Chapter 33: Space Seed
July 4, 2267
U.S.S. Enterprise, NCC-1701
Dawn was on the bridge when the SOS signal came through, piercing the routine hum of space with its desperate call. The signal was a relic from a bygone era, encoded in Morse code—a language nearly forgotten by the 23rd century. Only a few on the Enterprise, including Dawn, Buffy, and Lieutenant Maria McGivers, would have had any chance of recognizing it. The last official Morse code transmission had been sent out on July 12th, 1999, and by all accounts, it was a form of communication that had long since faded into history.
As the dots and dashes filtered through the ship's systems, Dawn's fingers danced over the console, deciphering the message with a mix of curiosity and concern. The initial distress call, a classic SOS, was promptly followed by a second, more enigmatic transmission: the name "SS Botany Bay" in Morse code. The message repeated endlessly, as if the sender had become trapped in time, unable to move beyond this final, desperate plea. All attempts at further communication were met with the same relentless signal, stubborn and unyielding.
Guided by the haunting message, the Enterprise homed in on its source, eventually drawing alongside the dark, ominous hull of a ship. The vessel, identified by the library computer as a CZ-100 class, was an antique even by the standards of the 1990s. The last of these ships had been constructed around 1994, making the one now drifting beside them a ghost from the past. Its appearance on their sensors confirmed its derelict status, its signal left to broadcast automatically, a forlorn cry echoing through the void.
Dawn, who had been only seven years old in 1994, felt a chill run down her spine. The name "Botany Bay" held no immediate significance for her, its history a blank spot in her memory. She glanced at Buffy, who appeared equally perplexed. Like Dawn, Buffy had been preoccupied during the years when the ship had been launched. The Eugenics Wars, which had ravaged parts of Asia during the late 20th century, had been little more than a distant news story to them at the time. Buffy, in particular, had been consumed by her duties as the Slayer, called to battle the forces of darkness in 1996. The war in Asia had seemed a world away from the nightly struggles against vampires and demons.
The Enterprise's sensors swept over the derelict ship, revealing the unsettling truth: the vessel still harbored life, or something akin to it. The equipment on board was still functioning, albeit barely, and there were faint heartbeats emanating from within—around eighty or ninety in total. The beats were slow, unnaturally so, none faster than four per minute. Yet, despite the presence of life signs, there were no indications of respiration. It was as if the occupants were suspended in a state between life and death, neither fully alive nor entirely gone.
"Aliens?" Kirk asked, turning to McCoy for an explanation.
The surgeon, with a shrug that conveyed his own bewilderment, replied, "You've got me, Jim. Even aliens have to breathe. Besides, the ship's name is in English."
Kirk's lips curled into a wry smile. "The English," he said drily, "were notorious for not breathing." His gaze shifted to Buffy and Dawn, the two individuals on the bridge most likely to have some insight into the ship's origins.
"We can tell you nothing about the registry," Buffy said, shaking her head slightly. "Dawn was seven around the time that ship would have been built, and I was busy with stuff at school." She caught Kirk's eye and mouthed the word "demon," a subtle reminder that her youth had been consumed by a very different kind of war.
Kirk nodded, understanding that Buffy's battles with the supernatural had left little room for concerns about far-off conflicts or spacecraft launched during the Eugenics Wars. Turning to his science officer, he asked, "Spock, anything in the computer on the registry?"
"Nothing in the computer, Captain," Spock replied, his voice as calm and precise as ever.
Kirk frowned, the mystery deepening. "Buffy, Dawn, what can you two tell us about the period when that ship was built?" he asked, hoping for some fragment of relevant knowledge.
"Not much," Dawn admitted. "We know the Eugenics Wars were happening in Asia, but a lot of what we know was actually garnered years after it was over. Lieutenant McGivers might know more. She is a historian."
Kirk considered this for a moment before making his decision. "Well, we'd better go across and look it over," he said, his voice firm with command. "Since you two are from that time period, you'd better be in the party. With your engineering background, you can also inspect the machinery and see what's salvageable, if anything. Bones, you too."
"Why am I always included in these things?" McCoy grumbled; his voice laced with exasperation as he prepared to head to the transporter room. "I signed aboard to practice medicine, not to have my atoms scattered back and forth across space by a transporter."
Kirk, already halfway to the turbolift, paused just long enough to glance back at his friend with a small, knowing smile. "You're included because we hear heartbeats," he said, his tone firm but not without a hint of sympathy. "And that is your department." The implication was clear: where there were heartbeats, there could be life—and life, no matter how faint or alien, fell squarely within McCoy's realm of expertise.
McCoy let out a heavy sigh, resigned but still muttering under his breath about the indignities of space travel.
As they moved toward the turbolift, Dawn, her mind sharp and analytical, spoke up with a suggestion. "We should bring Lieutenant McGivers," she said, her voice carrying the calm authority of someone used to thinking on her feet. "She might know something that Buffy and I don't." The suggestion was practical, and her tone carried an undercurrent of urgency—if there were any historical nuances that she and Buffy missed, McGivers would likely catch them.
Kirk nodded, appreciating the foresight. "Have her meet us in the transporter room," he ordered, his voice clipped and efficient as he shifted fully into command mode. There was no time to waste—whatever awaited them on the derelict ship demanded swift and decisive action. "Let's go."
S.S. Botany Bay
It was almost dark inside the Botany Bay, the faint light of the transporter beam quickly fading into the dimness of the ship's interior. The boarding party materialized in a long, narrow corridor that stretched out into shadowy obscurity. The air was thick with the musty scent of age and abandonment, and the oppressive silence was broken only by the low hum of the ship's systems, still clinging to life after what must have been centuries of neglect.
Their eyes adjusted to the gloom, revealing row upon row of coffin-like drawers or canisters, each one embedded into the walls on either side of the corridor. The canisters were uniform in shape, about two meters square on the end, their surfaces dull with accumulated dust and the passage of time. A small green light blinked over each one, casting eerie, wavering reflections that danced along the metal surfaces and created a confusing, almost hypnotic effect in the dimness.
