Apologies for the slight wait. I've got a few midterms weighing on my mind at the moment.
I've gotten several absolutely lovely guest reviews lately, so shout out to them as I couldn't send private messages. Your words mean so much to me, I truly appreciate the feedback.
Currently finishing up this piece and working on two LOTR/Hobbit bits. Anyone interested?
We're reaching some pretty high action with this chapter, I hope you're ready….
-XXX-
The problem was they had to be showy about it. Instead of simply slipping him away in the night, Starfleet had decided to his re-interment an event, with a telecast drive to the location where it would take place.
Secondly, they make the assumption that he'd been more desperate to escape at the start of his imprisonment. The level of security that he was given was laughable, really. Four officers, two in the car, a pair of cuffs and a tracking clip in his arm. But that was the extent of it. He suspects that Kirk would be horrified if he knew.
They're less than halfway through the ride, entering a tunnel where they cameras cannot reach. He makes his move.
Effortlessly, he snaps the connection between the cuffs. One of the officers looking back notices, and begins to speak, but Khan effectively ends the man's life with a swift twist of the neck. The red-shirted officer slumps forward. The driver, a woman, murmurs a low cry, cut does not stray from her task. He admires her resolve, and decides to let her live. With her dark eyes she reminds him of Alya and his mother, anyways.
He removes the dead officer's phaser, scarf, and a pocketknife he spies in the man's chest pocket.
"Unlock the doors," he commands.
The young officer looks up at him, eyes wide, but her hand does not move to release the lock. With the flickering lights of the tunnel and murderous look in the augment's eyes, he can imagine that he is quite a sight. But the girl does not yield. With a sigh, he pushes at the interior handle, forcing the door open. The surge of air causes the officer to swerve. By the time she looks back, the augment is gone.
Both she and the vehicle behind her stop, officers pouring out with phasers ready. But he is far down the tunnel, running between moving vehicles, knowing that the officers would not shoot at civilians. By the time they've moved through to reach outside, he's gone.
-XXX-
An abandoned mechanic's shop just off of the road makes for an excellent hide out. He breaks a window to open the door, then slips silently inside.
The first order of business is removing the tracking chip. Using the penknife he took off of the dead officer, Khan slices through the scar on his right shoulder, digging his fingers beneath his skin. Fingers growing slippery with blood, it takes him a time to remove the chip. When he has it, it is crushed beneath his foot. He presses the scarf into the wound, knowing that the blood would clot and the healing process begin soon, he just needs to wait it out. Perks of being a superior species. A human might have just bled out and died on the dusty floor.
In time, the blood slows, then clots to form a blood stretch of pink-ish skin. He turns up the collar of his coat to hide the wound.
To his great fortune, a metro is nearby. He jumps the gate, and boards the first train going towards the bay. A few people eye him nervously, especially when he attaches his phaser to his belt. He ignores them.
When they reach a stop with a familiar name, he leaves. He has a list to complete before he leaves the city. The first thing is giving Mr. Spock a message. He had been lucky enough to find a way to hack his cell's PADD to find his way to personal officer files. Specifically that of the Enterprise's crew. And most specifically, Nyota Uhura's home address.
She lived with Spock in a small apartment quite close to base. Breaking in is no great feat. It is a comfortable little place, sparse, mostly decorated in subdued white and greys, with occasional pops of color – likely Uhura's influence. He is pleased to find that she is in the shower, though Spock is not on the property. He can hear her singing in her native Swahili.
Another phaser sits in a drawer in their beside table. He takes it, along with a coat from Spock's spotless side of the closet. Then he sets to work.
It does not take long to combine several household cleaning chemicals to produce a deadly substance. Placed in the oven to insure a slow heating gives him enough time to depart, entirely unnoticed. But he stays near, lingering at a bakery across the street. The blast will not be enough to kill, provided Uhura isn't standing directly before the oven, though it ought to be enough to send Spock a clear message.
