Chapter 2: Dropping like flies.
Apartment-block north-side 89,Iowa. April 15th 2262. 20:32h.
Seven days, seven days had passed since the first message had come in. And every day there had been more messages. By now Tom was fairly sure that the family was cursed. Now he wasn't a Kirk, but he was as close to family as one could get without being blood-related. He was sitting in a chair, watching as Winona went about the house rather frantically. Arranging three funerals, attending four more. It made his own stomach sink too.
"Is there nothing I can help you with?" he asked again, for the seventh time past hour.
"No, I must keep busy." She flipped her greying hair back and returned to the kitchen again to pick up the folders from another set of casket flowers where she'd left them.
Tom sighed and sat back. At the moment it was in fact a benefit that James was somewhere on the edges of space. Whatever, or whoever, had set out on wiping out all that carried the name Kirk would have to do one hell of an effort to get to Jim.
"In all honesty dear, I think you should worry about yourself more."
She did pause for a moment to look at Tom in confusion.
"Well, your last name is Kirk too Winona. Who knows, maybe that monster has set its next cross-hares on you. Instead of arranging the departure of the dead you should try to make sure that you are not next." He elaborated.
She stared for another moment.
"I will not be hiding. I won't." She let out a heavy sigh and slumped in another chair.
"Why not? You are in constant danger. How can you not be worried for your life?"
He stood up, it was getting late, he still had to eat and go back home. But he wouldn't leave until Winona was okay.
"I refuse to let someone dictate my life. I mean, he killed George's nephew Steven yesterday, and Steven was in India. Where would I go? Clearly this maniac knows how to find us. So why would I want to spend my possible last days in a strange place, in fear of my life? I'd rather be here, for the family. It's a family-trait."
Tom shook his head, George had been just the same kind of person.
"What about you? If this is your vision then why haven't you run away yet?"
The Brit looked at her again with a mild frown.
"I'm not a Kirk. He's only killed those with George's name or your maiden name."
"You're pretty much part of the family."
"I don't really have someone I'd leave behind alone if I'd die, and still, I'm not real family. He won't be coming for me."
There was silence for a while. Then Winona turned and grabbed her agenda.
"I have a lot to do. We'll talk tomorrow. It's late, you should probably head back too."
Tom nodded slowly. He really did not want to upset her any more.
"But I will be calling in the morning to make sure you're alright."
"I hadn't expected you to do any less. You have all week."
"Well George did give me only one simple thing to do when he died."
Winona looked up to two very grave pale blue eyes.
"Yes, to keep me and Jim safe. And you have. But this is not something you can stop. George would have understood that Tom. You should really not blame yourself if anything would happen."
"But I would. I mean… I broke that promise once already and doing it again wasn't on my list."
"Tom, the other time was on the demise of the USS Kelvin, nobody blames you for not being with us when we were trying to get home, because you had half your flesh torn from you."
Winona patted his shoulder.
"George liked you a lot, you were a great friend for him, and you are family to the rest of us now. End of story, drive safe."
"And you stay safe. If you have the feeling anything is out of place you just call."
"Yes, yes. Go on Thomas, it's getting dark."
Tom inclined his head and muttered a quick bye as he left. The dark did in fact get an extra creepiness since past events. He wasn't fearful, he usually even thought that the streetlights and night silence had a certain appeal. But for now he was kind of happy he could drive home, in a safe confined space that shielded him from the world.
He closed the car-doors. And let out a sigh, resting his forehead on the steering wheel. He had barely slept a wink these past days. He would keep waking up between short nightmares. Not just nightmares, but real memories and blurry experiences of fear. Things he'd barely even thought about in years, things he'd chosen to forget.
He looked around to find no traffic near and pulled out of his parking spot. He was quite tired, tonight he would probably sleep through, but not easy.
The Enterprise. April 15th 2262. 20:36h.