Kirk surveyed the scene, the unsettling atmosphere pressing down on him like a tangible weight. "Buffy, Dawn?" he called, his voice low, as if hesitant to disturb the oppressive stillness.
Buffy stepped forward, her Slayer instincts on high alert, scanning the corridor with keen eyes. "Their cryo capsules," she said, her voice cutting through the darkness as she pieced together the purpose of the strange canisters. Dawn, moving with purpose, found the controls for the lights and with a quick adjustment, the corridor was flooded with harsh overhead lighting. The sudden brightness revealed more of the grim scene—a graveyard of technology frozen in time.
"Now that I see these," Buffy continued, her tone more certain, "I believe this may have been a sleeper ship."
"Suspended animation?" McCoy asked, his curiosity piqued as he considered the implications.
"Yes," Dawn confirmed, stepping closer to one of the canisters to inspect it. "They were necessary for long space trips until about the time Zefram Cochrane invented warp drive. Back then, interplanetary travel took years." Her words conjured images of the early pioneers of space, drifting through the void in these cold metal sarcophagi, their lives suspended in a fragile state between life and death.
McCoy, always the pragmatist, applied his tricorder to the nearest cabinet. The device whirred softly, gathering data from the ancient machinery. "Look here, Jim," he said, a note of surprise in his voice. "A new reading. The lights seem to have triggered something inside."
Kirk didn't need to consult the tricorder to sense the change. The stillness of the ship had been broken by a faint, almost imperceptible hum emanating from the cabinet. The little green light above it flickered once and then shifted to a deep, ominous red, signaling a shift from dormancy to activity.
Buffy moved toward the cabinet that McCoy was examining, her eyes narrowing as she studied the mechanism. With a firm tug, she discovered that the front of the cabinet was actually a protective shield. She pulled it away with a metallic clank, revealing a transparent observation panel beneath. Her breath caught slightly as she peered inside.
On the other side of the glass, bathed in a soft violet glow, lay a motionless figure. The man inside was starkly naked, his body frozen in a state of perfect preservation. He was extraordinarily handsome, his features sculpted and chiseled like a work of art, with the sun-bronzed complexion of Aryan blood from the northern Indian Sikhs. There was an added hint of the Oriental in his countenance, a subtle blending of traits that gave him an almost exotic appeal. Even in his inert state, his features exuded strength, intelligence, and a palpable arrogance that spoke of command and dominance.
"How beautiful," Marla McGivers breathed, her voice barely above a whisper, as if she were entranced by the sight before her. Her eyes were wide with a mixture of awe and admiration, the historian in her captivated by the living relic of a bygone era.
"This cabinet is wired to be triggered first," Buffy said, her voice cutting through the spell that had fallen over the group. She studied the intricate wiring and the positioning of the controls with a practiced eye. "Maybe that means he's the leader or the pilot."
"Possibly a doctor," McCoy added, his tone thoughtful as he studied the readings on his tricorder. The hum of the machinery was growing more insistent, and the soft violet glow around the man seemed to pulse in time with his quickening heartbeat. "Someone to supervise the revival of the others, ensure their safety."
"He's the leader," Marla McGivers stated with quiet certainty, her eyes still fixed on the handsome figure encased in the cryo capsule. There was a note of reverence in her voice, as if she were speaking of some ancient king rather than a man frozen in time.
"Oh?" Kirk said, raising an eyebrow at her conviction. "What makes you think so?"
"Well…" Marla hesitated, her gaze never leaving the man's face. "You can see it. A Sikh type. They were fantastic warriors, known for their discipline and their courage." Her voice held a trace of admiration, as if she were recalling the legends of old. "This one… he has the bearing of a leader, someone who would command respect, maybe even fear."
"He is reviving," McCoy interrupted, his voice tinged with urgency. "Heartbeat up to fifty-two already, and definite breathing." The doctor's words were clinical, but there was an underlying tension in his demeanor, a recognition that they were witnessing something extraordinary—an awakening from the depths of time itself.
Kirk turned to Buffy and Dawn, his command instincts kicking in. "Dawn, Buffy," he ordered, "see if they're all like him."
Without hesitation, the two sisters moved down the line, methodically pulling off the protective shields and peering into each cryo capsule. The soft light from their tricorders illuminated the faces of the sleepers within, revealing a diverse array of individuals, each one preserved in perfect stillness.
"No, Jim," Dawn said finally, her voice echoing slightly in the cold, metallic corridor. "A mixed bag. Differing regions. Japanese, Chinese, Vietnamese, possibly Russian." There was a note of wonder in her voice as she considered the implications—a crew drawn from the far corners of the Earth, united in this forgotten voyage.
"All their lights are still green," Buffy observed, her Slayer instincts alert for any sign of danger. But there was only the steady, rhythmic blinking of the lights, the quiet assurance that these ancient travelers were still alive, still waiting to awaken from their long slumber.
Dawn's eyes lingered on one of the capsules, her thoughts turning inward. "A man from our time," she mused, glancing at Buffy. "What we could talk about. What we could learn, Buffy. Imagine the knowledge he carries, the experiences he could share with us." There was an edge of excitement in her voice, the thrill of uncovering a piece of history long thought lost.
McCoy's tricorder emitted a sharp beep, drawing his attention back to the man in the first capsule. "It's about to be impossible," McCoy warned, his tone growing more urgent as he checked the readings again. "His heartbeat's beginning to drop back down. If you want to talk to this living fossil, Jim, I suggest we get him over to my sick bay right away quick."
"Oh no!" Marla exclaimed, a note of panic creeping into her voice. She reached out as if to stop them, her eyes wide with concern for the man she had just moments ago admired as a leader from a bygone era.
