risk stricter measures being placed on our prisoner. I fear he's due to be made "useful" soon enough, if my last conference with the admiral was any indication.
"He's a technical genius, Dr. Nejem," Marcus had said. "With his knowledge of weaponry, we could put Starfleet on the cutting edge. Find the proper motivation for me. It's time Mr. Harrison made himself useful."
But I've no clue what kind of motivation he might mean. I don't understand why we cannot just let Harrison make his own way in the world. Well, I do understand – he has no understanding of this new modern age – but I do not know why Marcus feel compelled to use theman. My best bet is to convince Harrison that joining Starfleet is to his best advantage. The question is how. I don't even think Starfleet is all it is hype up to be. How am I supposed to convince this several-hundred-year-old, highly intellectual, super-human that becoming a member of this intergalactic peacekeeping military body will be the best direction for him?
The positive, I suppose, would be that if Khan is moved off this ship, he might be allowed more freedoms.
"Heavenly Star," Harrison says. "Alya Nejem. A beautiful name. Yet, you claim not to want to explore the stars."
"Well, I never quite said that." The last time we met, I had admitting to seeing my life going in a different direction. "I just said it was not what I'd initially wanted."
"You were named for the sky, yet you wish not to reach into her depths? Why are you here, doctor, if not to explore? Why choose the stars instead of a comfortable office on earth?"
I shift. "We're not here to talk about me." The chairs at his table are becoming progressively more and more uncomfortable. John Harrison watches me, brows raised, an "I'm waiting," expression on his sharp features. Relenting, I say, "To make my name. There seems to be nothing left to study on Terra. Out here, there is still much to be studied, discovered. I wish to establish myself as one of the first cultural anthropologists to study the other inhabitants of the galaxy."
"Why?"
"Because it is important," I say simply. "To comprehend the culture of another is to better understand ourselves. Besides, it will improve relations between planets. Peace could be possible – if we understand one another."
He regards me. "But that is not your noble mission." It is not a question. "You wish for legacy."
Anger rises within me. This is too familiar of the judgment I have received from colleagues and family alike. "I spent six years on my degree," I hiss. "Judge me if you will but I –"
His eyes crinkle, and a rumbling sound comes from his throat. For the first time, I hear Khan's laughter.
"You shall find no judgment from me, doctor," he chuckles. "I am impressed. Few will admit such blatant ambitions. Most will crow on about helping others, improving the lives of every babbling orphan and weeping widow. But you – you are honest. You strive for legacy." His tone takes on a strong note of approval. "Ambition is no fault, Dr. Nejem."
"Says you. Few would agree."
"Most people are fools." He states this simply.
I don't know I necessarily agree with this statement. Uncomfortable, but doing my best to appear confident, I shake my head.
"How is it you recognized my name?" I ask. "Are you familiar with Arabic?"
"Reasonably."
"Why?"
"One ought to know many things," he answers cryptically. "If one is to be a leader of men."
"Tell me about that. About being emperor. What lead you to it? I mean, the history books all mention the Wars, yes, but what put you in that position?"
He seems to shrug. "I was born to be a leader. Designed," John pronounces slowly. "Out of generation, I was the one specifically engineered towards command. Knowing this, there was little conflict among myself and my cohorts."
I blink. "Designed? As in, they combined particular genes to create someone more apt to effective leadership?"
"Indeed."
I have to force myself to ignore his smugness. "Interesting…" I say through slightly gritted teeth. "So. Asia. What was that like?"
John smiles. "It was big."
He launches into his initial advancement on India and Pakistan, followed by Tibet, the Islands, Indonesia, Cambodia, Laos, Vietnam. China and Mongolia held out the longest, and he was only able to ever claim a few slivers to Russia. I listen intently. I almost resort to leaning on my elbows, but I remember myself soon enough to straighten my posture. His tales of bloody battles, sieges, victory feasts, the beheading of disobedient generals, leave me enthralled. Terribly distracted. I don't really take notes. Marcus, it seems, might just strike out today.
