I think I'm going to stick to this weekly-posting schedule. Writing has been slow lately as Hobbit/LOTR has been distracting me, and school has just been getting in the way.
In other news, after this baby is put to bed (yeah, never saying that again unless its in reference to a real baby), look out for a few full-length LOTR pieces.
-XXX-
Spring of 2259
It is only a day or two later that I find myself again stricken before a news report. This time, however, it's San Fran that's being attacked, and I'm in DC visiting my parents in a blatant ploy to assure my mother of my safety. As we sit before the screen, watching the reporter mournfully read off a teleprompter to inform us that an untold – yet still massive – number have been injured in the dual crash. It is suspected that this attack is related to the one in London but two days ago, and that Starfleet is in the midst of apprehending the person responsible.
My mother holds me, sobbing the entire while. It's mostly unintelligible, though occasionally a word can be made out here and there. Her moans are to the general affect that it's wonderfully lucky I am alive, the word is a terrible place, I should never go to space again, leave the country again, or even this house!
I sooth her as best I can, then duck out for a walk. My own emotions are released in a very different nature. I need space.
Only a fool would think it wasn't him. Of course, of course it was question is how – he wasn't supposed to have been pursued. Had Starfleet gotten the nerve to follow? Or, rather, had Marcus managed to push his agenda?
Whatever had gone down, Khan had ended more lives.
And, I realize, possibly his own. Who is to say he's alive? None of the reports had mentioned any survivors among the first ship to crash, the Vengeance. It was incredibly likely that he had died.
Or, if he has not perished, then would be taken into Starfleet custody. That thought alone sends a flood of emotion to me, all choking up in my throat. There is no question as to what Starfleet would aim to do from there….
Would Khan fight it? With his family dead, his attempts at disappearing floundered, and his vengeance wrought, would Khan even feel the need to fight against his own demise?
Something told me that he would not.
It was easy enough to hide my mourning behind the sorrow felt at the attacks on London and San Francisco. Many days were spent lying in bed miserably, until I ached enough that I rose again, ready to take on life. Back in London, the streets felt grim and empty, especially without my friend to walk them with me. I passed his apartment, once, to see police officers outside, moving things out. Removing all traces that John Harrison had ever been. I cannot imagine it to be a very strenuous job with the barren way he lived.
-XXX-
Nearly a month following this, I'm getting coffee to go from one of my favorite cafes, when I here a pair further down the line from me discussing current events – specifically Starfleet's latest action in regards to the terrorist attacks of a few weeks back. I allow another person ahead of me, feigning indecision, to hear what they have to say.
"They've got the man responsible," one says, an elderly woman wearing her iron-grey hair back in a strict bun. "Keeping him locked up, on base. They say there is to be a trial."
"A trial?" The slight fellow with her snorts – he's definitely got the nose for it. "Whatever for? Execution, banishment, leave him to rot, I say! What's the use of a trial when we all know what's happened? These soft-bellied bureaucrats…!"
The woman lowers her voice. "It is speculated that the admiral, the one who died over all this, has something to do with it. That there's a big conspiracy going to be unveiled at the hearings."
"Eh?" The man looks uncomfortable at the thought. "Can't imagine what it would be."
"Neither can I."
"Poppycock, likely."
By this time, I am overwhelmed with emotion. Frozen, even, staring at the menu above the counter. The woman taps me on the shoulder after a time, asking, "Are you ordering, dear?"
One look at my face, she recoils, then asks, concerned, "Oh, my, you don't look at all well."
"I'm fine," I manage. "Just – just got some news. You go ahead –"
I gesture wildly for them to move ahead in the line, then all but fly from the shop. The cabbie I hail keeps shooting looks at me like I'm some kind of a mad woman, but I ignore him in favor of my PADD. A few clicks tells me that Cooper is based at the Academy at the moment. Once home, I log onto my comm and make the call.
"Alya?" He's wearing a bathroom, with stubble along his chin and a familiar just-woke-up squint about his eyes. "Hey, it's a little early."
"I'm sorry," I say quickly. "Really, I know I probably just woke you up."
"Well, you said it was urgent. What can I do you for?"
For a moment, I can do nothing but quiver before the screen. Finally, I manage, "I heard that…that the person responsible for the attack on the archives, Starfleet HQ, and the city has been apprehended and is set to stand trial." Unable to meet my friend's eyes fully, I ask quietly, "Is that true?"
A beat passes before Cooper understands what I am saying. His eyes flash. "Alya, I don't know how caught up in this you are, but you need to distance yourself. Now," he says seriously. "I knew you were in the UK, but I didn't realize…there's nothing to be done, Alya."
"Is. It. True?"
A pause. Then – "Yes," Cooper finally admits. "Yes, it's true. The captured him just after the crash. Would've ended him, too, if Kirk hadn't needed some of his damn blood. Now the lawyers and higher-ups have been insisting on a trial." His eyes darken. "You know what the results of this will be, Alya. There's a price to pay. And it's measured in blood. Someone is going to fall for this. Marcus is already gone, that just leaves Khan to deal with."
"Thank you, Cooper," I whisper. Before I can end the transmission, however, he calls.
"I'm serious, Alya. You need to distance yourself. Because if Starfleet catches your scent…well, I don't think they'd be too hesitant to take a pound of flesh from you too."
I end the call. In my bedroom, I close the door, sinking against the wood until I'm on the floor, melting from a strange mixture of relief and fear and sorrow.
-XXX-
In early autumn I make the move to the Bay City. It's temporary, or so I tell myself as I leave behind boxes in my parent's basement in the District of Columbia. Just for the duration of the trial. I feel as though I owe it to both of us to be there. Renting out a small studio, I allow myself to once again enjoy the city by the sea, though I avoid Starfleet as much as possible. It's difficult, as cadets over run the streets, especially on weekends.
The trials begin shortly after I am settled. Taking heed of Cooper's advice (in my own way) I dress to blend in, modestly, with heavy veils. It's not uncommon on the city streets. Some take it as a religious or ethnic choices, and some of our off-world guests wear them quite a bit too. I let people think what they will, but hope altogether that they will not think of me.
On the first day, I am surprised when Khan notices me in the crowd. There is no doubt – he stares openly at me. Level, I return the gaze, but I do not speak. There would be no point, anyways.
-XXX-
Shorter chapter, but there's a lot going on here.
What are you thoughts? Comments, concerns, questions, critiques, I take 'em all!