McCoy shot her a sidelong look, his expression one of understanding but also of firm resolve. "I quite agree," he said, his voice steady. "A patient well worth fighting for. And think of the history locked up in that head!" His words carried the weight of responsibility, the knowledge that they held in their hands not just a life, but a living link to the past.
"Never mind the history," Kirk said, his tone decisive. "It's a human life. Beam him over." There was no hesitation in his voice, no doubt about what needed to be done. The past might hold its allure, but for Kirk, the priority was clear: saving the life of the man before him, no matter what mysteries the future might hold.
U.S.S. Enterprise, NCC-1701
While McCoy meticulously worked on the reviving man, carefully adjusting the medical instruments and monitoring vital signs with practiced precision, Kirk took the opportunity to gather more information from his crew. The dim, cold glow of the cryo chamber provided a stark contrast to the intense activity on the bridge.
"As near as I can work out their heading," Spinelli reported, having taken over from Sulu at the helm. His voice was steady, but there was an edge of concentration as he sifted through the star charts and navigational data. "They must have been trying for the Tau Ceti system." He looked up, his eyes reflecting the glow of the control panels.
"Makes sense," Kirk acknowledged, nodding in agreement. "It's near Earth, and there are three habitable planets." His gaze lingered thoughtfully on the star maps projected around the bridge, considering the potential for a long-forgotten mission to colonize new worlds.
"Yes sir, but they would never have gotten there," Spinelli continued, his expression grave. "Their port control jets took meteor damage, and the hits put them off course, too." He tapped a few more commands into his console, the hum of the machinery underscoring the gravity of their situation.
"Buffy, Dawn, any log books or records?" Kirk inquired, turning to the sisters. The urgency in his voice hinted at the importance of understanding the ship's history and mission.
"No," Dawn replied, shaking her head with a trace of frustration. "They must have been in suspended animation when the ship took off." She crossed her arms, her brow furrowed as she considered the implications of such a significant loss of information.
"Ship's equipment?" Kirk asked, pressing for further details. His eyes moved between the two women, eager for any additional insights that could shed light on their mysterious find.
"Stuff needed mainly for colonization," Buffy answered. Her voice was matter-of-fact as she relayed the information. "Plus, some guns, likely in case of anything hostile to human life on their new homeworld." Her gaze was distant as she envisioned the long-abandoned preparations for a journey to a distant planet. "Twelve of the life support systems malfunctioned, leaving seventy-two still operating. About a dozen of those are women." Her tone carried a mix of professional detachment and empathy for the people still trapped in their cryogenic slumber.
"Seventy-two alive," Kirk repeated, the weight of the number settling heavily on his shoulders. His mind raced through the implications, considering the lives potentially at stake and the responsibilities they now carried. "Any conclusions, Mr. Spock?" he asked, turning to his science officer for a more analytical perspective.
"Very few, Captain," Spock responded, his voice calm and deliberate. "The CZ-100 class vessel was built for interplanetary travel only—not interstellar." He adjusted the settings on his console, the steady beeping of his instruments punctuating his analysis. "The ship's design and equipment were not intended for journeys beyond our solar system, which explains the difficulties they encountered."
"They tried it," Kirk said, his voice tinged with a mix of disbelief and curiosity. His gaze remained fixed on the image of the derelict ship on the screen, trying to piece together the puzzle of its history and mission.
"Granted," the science officer replied, his analytical tone steady. "But why?" He leaned forward, his fingers dancing over the controls as he accessed additional data, his mind clearly grappling with the broader implications.
"Good question," Dawn interjected, her brow furrowed in thought. "The U.S. was relatively left alone during the war. But Asia was ravaged by it." She paused, her gaze drifting as she considered the historical context. "Maybe they thought the entire planet was like their own slice of it." Her voice carried the weight of a hypothesis born from both knowledge and speculation.
"Counselor, consider the expense, just to begin with," Spock said, his voice a calm counterpoint to the mounting tension. "Healthy, well-oriented young humans would think of some less costly way of surviving—or of committing suicide. It was ten thousand to one against their making it to Tau Ceti, and they must have known it." He adjusted his stance, a gesture that underscored the gravity of his reasoning. "And another thing: Why no record of the attempt? Granted that the records are incomplete, but a maiden star voyage—the name Botany Bay should have been recorded a thousand times; one mention, at least, should have survived. But there is nothing." His analytical mind worked diligently to uncover the layers of mystery surrounding the ship's ill-fated journey.
"Botany Bay. Hmm," Kirk mused aloud, his eyes narrowing in thought. "Lieutenant McGivers tells me that was a penal colony on the shores of Australia. Is that of some significance?" He directed his attention to Buffy and Dawn, seeking any additional insights they might provide.
"To my knowledge, we never shipped anyone off Earth for any crime," Dawn said, shaking her head. Her tone was resolute, grounded in historical accuracy. "Not during that time anyways. Not till we started building penal colonies on other planets anyways." She met Kirk's gaze, her expression reflecting a mixture of concern and uncertainty.
"So much for my theory," Kirk said, a hint of frustration seeping into his voice. "I'm still waiting for yours, Spock." He gestured toward the science officer, his eyes conveying a silent plea for answers.
"I do not have the facts, Captain," Spock said, his voice steady and measured. "William of Occam said that one must not multiply guesses without sufficient reasons. I suggest that we take the Botany Bay to the nearest Star Base for a thorough study." His gaze remained focused, his logical mind assessing the next steps with precision.
Kirk considered Spock's suggestion, his expression contemplative. "All right," he finally said, making a decisive gesture. "Rig tractors for towing." He turned to face his crew, his resolve firm. "In the meantime, I'm going to look at the patient." His voice carried the weight of responsibility and the promise of answers yet to be uncovered.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
In sickbay, the atmosphere was heavy with a mix of anticipation and tension as the man out of time lay on the biobed, still unconscious but now breathing regularly. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest contrasted sharply with the beeping of medical equipment that monitored his vital signs. Marla McGivers stood to one side, her gaze fixed on the patient, her expression a blend of curiosity and concern.