I highly doubt I'll ever be able to convince the admiral that our "guest" is anything less than extraordinary. We all know he's got an impressive mind. According to Cooper, who's in with the engineering department, the Botany Bay's technology, despite being a few hundred years old, is awe-inspiring in its clever design. Besides this, the history books say that Khan's knowledge on war strategy is something many modern generals would piss themselves to hear. He's still referenced in our military academies in strategy sessions. No, the admiral will likely keep him until he lives past his usefulness – and who knows when that might be.
Cooper doesn't really know that Khan (or, as Cooper refers to him as, "psycho icicle") is still on our ship. He assumes that he's being held off ship, on a base we passed by a few weeks ago, and that Marcus receives updates from medical crews there. Really, only a handful of people on the ship know that we're housing this man. And out of that, an even smaller portion know who he actually is.
I was unsurprised in seeing that Marcus was manipulating a man in John Harrison's state. The admiral has always struck me as a rather ruthless man. He's essentially the dark side of Starfleet I have come to recognize in the last several months. Ambition for legacy drives this man. Beyond responsibility, beyond anything, he is always looking out for his legacy – what he'll be, one hundred years from now. Though, I am sure he has ways of deluding himself into believing all that he does he does in the act of "duty."
The first time I noted this was my first visit to his office. It is a white place, filled with glass-topped tables, slick chairs, and high windows. The rows upon rows of leather-bound books (real books, not PADDs) along the bookshelves behind his long desk caught my eye. Skimming my eyes along the titles I saw the names of memorable generals and commanders – Lee, Genghis Khan, Alexander the Great, Napoleon, Rommel, among others. At first I attributed the names to a lover of history.
But the next shelf of medals and ribbons convinced me otherwise.
A man concerned in his legacy would certainly wish to display his honors along side the names of those who has reached immortality in the nature of their deeds.
When John stops talking he watches me quietly. "Your thoughts are elsewhere," he observes.
"No, no," I say vaguely. "I've been listening. I'm just thinking of the future."
"Oh?" This has peaked his interest. "And what element of it?"
"You," I say thoughtlessly.
He waits.
"You're a man out of time. I just wonder how things will end up for you. We can't exactly keep you here forever."
A dullness enters his eyes. "You might be surprised," he says shortly. "Besides, I won't be going anywhere without my crew."
"You may not have a choice."
This turns him to brooding. "I'll not leave without them." His eyes are dark. He pushes himself away from the table, standing swiftly.
"I'm sure they'll be alright," I assure him. "They're just being kept under observation. Cryogenics is still something of a scientific interest. We've not used it for hundreds of years. It is something of a lost science, I suppose. I'm sure Marcus has a team studying them to figure the best method of revival."
He doesn't quite believe me. But Khan lets it pass. "Are you in the mood to play chess?"
-XXX-
The meeting is a surprise to him. When the pair of security men enter his living space to inform him of the activity, Khan takes pause. He is unaware of what change might have encouraged the admiral to personally take an audience with himself. He had given Alya nothing of value to report, absolutely nothing useful. What could the admiral be playing at?
The two men lead him through the maze of hallways. Khan silently noted the route, and all identifiable chambers they passed. It is the first time he's ever been transported consciously through the ship. He notes medbay, an activities court, and a few offices before they enter the elevator. From there they are transported directly to Marcus's office.
In his Starfleet-issue grey baggy suit, the augment ought to have felt a bit cowed by the admiral, covered in ribbons and medals. Yet Khan sat, impassive, before the desk. The two men observed one another silently.
"Mr. Harrison," Marcus begins. "I trust you have enjoyed your stay with us."
"It has been most enlightening."
"I am sure…." The admiral allows roughly. "Dr. Nejem seems to think you are well-adjusted to the environment. I am impressed, Mr. Harrison. Most in your place, I feel, would not do so well."
He falls silent. Khan recognizes that this is where he ought to speak. With nothing to say, he simply looks upon Marcus. This clearly agitates the man, who shifts forward in his seat. His fingers trace the edge of a PADD sitting square in the center of the desk.
"She seems to think you're capable of existing in regular society."
"I have always been quick to adapt. Sir."