Everyone on the Enterprise had to agree, Captain Kirk was an absolute mess. The first day he had been driven, coaching his crew to make the ship travel as quick as it would go. He had been shouting and on edge. But he had been driven. As if maybe he had not quite realized what would be happening the next days. But that very evening of the first day there had been another transmission. Kirk had quite eagerly responded, probably in hopes of startling Khan with the progress he had made and scaring him off. Only he had not gotten Khan in front of him. No, it had started. Uhura had remembered how pale Kirk had gone when the blood-splattered face of his aunt had appeared on the screen. For a moment she had even expected the captain to faint. That short moment of ragged breathing and Kirk's dead silence had been interrupted when Khan had spoken.
"I have decided to be friendly today. I give you the chance to say goodbye to this one… Captain."
This time Khan had not appeared, simply stated it. Kirk had stayed silent, contemplating between a fit of rage and taking this chance to say goodbye to a loved one. Uhura would have put her money on the first. That was why she was surprised when a very tense Kirk sat down in the chair and looked at the screen, starting to tell his aunt that he loved her, that all would be okay, that he would always remember the good times like she had asked. It made everyone on the bridge fall silent and just listen. Nobody would think of speaking, there were some that even cried over the sadness of it. Eventually Kirk faltered too and fell silent again.
"Oh Captain. I am so touched." Khan said with a hint of a chuckle. "I do hope that it was all you wanted to say. Because time's up now."
There had been a glint of steel and the whole screen had ended up spattered with blood as Khan had slit the woman's throat.
"Goodnight Captain. Dream of me." Had been Khan's closing word before the screen had gone black.
It had been the first blow. Kirk had gotten aggressively eager to go home. He would scream and yell and anyone who would inform him of his impossible desire could even count on a good punch in the face. On the second night, and the nights after, Khan would open transmissions, overriding the ship's blocking capabilities so that Kirk would have to see. This time he would leave no time for goodbyes. He would show a recording of his latest work. There would be a set of sneering remarks, to which Kirk would react in rage and desperation at first. And then it would end again. After three days Kirk stopped yelling at Khan, after four he just sat and waited. After five he looked sucked dry. He stopped eating and drinking mostly. He stopped ordering people around. He just stopped everything.
"Can't you talk to him Spock?" Uhura asked as she saw Kirk poke his food around with hollow eyes.
Spock looked up from his own plate and briefly let his eyes go over their captain.
"I do not belief there are any words that can bring the captain out of this state."
Uhura shook her head.
"Spock, he needs us. All of us. This isn't about possibilities or numbers. He has to know that we care. That he still has us."
"I suppose I could always try." Spock pushed his chair back and walked to Kirk. "Trying to kill your food has no use Captain, I can confirm that it is already dead."
Kirk slowly looked up, his eyes a little surprised.
"Did you just try to make a joke Spock?"
"Affirmative. But given that you had to ask, it must have failed in being amusing."
The Vulcan said down and looked as Kirk smiled a little.
"It's okay, I appreciate the gesture."
"We are all worried for your well-being captain. You have not been yourself as of late. It is important that you do not give up. It is exactly what Khan is aiming for."
Kirk frowned a little and grabbed something from his pocket, paper. Spock knew that the captain hardly ever wrote by hand, all the ship-logs and messages were typed out. This was something personal. It looked like a list. Kirk brushed a hand through his messed up hair. He had been lacking in his will to maintain his hygiene as of late too.
"Do you know how it feels to have to cross off a member of your family? One every day, so you can see who is still left?"
"I do not Captain, most of my family all died at once with the destruction of Vulcan."
Kirk grabbed the paper a little tighter and closed his eyes, the blue of them had been glistening with tears again. He looked into Spock's eyes. They were dark and alert as ever, but Kirk could see a little hint of pain in them as he triggered the memory of losing his home.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you remember that."
"That is fine captain, I know you did not intend for that. But I do strongly take offense that you let Khan win like this. You should fight to let as many names on that list as possible survive. Giving up is like them up."