Within twenty minutes he is watching the fruits of his labors start with a loud roar and flash, smoke pouring forth from the windows. Screaming promptly follows. Assured that his message has been sent, Khan slips from the bakery.
-XXX-
His next stop is in a park. A park that is happily near Alya's studio apartment. While the thought that Starfleet has been tracking her would unsettle both of them, he is grateful that they have been. Her current address is listed in her file, along with all of her past addresses, past and current occupations. It would be impressive, if it were not the efforts of a massive organization.
At the bench where they had agreed to meet sat Dudley, holding a paper cup of coffee and a sesame seed bagel. Looking up, he didn't even bother with smiling, but raises the cup half-heartedly.
"See you made it out," he drawls.
"Yes," the Augment replies shortly. "Have you carried through with your side of our bargain?"
"Of course, Mr. Singh." Passing over a PADD, he places a finger on a set of coordinates that flicker on the screen when Khan turns it on. "You'll find it there. All the supplies…the transporter, the tools, the clothing. Everything you asked for."
Khan peers at the map. Satisfied, he pockets the PADD. "Very good, Mr. Wright. Your reward is coming. I shall make the transfer as soon I have reached my safe house."
The man looks uneasy. "And when might that be?"
"Soon," he answers without elaboration. "You services have been greatly appreciated. We will be in contact soon. I suggest you go about your day as usual."
"Yes. Yes, of course."
When Dudley has disappeared through the park gates, Khan turns towards the opposite street, the gate at the other end of the path he now stood on. Just a few blocks down stands the complex where Dr. Nejem resides. "Would soon formerly reside," he reminds himself.
-XXX-
Her apartment is not entirely what he pictures – it is less clean, for starters. The walls bleed of art, framed photographs and prints claiming up great chunks of space. He weaved his way through the small foyer into the sitting room where a stack of books sits on the floor beside the sofa. A forgotten cardigan lies on the arm of one of the sitting chairs. A day-old mug filled with a lukewarm cappuccino rests on the coffee table. The kitchen, he observes, is cleaner than most of the rest of the house – it is the least-used room. She probably only ever entered to make tea or coffee. More mugs sit in the sink, along with a few bowls and spoons. There's a basket of fruit, a notepad near the comm unit, shoes left beside the door. She has truly settled here. He moves onto the bedroom, skimming the closet and examining the bed. She clearly sleeps alone; this thought pleases him immensely. The pile of PADDs on the bedside table suggest as much, too, as does the untouched second set of pillows that claim the right side of the bed. A late afternoon sun streams between the blinds, giving the room an orange-ish cast. He can practically picture her in here.
It hadn't taken him long to find the place. The only trick now was waiting her out. She was out on some errands, giving him enough time to fill a small bag with clothes. She'd need some, where they're going, and he's fortunate to find just what he's looking for – sturdy, light clothes, good for traveling.
He's only been in the apartment for thirty minutes when the sound of keys jiggling within a lock alert him to her arrival. Khan promptly decides that he's not quiet ready to announce his presence yet, so he remains in the bedroom portion, lingering behind the wardrobe.
She enters, putting a few bags on the counter. Humming, Alya moves lightly through the kitchen, putting the various foods stuff away. The sound of her gives him pause. It has truly been too long since he's heard a happy woman. From behind the wardrobe, he watches her stretch upwards to pull a vase from a high shelf. As she arranges a few tall purple tulips, he slips out from his hiding place. Her back to him, he looms steadily, waiting until she turns around.
When she does, the vase is promptly dropped. He catches it soundlessly at her scream, approaching, reaching for the counter behind her to place it neatly beside the pile of mail. Frozen, Alya is boxed in by arms on either side of her. She blinks up at him with wide eye, clearly frightened, terrified and – there's a flicker of something else in the depths of her eye. "Relief?"
He cannot say. Trembling, she's not emoting much more than anxiety. Nor is she speaking. In an attempt to bring her high emotions down, the Augment begins.
"Hello," he says evenly. "Alya."