"Yes, yes, you are quiet adept." The admiral examines the augment before him for several long seconds before continuing. "The question now is, what shall we do with you? It won't do to simply send you out into the world, Mr. Harrison. Oh, no, we owe far more to you than that. Starfleet will not abandon you."
"Then what do you suggest, sir?"
"Employment." Marcus lets the word hang in the air, heavy as cigar smoke, and just as transparent. "I can offer you a position within one of our most classified levels of engineering. I've seen your doodles, Mr. Harrison." The PADD is pushed across the desk. "And they are quiet impressive."
The display shows a collection of sketches he had made for Alya once, when she had a question about some historic technology she was unfamiliar with. He had drawn these to make explaining easier. She had commented on his steady hand and even strokes. Now he wonders if she shared the drawing with Marcus.
He wants to believe she didn't.
"You're got a great deal of creativity. Limitless, some might say. You seem to…know no boundaries…."
There. That's what it was. The augment stiffens.
"I am…rather inventive, I suppose," he responds quietly.
"Yes, that you are, Mr. Harrison. I'm more than certain we can find a place for you in Starfleet."
"I look forward to it. Sir."
In his lap, the hands that were clasped together were so tight as to make his veins pop out. The blue stood out against the near-translucent white of his skin. Khan only clutches tighter.
-XXX-
Somewhere within the next week I manage to have lunch with Cooper. Lately, I've been impossibly busy, and it's been a chore trying to find the time to meet with him and Luta. It just so happens we're all off shift, so we meet in the mess for a disappointing lunch of replicated pot roast.
"…So I tell him, 'Lieutenant, that's not a Yerbian Lava Slug, it's a Alfresk Swamp Leech! Then it came out how he'd visited a brothel on our last stop, and he'd slept with an Alfreski girl. Well, that'll be the last time he frequents once of those joints. The boy is lucky to still have use of his –"
"Stop," I say loudly. "No."
Luta is laughing into her mashed potatoes. Her lips quiver with a fevered amusement. "Oh no, let him go on Alya!"
"Only if he changes the subject," I grouse. "That is sick, Cooper."
He shrugs. "Part of the job. Being roomed with something as sick as first-time-out petty officers tends to put one at risk of such encounters."
"Why didn't he visit medbay?" Luta whispers.
"Hell if I know. I'm no doctor, but they keep coming to me." Cooper stabs a soggy carrot. "What've you been up to, Alya?"
"No much. Surveying any planets we encounter – " Which hadn't been many. " – and keeping up my notes."
"Do you know what you're going to do once we're Earth-side?"
This is something I've been considering lately. We're due to be home in less than a week, and I'm without a mission, and, more importantly, any kind of assignment.
"Compile my findings, I guess," I say. "Maybe request another assignment. It's a bit up in the air, being the first person to do this, you know. "
"I can't imagine." Luta shakes her head. "That's why I joined, for the consistency. The paycheck is good too, but I need direction in my life."
"Yeah. I definitely would like that." After years of school, moving from university to university, I'm beginning to long for something like settling down. Adventures out are nice and all, but I do feel a battle within myself to give up these dreams of legacy to stay Earth side in some boring office-y or teaching job.
"Have you heard anything else about the psycho who put me in medbay for a week?" Coop's eyes glint.
"No." I spear something that might resemble meat. "Who is up for trying the rice pudding?"
-XXX-
"What do you mean transferred?" I ask the guardsman. "What the hell is going on? I was not informed of this."
"It's a need-to-know, Dr. Nejem, and apparently you didn't need to know," the brutish man tells me bluntly. "Mr. Harrison has been moved to a new facility to prepare for assimilation into modern society."
"On whose orders?"
"If you wish to know more, I suggest you seek an appointment with Admiral Marcus."
I am left in the corridor, alone and fuming.
I had arrived to find the door normally guarded by a pair of red shirts to be barren. The room beyond was unlocked and empty. So, of course, I cornered the head of security when I next saw him – which was approximately fifteen minutes later, as I was stalking through the hallways searching for a clue as to why my charge was missing.