"How is he, Bones?" Kirk asked as he and Dawn entered, their voices cutting through the quiet hum of the medical bay.
"By all rights he should be dead," McCoy replied shortly, his tone flat yet laden with underlying tension.
"False modesty?" Kirk inquired, his eyes narrowing in skepticism.
"By no means," McCoy said. "I'm good, but not that good. His heart stopped three times. When I got it going the third time, he woke up for a moment, smiled at me, and said 'How long?' I guessed a couple of centuries. He smiled again, fell asleep, and damned if his heart didn't stop a fourth time, and start up again of its own accord. There's something inside this man that refuses to accept death." His words conveyed a deep respect for the patient's resilience, underscoring the mystery of the man's survival.
"He must have the constitution of an ox," Kirk remarked, his voice tinged with admiration.
"That is not just a metaphor," McCoy said, pointing to the body function panel. The display showed data that highlighted the extraordinary nature of the man's physiology. "Look at that. Even in his present shape, his heart valve action has twice the power of yours or mine. The only person I have seen to be equal to that is Buffy." His tone carried a note of clinical fascination mixed with professional pride.
"Because of the," Dawn said as she looked toward Marla, "you know what." McCoy nodded in understanding. "Which means he was genetically engineered before genetic engineering was banned," Dawn deduced. "Will he live?" Her concern was evident, a reflection of both her scientific curiosity and compassion.
"If he gets some rest, he may," McCoy said, his voice softened by a rare note of optimism. "Beat it," he added, directing his attention to Kirk and Marla. "Both of you. This is a sickbay, not a wardroom." His command was firm, emphasizing the need for privacy and space for the patient's recovery.
Grinning, Kirk motioned Marla out and followed her, their footsteps echoing softly in the corridor outside. The door closed behind them with a quiet whoosh, leaving McCoy and Dawn alone with the patient and the intricate dance of medical machinery.
"How much does she know?" McCoy asked, glancing toward the door with a mixture of curiosity and caution.
"Enough," Dawn replied, her tone measured and thoughtful. "While mine and Buffy's records are classified, there are several non-classified instances where we were captured on film. The dedication ceremony of the warp five complex was one. Being a historian, she would be able to put two and two together and figure out that Buffy and I are over two hundred and sixty years old."
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
It was only a few hours later that McCoy summoned Kirk and Dawn on the bridge with a terse message. "Captain, Counselor," he said over the intercom, "I have a patient with questions—and I don't mind telling you, patients like this could put medicine out of business. Can you come down?" The urgency in his voice underscored the unusual nature of the situation.
When Kirk and Dawn arrived in sickbay, they found the man from the Botany Bay now dressed in a tunic from the Enterprise's stores. The transformation from a comatose figure to an alert and vibrant individual was striking. His eyes, sharp and inquisitive, betrayed a keen awareness that belied the time he had spent unconscious. He was propped up on his bed, his posture radiating a mixture of strength and impatience.
Kirk stepped forward, introducing himself with a blend of professionalism and curiosity, while Dawn followed suit, her demeanor equally composed.
"Thank you," the man said, his voice rich and authoritative. "I am told I have slept for two centuries or more, and am on board a real starship—not a makeshift like mine. What is our heading?" His tone was direct and commanding, revealing a mind accustomed to making decisions and giving orders.
Kirk, both amused and slightly irritated by the man's immediate focus on logistical details, raised an eyebrow. "Would you care to give your name first?"
"No, I would not," the man replied firmly. "I have a responsibility. If you are indeed a commander, you will recognize it. Where are we going?" His refusal to reveal his identity was accompanied by an air of unyielding authority, suggesting that he saw himself as central to the unfolding situation.
Realizing that engaging in a battle of wills with someone so recently revived from a state of suspended animation would be counterproductive, Kirk decided to defer to the man's insistence. His patience and understanding were evident as he prepared to address the man's concerns.
"My sister and I are from your time," Dawn said, sensing the need to bridge the gap between past and present. The man's eyes narrowed with interest at her statement. "It's a complicated story. Anyway, our heading is Starbase Twelve, our command base in this sector."
"Which is?" the man pressed; his gaze unwavering.
"Sadly, our galactic coordinate system doesn't match what we had back in the twentieth century," Dawn explained. "That said, though we are nowhere near Tau Ceti." Her words carried a hint of apology, acknowledging the disconnect between the past and the present.
"Galactic," the man said, his voice tinged with a mixture of curiosity and resignation. "I see. And my people?"
Kirk responded with measured assurance, "Seventy-two of the canisters are still functioning. The people will be revived when we reach Starbase Twelve. We wanted to see how we fared with reviving you, first."
The man, whose commanding presence seemed to waver slightly with fatigue, nodded in approval. "Logical and hard-headed; I approve. I do begin to grow fatigued," he admitted. "Can we continue the questioning at another time?"
Kirk's brow furrowed slightly, noting the man's reluctance. "You haven't answered any questions yet," he pointed out, "except by inference."
"I apologize," the big man said promptly, with a hint of sincerity in his tone. "My name is Khan. I command the Botany Bay Colonizing Expedition. I think perhaps I could answer your questions better if I knew your period, your terminology and so on—perhaps something to read during my convalescence would serve. History, technology, whatever is available."
The request seemed reasonable enough. Kirk turned to McCoy. "Dr. McCoy will show you how to hook your viewing screen here into our library tapes," he said. "And I think Dawn and Buffy might enjoy filling you in on the history since they lived through it."
"Very good," Khan said with a slight smile. "I have two hundred years of catching up to do." His expression was one of eager anticipation, though it suddenly shifted as his eyes closed abruptly.
McCoy glanced at the body function panel above Khan's bed, noting the sudden change. "Asleep," he said, a note of relief in his voice. "Well, I'm glad he's got some human weaknesses." His comment carried a mix of professional satisfaction and wry humor.