"You shouldn't be here," she whispers. "You're – you –"
Panic. She's utterly panicked. He cannot have this. "Thankfully I planned for this…."
He moves a hand behind her head, sinking fingers in her hair, moving closer. Alya quivers. She has good reason to – the fingers that press into her neck soon find the proper nerves. Within a matter of seconds, she's sinking. Khan manages to catch her just before her head hits the counter.
-XXX-
Two hours later, they're in Canada. Wright gave him a thirty-minute window to one of Starfleet's more decrepit transporter rooms – one of the oldest, located in a far corner of the Academy base, mostly out of order save for large cargo transports that are too delicate to trust motion through the atmosphere. Taking the motorbike one of Wright's friend left near dumpster behind the apartment, he sets Alya behind him, he put her arms around his waist, securing them with the handcuffs he's removed from the officer he'd killed in his escape.
They're going the opposite direction of most law enforcement – most anyone qualified is off-base searching for him. They're headed straight into the belly of the beast.
Once at the transporter, he set coordinates, then props Alya up against him. She's warm, still asleep. He inhales briefly, taking in her clean, human scent. She will hate him for this – for everything. Tucking her head beneath his chin, Khan closes his eyes. "Transport."
They land in the middle of a barren space, white and coarse and moving too too fast. A blizzard. Swirling snow pushed by fast winds creates a sheet of white. The snow feels foreign to him. He pulls Alya up, carrying her against his chest. He is glad that she was wearing a jacket. He wears no coat, having disregarded his after the meeting with Dudley. Though the cold does not affect him so badly, it does have a bite.
He finds the small base in no time – a half-mile ahead of the coordinates, no thanking Wright there. Had it been much further, he'd fear for Alya. His body heat was likely not enough to keep her warm against the waves of snow they were met with.
Inside there is a collection of computers, a heater, broken replicator, near-frozen MREs, and a few cots. Alya is laid out on one, the bags on another. In three hours the shuttle ought to arrive, to be "stranded" because of malfunctioning electricals. Theoretically it ought to have a few lockers of supplies, maps, more clothes, and a portable transporter, similar to the one he used in his attacks of the HQ and Captain-Commander summit.
With his mind at rest on the matter of escape, it now turns to thoughts of his family. At the moment, they were being housed in a warehouse on a small base in Somalia. "They won't be moved." He is resolved in this. They won't be. They can't be. Kirk had honor. Honesty in his heart. The security around them might increase, but they would not be harmed and they would not be removed.
If everything goes accordingly, they would be reunited within the week. He would have his family again, his freedom, everything.
Including a certain anthropologist. In her sleep, Alya shifts slightly. She'd done the same on their ride. He does not fear for her being roused, though her motion brings him discomfort. The occasional murmur does nothing to ease him, either. When she begins to shift further, he moves to sit beside her.
The three hours seem to pass like an age. It gives him plenty of time to think. Though, in the end, Khan cannot come up with any regrets. Merely hope. The future is staring him right in the face. It's laying right next to him. Lacing his fingers with Alya's, he wonders how she will react to her new living situation. Likely, not with a great deal of calm or grace.
Finally the shuttle arrives. Without a word, a pair of pilots exit the craft, each giving Khan a short nod before moving to the antique transporter unit. They depart in a matter of seconds. Dudley had done well in selecting cohorts.
He puts Alya on the shuttle. On of the bunks he lays her out gently. Then he gathers the bags. It's lucky the engines are already warm. Within less than twenty minutes, they're exiting the atmosphere, headed towards the dark, cold expanse of Federation space.
-XXX-
This was a tougher chapter to write. Besides getting into Khan's mind, the logistics were a little funny. It's also tough to write Khan in action moments as I imagine him to be very focused, very direct.
Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. It might be a bit before my next update, as midterms are fast approaching, and those essays won't just write themselves!
Still, reviews would be awesome. A great way to cheer up a dreary week of tests and papers…hint hint.