Complete floored, I return to my office. It's not so much of an office but a closet. Still, it functions as work space. Sinking to my desk, I shake my head. Transferred. As though he's some piece of equipment. Or worse – theirs.
Somehow, I find myself in the lift, moving upwards. Towards Marcus's office. I step off the lift, still in a bit of a daze, to greet the admiral's secretary. Ellen, who is in her mid-fifties and has been with the admiral supposedly since he was a captain (apparently captains required secretaries back in the heyday), looks up at me from behind the lenses of her square glasses. She's a vaguely unpleasant person – which suits the position, I suppose. I lift my chin, gazing back squarely as I approach the desk.
"Dr. Nejem," she says shortly. "I don't believe you have an appointment with the admiral –"
"I don't," I agree. "But I'd still care to see him if he isn't too busy."
"I'm afraid he's always busy."
"Still, it couldn't hurt to check, could it?"
For an eternity, she stares at me, painted-on eyebrows raised. I let my eyes flicker suggestively to the comm button. With a huff, she dials.
"Why ever would someone bring their secretary with them on diplomatic mission?" I wonder as I look about the waiting room. "What use is she? Well, keeping people out, obviously…."
"He'll see you," Ellen informs me, breaking me away from my less-than-pressing thought. "But do be quick about it. The admiral is a busy man."
I don't respond. I brush past the desk for the double-doors leading to the admiral's office. They slide open without protest.
Marcus isn't at his desk, but stands before the bay window, near the small bar installed along his bookshelf. A glass of something amber – probably scotch – sits in his hand loosely.
"Dr. Nejem. To what do I owe the pleasure of this surprise visit?" His tone says that while my presence may be a surprise, it is not a welcome one.
"Khan," I say briskly. "Where is he?"
Marcus's eyebrows rise. He turns back to the window, considering for a long moment. "I'm surprised you wish to know. Weren't you against involvement with him in the first place?"
"Yes, I was. But those feels have clearly since changed as you've made him my charge –"
"Your responsibility for Mr. Singh is now terminated, Dr. Nejem. Starfleet appreciates the obvious care and dedication you put forth in rehabilitating him and adjusting him to his surroundings, and we saw that it was time for him to move on. Take the next step."
Suddenly, I feel rather cold. "Which would be…?"
"We all agreed that he's adapted well enough. You yourself put it in your last report that he's been calm, adjusted. So, we offered him a position. Can't send a man like that out on his own…it would be uncharitable."
The cold has now sunken beyond my skin into my bones. "Admiral Marcus, I said he was adapting, not that he was by any means stable! Historically, he has proven to be a threat to our species. He was created in service of us and turned again his makers, he loathes our kind!"
"Which is while we'll be keeping him quite secure," the admiral assures me.
I grit my teeth. "Admiral Marcus. He is a victim of circumstance. You'd do best to let him live his life in solitude, or better yet, return him to his people. This isn't a matter of Starfleet interests."
"I believe I shall be the judge of what is and is not of Starfleet interest," he replies coldly. "You've become too attached, Dr. Nejem. I thought you scientist types were supposed to keep yourselves above it all."
I grit my teeth and hold my breath. "With all do respect, sir, I thought you Starfleet types were supposed to up hold humanitarian values. Khan has done nothing wrong, he's no prisoner of ours!"
"Doctor," he warns sharply.
"And what of his crew? Where are you keeping them? They've done no wrong, you can't just maintain custody of seventy-two people –"
"Dr. Nejem," Marcus booms. He isn't use to people disagreeing. Agitated, the admiral turns to fully look at me. "I am making the best call for Starfleet, and for the human race. Whether or not you can comprehend the implications of that matters not to me – I didn't get in the position I am in today by making mistakes. You are dismissed."
"And you," I say, head high. "Are making a mistake."
It was not the best comeback, to be fair. But I swept from the office boiling, ready to take on the whole of Starfleet.
-XXX-
Ah, well, that was fun. Marcus, being an asshole….It's genuinely hard for me to write him, as we only really got to see him in an asshole-like light, but I also want him to be a little more charming, or at least, softer with a commanding presence….hmmm….
Well, the wheels are being set in motion.
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