As Kirk and Dawn made their way back to the bridge, they began to fully appreciate the extent of the information Khan had withheld. Kirk, feeling a surge of frustration and self-reproach, sought out Spock. "Anything?" he asked as he cornered the science officer at the computer console.
Spock, focused intently on the screen, responded with calm efficiency. "Nothing about an interplanetary starflight until just after Earth's invention of warp drive in 2063," he said. "How is the patient?"
"Arrogant—and clever," Kirk remarked, his tone a mix of admiration and wariness. "Enormously powerful. And with an almost magnetic charisma. He's not at all what I expected from a twentieth-century man."
Spock, his eyes flickering briefly towards Buffy and Dawn, responded with a measured observation. "Interesting, given when the Counselor and Commander Summers were born."
Kirk nodded, acknowledging the point. "I know."
"That said," Spock continued, his voice carrying a hint of intellectual curiosity, "he is possibly a product of selective breeding."
"That had occurred to me," Kirk admitted. "If I wanted a superman, he's very much the kind of outcome I'd aim for."
"Exactly, Captain," Spock said. "He embodies nearly every stereotype of an Earthman's dream of power and potency. And based on the fragments of the record I've examined, he seems to be precisely the kind of individual who exacerbated the chaos of the 1990s."
Kirk raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh? I thought it was a group of scientists."
"The Eugenics Wars were not initiated by the scientists themselves," Dawn interjected, her voice carrying the weight of historical insight. "It was the creations of these scientists who ignited the conflict."
Spock nodded in agreement. "The Counselor is correct. The scientists promoted carefully orchestrated marriages among themselves and applied their understanding of heredity to their progeny. The monstrous figures and the aggressive leaders emerged only after the war had already begun. The scientists remained detached, continuing their breeding experiments while the world around them descended into chaos."
Kirk, absorbing this information, inquired, "And our patient?"
"One of those children," Spock replied. "His age aligns with that of the aggressive leaders who seized power in several nations across Asia and the Orient. However, their overreach led to their downfall. They could not maintain their conquests. It's a historical fact. Furthermore, Captain, are you aware that about eighty or ninety of these individuals were never apprehended, never even identified? There were no bodies, no graves, no definitive traces."
Kirk's eyes widened with realization. "I certainly wasn't aware of that. Dawn? Buffy?"
Buffy shook her head, her expression thoughtful. "No, I wasn't aware of that either. But it doesn't surprise me. The period between the Eugenics Wars and World War III was chaotic, to say the least. I can see where you're going with this, Spock. You think Khan and his people might be those missing individuals."
"Yes, Commander," Spock confirmed, his tone resolute.
"It stands up," Kirk said, his voice reflecting the gravity of the situation. "But what we're left with is that we can only obtain more relevant information from Khan himself. His mind is like a tantalum-lined vault; we won't be able to force anything out of him. We'll have to try charm, though that might not work either. Perhaps we can use the customs of his own era to disarm him. Dawn, what do you suggest?"
"An introductory dinner," Dawn proposed thoughtfully. "We could attempt to lower his defenses through a purely social event. It might provide an opportunity to engage with him on a more personal level and gather the information we need."
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
Marla McGivers entered the dining room with a hair style so boldly anachronistic that it seemed to defy the passage of time itself. Her coiffure, a cascade of intricately styled curls, appeared as though it had been plucked from an earlier, more glamorous era, sharply contrasting with the sleek, modern fashions of the starship. Her presence, as striking as her hair, seemed to make the room shimmer with an unusual kind of antique allure.
As for Khan, his demeanor was a study in effortless charisma. He moved through the room with an almost predatory grace, his gaze a mixture of warmth and shrewd calculation. The air around him crackled with an almost tangible charm, an aura so compelling that it was impossible to discern if he himself was truly enchanted by the evening. Instead, he exuded an effortless magnetism that left everyone else feeling as though they were basking in the glow of his approval. No matter the setting or the company, Khan appeared to adapt with uncanny ease, his presence transforming every situation into one where he felt at home.
Later, as the brandy was poured and the conversation grew more intimate, it became clear that Khan's charm was not universally effective. Spock, with his usual detached curiosity, broke through the veneer of civility. "But you still have not told us why you decided on star travel, Commander Khan—nor how you managed to keep it out of the records."
"Adventure, Mr. Spock," Khan responded smoothly, his voice imbued with a sense of grandeur. "There was little else left to be accomplished on Earth."
Spock's eyes narrowed slightly. "There was the overthrow of the Eugenics tyrannies. Many men considered that a worthwhile effort."
"A waste of spirit in a desert of shame," Khan retorted with a dismissive wave of his hand. "There was much that was noble about the Eugenics crusade. It was the last grand attempt to unify humanity, at least in my time."
Dawn, who had been quietly absorbing the exchange, interjected thoughtfully, "That's interesting. The U.S. largely stayed out of what was happening in Asia. Buffy and I didn't even know that anything was going on over there until after it was over."
Kirk, ever the mediator, interjected with a hint of amusement. "You have a tendency, Commander Khan, to express your ideas in military terms. This is a social occasion."
Khan responded with a languid shrug, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "It has been said that social occasions are only warfare concealed. Many prefer their warfare more honest and open."
Dawn, her curiosity piqued, pressed further. "And you left Earth before the real fighting began in 2026 during World War III." She noted Khan's puzzled look as he processed her words. It was clear that he was grappling with the concept of her being both from his time and present on the Enterprise. "As I said, it's a complicated story. Put it bluntly, Buffy and I are over two hundred and sixty years old. We are the only humans currently alive with such a lifespan. The full story would take too long to explain."
Marla, who had been a silent observer throughout the discussion, suddenly rose from her seat with such force that coffee sloshed from the saucers, splattering across the table. Her face was pale, her voice quivering with barely contained emotion. "I never thought," she said, her voice trembling with indignation, "that I'd ever see so much rudeness to a starship guest."