"But what can I do? We tried everything, and we gained only five days on the schedule. That is still a month of travel, that is thirty people to lose Spock."
"And since when would you settle with impossible?"
Kirk snorted a little, returning to poke in his food.
"There is a limit to everything Spock. Khan knows damn well that he has the time of the world."
Spock sighed and looked back at the rest.
"Captain, your crew is most dedicated, we will do anything. But please do not give up."
Kirk looked out of the window, shaking his head just slightly. Spock slowly stood up again and returned to the table with Uhura and the others.
"Well, I tried." Spock sighed as they all looked up hopefully.
Uhura patted his arm as he sat.
"And trying was enough. I'm proud of you."
The doors slid open and Scotty hurried in.
"Captain! Captain! I can get us home faster!" he shouted.
Kirk snapped out of his wallowing and looked at Scotty.
"How?" he asked with a sharp tone.
"Well, it is quite dangerous… You see, I could be right and we could half the time of our travel. Or I could be horribly wrong and everything blows up and kills all of us."
Kirk looked at the crew.
"And how big are the odds that you would be wrong and kill us all?"
"Well… You have me for being an expert right?" Scotty fumbled a bit with the pin on his jacket.
He didn't like to have all eyes on him.
"What are the numbers? I do not wish to kill everyone in some wild fit to get home."
"Well, it has never been attempted captain. So I would in fact say the chances are umm…. Fifty-fifty?"
Kirk looked at his crew.
"I would take any risk to get back to my family fast. But you are family too. If you do not wish to take that risk then neither will I."
They all mumbled a little, a short discussion that only lasted a few seconds.
"Captain, we can all tell you that fifty-fifty are odds none of us think worth considering." Uhura said with a thin smile. "We will be right behind you. Every step of the way."
Abandoned house in block C, Iowa. April 15th 2262. 22:48h.
Khan sat in the scruffy chair in the back of the living room, through the boards that had been nailed on the windows there was still moonlight coming in. Khan did not like the modern world so much. In a way he longed for the nostalgia and remainders of his time, of the 20th century. He rubbed his thumb over the cherry-wood armrest of the chair. The cushioning was torn and old. The dark green it had been had almost faded to a filthy grey. The whole house lingered in a lost time, covered in a layer of dust, a dead home. Khan set his eyes on the coffee-table again. The thing was made out of carved cherry-wood too. A masterpiece of a good wood-carver. It contrasted so much with his arsenal of weaponry that he'd spread out over it. Warm, beautiful wood against clinic, cold steel. So far the murders had not filled his void. Seeing Kirk go half mad from the pain he was causing was… soothing at times. But even the most vicious slashes and deaths would not do to satisfy his emptiness. He had gutted one, he had burned one alive, he had chopped one to bits. But it did not do. Maybe… maybe because he was trying to take revenge on the wrong person. Trying to push away what caused his real pain. The fact that he could no longer punish the man who cost him his…. Everything. In a way he was settling for Kirk to direct that hatred to. It would just have to do. He clenched his jaw. It would just have to do… He closed his eyes as he felt a wave of nausea in his gut. Somebody had to pay for his loss. He waited for the moment of weakness to pass and let out a shaky breath, blinking at the sting in his eyes. He could not allow himself to crumble now. Tonight another would die, such was certain. All he had to do for now was pick the weapon, the way he would make Captain James T. Kirk shatter again this time. He'd gotten the address for his intended victim this afternoon. An apartment, so he could not have yelling or screaming. It would have to be clean. This one would get off easy then.
He grabbed a curved blade, the polished silver mirroring his eyes as he studied it, sharp on both ends, this thing could do some serious damage. He slipped the dagger in place on his belt. He'd traded the uniform he'd stolen from the archives for something a little more common. A black turtle-neck and a jacket, nosing through a few people's belongings had been easy enough. He just hoped these clothes could stay clean for once, he'd had to replace his garments every time he'd killed so far. It was a petty complaint, whining over blood-stains you had put there yourself. Death was becoming a little to normal for him.