"Was I rude?" Spock inquired with mild surprise, his eyebrows arching in a gesture of polite curiosity. "If so, I apologize."
"And I," Kirk added, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips as he struggled to maintain his composure.
"And I," Dawn chimed in, her tone light but earnest.
Khan accepted their apologies with a nod, rising gracefully from his seat. "I quite accept your apologies," he said, his voice smooth and composed. "But if you will excuse me, gentlemen and ladies, I am tired. It has been a good many centuries, and I would like to return to my quarters. If you would guide me back, Marla…?"
As Marla moved to lead Khan out, the others followed in a slow procession, leaving behind Kirk, Buffy, Dawn, and Spock. Once the room had emptied, Kirk, unable to contain his amusement, remarked, "I've never seen a better needling job in my life, Mr. Spock."
"I myself am not very happy with it, Captain," Spock responded, his tone betraying a hint of frustration. "The human half of my make-up seems to go to sleep just when I need it most. Consider, really, how little we have learned. The man's name: Khan Noonien Singh. From 1992 through 1996, he was a military chieftain, commanding a substantial portion of your world from South Asia through the Middle East. He was the last of the tyrants to be overthrown. Apparently, he was quite admired in his time; while his rule brought little freedom, it also saw no massacres and no wars until he was eventually attacked by a rival dictator of his own kind. A man of power, who comprehends the uses of power, and who should have been much admired by the people he refers to as sheep, those who feel more comfortable being led."
"1996," Buffy mused, her brow furrowing as she connected the timeline. "That would place the end of his reign just around the time I was called as the Slayer."
Dawn nodded in agreement, glancing at her sister with a hint of nostalgia. "We already know why neither of us knows much about what was going on in Asia. We were both just kids at the time."
"It is not what we need to know," Spock interjected, steering the conversation back to its core focus. "The main question is, why did he run away? That was what I was hoping to elicit from him. But he caught me at it."
"Good question," Dawn agreed, her expression thoughtful. "Even Buffy and I, who lived through that period, don't know the answer."
"We can't know what he might intend now," Kirk said, his voice reflecting the gravity of the situation. "Or what risks we might run in reviving the other seventy or so of them. We will just have to try another gambit…"
Without warning, the sharp, blaring sound of the klaxon cut through the room, signaling a General Quarters alert. Kirk strode purposefully to the communications panel on the wall, his face a mask of focused determination as he inquired about the source of the emergency.
"Abrams in Security, Captain. Khan's missing," came the urgent voice of Abrams, tinged with concern.
"McCoy here," came McCoy's voice, sounding strained and tense. "Khan's not here. No sign of McGivers, either—not even in her quarters. And he's not there."
"Transporter room here," another voice cut in, filled with tension. "We've had a guard slugged, Lieutenant Adamski is missing, and there's been a lot of power expended in the last half hour."
"Scott reporting. I…" Scott's voice trailed off abruptly, his transmission cutting off into static.
"Uhura, what happened to Scotty? Get him back!" Kirk's command was sharp, laced with urgency.
"Dead channel, Captain. I can't raise the arsenal, either," Uhura's voice crackled with frustration and worry as she relayed the grim news.
"Dawn, Buffy," Kirk said, his voice commanding and resolute, "check the arsenal."
"All turbolifts inoperative. Emergency exits jammed," Uhura's voice reported back, tinged with a mix of alarm and helplessness.
The lights in the room began to dim, their steady glow fading into a murky twilight. "Batteries!" Kirk's voice cut through the encroaching darkness, his tone sharp and commanding.
"Shunted out, Captain. Also, the atmosphere's off," Uhura's voice came through, calm yet tinged with concern. The dimming lights were just the beginning; the ship's vital systems were clearly under assault.
"Engineering!" Kirk called urgently. "Scott! What's going on down there? Scotty!"
Suddenly and Khan's voice emerged, smooth and composed. "He's not able to talk with you at the moment, Captain," Khan's voice dripped with a cold satisfaction. "I'm afraid your ship is mine—or rather, ours. I have almost all my people aboard her, at every key point. Everything is jammed; you have perhaps ten minutes before you suffocate. Would you like to negotiate with me?"
"Uhura, can you raise Starfleet?" Kirk's voice was taut with urgency, the weight of the situation settling heavily on him.
"No, sir, this board is a dead duck. I can't even dump a message capsule," Uhura replied, her voice carrying an edge of frustration as she faced the technological blockade.
"Brilliant," Spock said softly, his voice barely a whisper of acknowledgment.
With the situation growing increasingly dire, Kirk's mind raced through their limited options. "Security Five, Mr. Spock. Flood all decks," he ordered, hoping to counteract Khan's sabotage.
"Bypassed, Captain. Commander Khan seems to have been a very quick student," Spock's voice was laced with a hint of admiration, despite the grim circumstances.
"Can we go to Six?" Kirk asked, knowing the drastic measure would release radioactive gas from the fusion chamber, effectively killing nearly everyone on board. Yet, faced with the dire necessity, he knew there was little choice.
"No sir, we cannot," Spock responded, his tone grave. "Nothing is left but Destruct. That's still alive."
"The air should be getting quite toxic by now," Khan's voice echoed through the com panel, each word laced with a chilling sense of finality. "You don't have much time."
"What do you want, Khan?" Kirk's question cut through the thickening atmosphere, his voice steady despite the mounting tension.
"Surrender," Khan's response was as cold and precise as ever.
"Refused," Kirk's reply was immediate, unwavering in the face of Khan's demands.
"Very well," Khan said, his tone almost resigned. "It is academic, anyhow. In ten minutes, every person on the ship, with the exception of my people, will be dead."
"Not everyone," Buffy interjected, her voice calm but resolute. "Dawn and I will be alive."
"I stand corrected," Khan's voice was tinged with a note of dry acknowledgment. "Everyone else will be dead, and you two will be unconscious."
The line fell silent after that, Khan's presence dissipating like a shadow slipping away into the night. The room was left in a stifling quiet, broken only by the subtle but unmistakable shift in the air quality. The once-clear atmosphere grew increasingly putrid, the air thickening with a noxious stench that seeped into every corner.
As time slipped away, the ship's crew struggled against the encroaching haze. Their efforts grew weaker, their movements sluggish and disoriented. Gradually, the once-bustling corridors fell silent, one by one, until the only sounds were the faint echoes of their labored breaths. The ship, now a tomb of unconscious bodies, bore silent witness to the creeping victory of Khan's machinations.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
Dawn awoke slowly, her senses gradually returning as she blinked against the dim light in the briefing room. The air was thick with tension, and it didn't take long for her to realize she, Buffy, Kirk, and Spock were no longer alone. Around them stood the rest of the senior staff, their expressions grim, all of them under heavy guard. Khan and a group of his men—each one bearing the same striking resemblance to their leader, tall, formidable, and radiating authority—stood watch. They all held phasers, their presence a silent but unmistakable threat.
"Buffy?" Dawn whispered, her voice barely audible, her eyes darting toward her sister.
"I'm awake," Buffy whispered back, her voice steady but laced with tension, as if bracing for what would come next.
"Very good," Khan's smooth voice cut through the silence, his presence commanding as he stepped forward. "Now we can talk. You see, Captain, nothing changes—except man. Your technical accomplishments are illusions, simply the tools which men use. The key has always been man himself. Improve a mechanical device, and you double your capacity; improve man, and you gain a thousand-fold."
Khan's gaze was unwavering, his eyes gleaming with fervor as he continued, the room hanging on his every word. "You, I judge, are such a man, Captain, as am I. You would be wise to join me."
Kirk remained silent, his expression unreadable, though his eyes flickered with the weight of Khan's proposition. The quiet between them stretched thin, as if the room held its collective breath, waiting for Kirk's response. But before he could speak, Khan turned his attention toward Buffy and Dawn, the only two from his era who had not aligned themselves with his cause.
Dawn felt the intensity of his gaze, but it was Buffy who spoke first. "Dawn and I are tempted," Buffy said, her voice cool but resolute. "But we've both stood against everything you stand for our entire lives."
There was no hesitation in her words. They carried the weight of years spent fighting the darkness, a life dedicated to opposing men like Khan who believed in the dominance of the few over the many. Dawn nodded slightly, silently backing her sister's declaration.
Khan, unperturbed, finally turned his attention to Spock. His eyes flicked over the Vulcan, assessing, waiting.
"I too am tempted," Spock said, his voice measured. "I admire your tactics… but not, I am afraid, your philosophy. And I know from history how self-appointed supermen treat mixed breeds. Let us see how you run the ship by yourself."
Khan's expression remained neutral, but there was a flicker of something—perhaps annoyance, perhaps disdain—as Spock's words hung in the air. "You will see," Khan said, his voice colder now, harder. "My offer to you is closed." He turned to Spinelli. "Navigator, I want you to set course for the nearest colonized planet—one with port facilities and a population which is not afraid of discipline."
"Go to blazes," Spinelli muttered defiantly, his words carrying a spark of rebellion despite the hopelessness of the situation.
"It is as I thought," Spock said calmly, his sharp eyes on Khan. "You may know the Enterprise well, Commander, but your newly revived colleagues do not. I think we have a stalemate."
"Do we?" Khan said, a sinister edge creeping into his voice as he shifted his gaze to McCoy. "Dr. McCoy, you maintain a decompression chamber in your laboratory, isn't that so? Yes, I know it is." His smile was cold, calculated. "Joachim, take Captain Kirk to the chamber. Put him inside, and lower the pressure to zero." He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. "I trust the rest of you understand what that means. You can spare him that fate. All I want from you is your word that you will continue performing your duties."
Kirk's jaw clenched, his voice cutting through the tense air like a blade. "Nobody," he said harshly, "is to lift a finger to save me. I so order."
Khan didn't even flinch at Kirk's defiance, his tone remaining pleasant, almost eerily so. "I am not bluffing," he said with unnerving calm. "If, of course, you allow your Captain to die, you will all follow him, one by one, into the chamber."
The room held its breath. Khan's threat hung in the air, a palpable danger, but just as it seemed his victory was assured, Dawn's voice broke through the tension like a crack of thunder.
"Not all of us," Dawn said, her words steady, her eyes locked onto Khan with a spark of defiance. "You can't kill Buffy or me. We've been exposed to extreme theta radiation and lived to tell the tale."
Khan's brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his otherwise composed face, but Dawn wasn't finished. A confident smile tugged at her lips as she rose to her feet, her voice carrying an almost playful challenge. "There is something I didn't tell you about being a Millennial."
Before Khan could react, Dawn extended her hand, and from her palm, a brilliant surge of electrical energy erupted. The crackling blast struck Khan square in the chest, and his body crumpled to the floor with a heavy thud, his expression frozen in shock.
Without missing a beat, Dawn turned her attention to the two men flanking him. Her eyes narrowed, and another flash of energy burst from her hand, striking them both in quick succession. They too collapsed, their bodies falling limply to the ground beside their fallen leader.
The room was suddenly, eerily silent, the scent of burnt ozone lingering in the air. Dawn stood there, breathing hard, her body still charged with the afterglow of the energy she had unleashed.
But the fight was far from over. Buffy and the rest of the crew quickly leaped into action. The remnants of Khan's crew were formidable, each one possessing strength and intelligence far beyond that of ordinary men. What followed was a brutal, chaotic struggle, as superhuman strength clashed with ingenuity and resilience. The halls of the Enterprise rang with the sounds of combat—phaser fire, grunts of pain, and the heavy thud of bodies colliding.
It was not without cost. One of the supermen lay dead by the end of it, his lifeless body a stark reminder of the ferocity of the battle. And on both sides, bruises, cuts, and bloodied faces marked the survivors. The toll was high, but at last, the rebellion was quelled. Khan's once-mighty crew was subdued, battered, and broken, locked away in the hold where they could no longer threaten the safety of the ship.