In the distance a clock rang its bells, 11PM. Now it would have to be quiet enough to carry out his task. He rolled up the cloth with weapons and put it back in the tv-cabinet where he'd hidden it before. The door let out an ominous creaking as he headed out again. Tonight was bright, the stars littered across the dark sky and the moon giving everything a silver glow.
Khan headed away from the abandoned streets of old time and into the city core. It was strange how quickly the whole landscape changed from something familiar to a world of high-tech that he was still hardly familiar with. The streets were little short of deserted, every now and then a hover-car would pass by, its silent pulse of the generator humming away in the distance. He looked at his PDA quickly, casually to see if he was still heading the right way.
Eventually he ended up at another high tower of apartments, a flat. Khan walked by it a few times to quickly study the entrance. It had a night-lock. A code pad at the front hall so only the occupants would be able to come in. Khan grabbed a small tool from his pocket a walked to the building. He looked around to find that he was still alone and attached the small clip to the wires of the code pad. A blue light indicated the device's activity until the screen of the pad lit up and filled in the code by itself. There was a light beep and the glass doors slid open for Khan to pass. He pocketed the decoder and headed to the elevators in one go. He clicked the button on his distorter, the cameras should not see his face. Kirk knew who was killing his family, but he liked to have the police guessing. Kirk was far enough away not to disturb him in his work, but a man-hunt could set him back quite a lot. He travelled to the sixth floor unseen and when he stepped out he was again met by a deserted hallway. Good. Like faith finally favoured him this once. This would be the easiest kill he'd made.
He walked to the right door, taking a quick peek at the window. No lights on inside, his target must be sleeping.
"Perfect." He mumbled to himself.
He took out the decoder tool again to override the key-panel. He heard some noise, an elderly woman passing by. Khan greeted her casually and slipped the clasp around the wires. There were a few beeps and then the door popped loose from its frame. He was in, but the hardest part would be to leave without a person having suspicions.
He entered and closed the door behind him again with no more than a sigh. It was dead silent inside the apartment. No wind blowing like outside. And at this height one could not hear the sound of traffic below. Khan looked around. This guy was tidy, the entire hallway was clean and neat, shoes put in a straight line under the coats on the rack. Khan carefully put his fingers to the surface of the living-room door. It opened with a sigh and Khan looked inside. There was a package of take-out boxes on the coffee-table, a laptop buried under several pieces of paper. Clearly he had been working on something. Khan picked up some of the paper, stories. Pages of a novel. Shame he'd have to die, he was a good writer.
Khan put the paper back and headed to the door on the right. He took the dagger from his belt as he stepped into the bedroom. It was dark, moonlight barely made it into the room through a few slits of light between the curtains. It was almost silvery blue, the light. It cast its glow on all the light furniture. Most was pale wood and white to give the small apartment a sense of space.
The other man was curled up in his sheets, oblivious to Khan's presence. There was only a trace of brown curly hair sticking up from above the sheets. Khan snorted a little and inched closer. His target was fast asleep, he couldn't have asked for a better kill. Easy and quiet. He took out the recorder from his coat-pocket, keeping sharp, blue eyes on the heap of human as he started it up. He secured the knife in his hand and held it up to strike. He approached, quiet enough that his footsteps made no sound against the woodwork flooring. He put the recorder on his shoulder with the clip so he would have both hands free to carry out his murder. Utterly carefully he grabbed the tip of the blanket to peel back the sheets, he couldn't slice a jugular without seeing it properly. He licked his lips to catch the sweat that formed with his anxiety. He quickly tugged at the blanket to pull it back. The sheets came off easily, revealing the person that had been under it. Khan instinctively sought the jugular. He saw the vein under some very pale white skin. His eyes momentarily fluttered up to the other's face. And right then, the world just stopped for Khan.
"No… This can't be."