The Enterprise had survived the storm, but the air still crackled with the tension of what had just transpired. The crew, bruised and weary, exchanged glances, knowing that the danger had passed, but not without a heavy price.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
An hour later, the air in the briefing room felt calmer, but it carried the weight of everything that had happened. Kirk, Buffy, Dawn, Scotty, McCoy, and Spock sat around the table, the flickering lights casting long shadows on their faces. Weariness lingered in their eyes, though there was also a sense of resolve, each of them reflecting on the events that had nearly torn the ship apart.
Kirk's voice broke the silence, his tone thoughtful but firm. "I think we know now why they left the Earth."
"To start over," Dawn agreed, leaning back in her chair. Her gaze was distant for a moment, as if she were imagining the possibilities that had driven Khan and his followers to abandon their home. But the reality of their ambition, their thirst for domination, loomed large.
Spock's brow furrowed slightly, his ever-logical mind quick to assess. "In my opinion, they would never have succeeded, even had they made it to a habitable world," he said, the certainty in his voice cutting through the tension.
Kirk's attention shifted to Buffy and Dawn. "Have Khan brought in here, please."
With a curt nod, Buffy and Dawn rose from their seats, their movements swift and purposeful. The echoes of their footsteps followed them out of the briefing room, and in their absence, a heavy quiet fell upon the remaining officers. The anticipation was palpable, the knowledge that this confrontation would be the last between them and the infamous Khan.
Minutes later, the sisters returned, escorting Khan under heavy guard. His presence was as commanding as ever, his posture rigid, his gaze sharp and unyielding. Behind him trailed Marla, her expression defiant, standing tall even as she cast quick, furtive glances at Dawn, who had been her unexpected adversary in the earlier struggle.
Kirk straightened, his eyes locked on Khan, who stared back with that same intensity. There was no fear in his expression, no regret—only the quiet arrogance of a man who believed he was meant for more. "At present," Kirk began, his voice steady but cold, "we are orbiting a planet in a system unknown to you, and which I shall not further identify. It is savage and inhospitable, but with a breathable atmosphere and land that can be cultivated."
Khan's expression didn't waver, but Marla's eyes flickered with uncertainty as Kirk laid out their fate.
"You have the following choice," Kirk continued, his tone growing firmer. "To be put ashore on this world, with a minimum of survival equipment; or, to be taken to Starbase Twelve to be assigned to rehabilitation. The second choice would be rather drastic in your case, but it would enable you to fit into our society." He paused, his eyes scanning Khan's defiant posture. "Which do you prefer?"
For a long moment, Khan said nothing, his gaze narrowing as he weighed the options. When he finally spoke, his voice was low but resolute, a thin smile tugging at his lips. "Captain, I suppose you will remember what Lucifer said when he fell into the pit."
"I remember it well," Kirk replied, his expression hardening. "I take it that's your answer?"
"It is," Khan said, his voice filled with the same cold pride that had driven him through the centuries. There was no doubt, no hesitation. This was a man who would never bow, never submit.
Kirk nodded once, his gaze steady, though a trace of something almost like pity flashed across his features. "It may interest you to know that Systems Officer McGivers, given the choice of standing court-martial or sharing your exile, has chosen to go with you."
Khan's gaze softened as he looked at Marla, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I knew I was right about you," he said, his voice low but filled with conviction. "You have the fire." There was a gleam in his eyes, the kind of dangerous ambition that had driven him for centuries, now renewed by the loyalty standing beside him. "And think of this: we have what we wanted after all—a world to win." His tone shifted, turning sharper as he swung his gaze back to Kirk. "And, Captain, we will make it an empire. You'll see."
Kirk met his stare with calm resolve. "If you do," he said, his voice steady, "you'll have earned it. Guards, beam them down."
Khan moved without hesitation; his posture unyielding as he exited the room. He didn't look back—there was no need. His mind was already on the planet below, on the future he intended to carve out with his own hands. But Marla lingered at the door, her expression torn between the fierce loyalty she had chosen and the ties she was leaving behind.
"Goodbye, Captain," she said quietly, her voice tinged with regret. "I'm sorry. But I do love him."
Kirk's face softened, though his words remained firm. "I wish you luck, Lieutenant."
As the door slid shut behind them, an uneasy silence filled the room, the gravity of what had just transpired sinking in. It wasn't just the loss of Marla, but the knowledge that they had, in some way, played a part in setting Khan free—a man whose ambition could shape or destroy worlds.
Scott broke the silence with a sigh, his voice laced with reluctant curiosity. "It's a shame for a good Scotsman to admit it, but I'm not up on my Milton. What did Lucifer say after he fell into the pit?"
Kirk, his expression distant, answered with quiet solemnity. "He said, 'Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven.'" He turned and looked at Buffy. "Buffy, clear for space. I want to get underway as soon as possible."
"Of course, Jim," she said, her voice steady but with an edge of concern. The encounter had left its mark on all of them, and there was a shared understanding that Khan's story was far from over.
Spock, ever the voice of logic, interjected. "What shall we do with the Botany Bay?"
Kirk paused, considering the ship that had carried Khan and his people through the void of space for centuries. "Hmm… You'd better dump it into—no, on second thought, let's keep it in tow," he said, his tone thoughtful. "I suppose there are still things aboard her that the historians will want to see." He paused again, a wry smile touching his lips. "At the moment, though, whenever I say 'historian' I have to repress a shudder."
Spock, unfazed, looked toward the future. "Let us think ahead, then. It would be interesting to come back to this system in a hundred years and see what crop had sprung up from the seed we have planted today."
Buffy exchanged a glance with Dawn, her tone laced with both amusement and caution. "Maybe Dawn and I will," she said. Then, with a half-smile, she added, "That said, I hope that in a hundred years, that crop won't have sprung right out of the ground and come looking for us."
