You should have let him sleep (chapter 14 of 15)
Chapter 14 - The Rise
This is the end, my friends. The last chapter I reserve for the amazing cover my unbeatable beta rranne made for me - we only have to sort out the details. Thanks to you all who stayed with me through this!
.
.
.
“It’s got even the deserts,” Kirk observed, face almost pressed against the window. Ceti Alpha Five rotated slowly and peacefully beneath them, its new surface unfolding before their eyes, surprising them again and again.
“Del always voted for the diversity,” John explained. “He made Zinaida pull an all-nighter more than once just to calculate the exact area needed to keep the meridian atmospheric circulation stable.”
Spock joined them, upright and reserved as ever in stark contrast to the unaffectedly enthusiastic Admiral. “No animal life forms?”
“They weren’t in the matrix,” John shook his head. “The twins wanted the world ready for colonisation. And when I call them twins,” he added when he saw Spock’s eyebrow rise, “that was Zinaida’s favourite joke. Vance and Del-- they couldn’t be more different; tall and short, dark and fair, calm and wild…”
Just like-he couldn’t even finish the thought, afraid that his voice would betray him. “They worked so well together. Del March was a proper genius, but so unsettled- he needed Vance to be the making of him,” he finished, turning back to the window.
Reliant was put in running order with the help of technicians from the Enterprise and was already on her way to the docks. Joachim and his people agreed to stay aboard Enterprise for the time being; they chose Ceti Alpha Five for their homeworld again-not a prison this time, but an open harbour. A Federation base would be built here once a thorough exploration of the planet was completed.
“Bridge to Admiral,” the velvety voice of the communication officer spoke.
“Kirk here. What is it?”
“Mr. Sulu here, sir. I get some very exceptional sensor readings from the planet surface.”
“In what way, exceptional?” Kirk frowned.
“The signal response is definitely metallic, sir.”
Both officers turned to John expectantly. “Perhaps ore veins?” John offered the most likely explanation.
“Ore wouldn’t appear as metal on the sensors,” Spock objected, as they were leaving the Captain’s cabin for the bridge. “With the exception of gold veins, of course.”
“Seems that Mr. Sulu hit on a gold mine,” Kirk laughed. “On the screen with it, you lucky man.”
“It would be the universe’s tiniest gold mine ever,” Hikaru Sulu pointed out. True; the area in question wasn’t more than few meters in diameter. The helmsman zoomed in the view and reduced the noise, sharpening the image so that they could see the odd signal source in detail.
It looks familiar, John’s brow furrowed, catching the next thought in the same time as Spock said: “It’s a shuttle.”
Reliant’s shuttle.
John stood in the middle of the bridge, eyes transfixed on the screen, the world around him spinning in a slow motion. He couldn’t bring himself to react; the voices of the others coming as if through deep waters.
“How could it escape destruction? We saw the wave taking it over,” Kirk asked suspiciously.
“The field was weaker in the higher atmospheric strata,” Spock pondered the possibility. “Maybe the same applies for the wave. The shuttle could have been swept along with the turbulences and fallen back onto the surface.”
It’s the altitude, John heard a voice in his head, and this time he noticed the alertness in it, the familiar hitch he’s heard hundreds of times, whenever Sherlock’s mind started to spurt down the path of evidence, leading to a revelation...
“Check for life signs.” Kirk’s order was tinged with doubt. Human tissue was nothing compared to metal and composite, after all.
He strove for the altitude; even when he knew we couldn’t escape into free space he still tried to get us as high as possible...why? John’s mind whirled. What was he missing? No one knew Genesis better than he; now, when the whole team was dead...wait.
Khan knew how to activate the device. Who taught him how to do it?
John remembered the look of absolute obedience in Madison’s face when he killed Jedda.
Madison told him everything about Genesis. How it worked, turning everything within its reach into a new matrix programmed specifically for the target-
There it was. Suddenly it all became clear.
“...germs? Could be a contamination; the signal’s definitely too weak-”
“I need a shuttle,” John heard his own hoarse voice, interrupting Sulu’s reports. “Please,” he added when he collected himself a bit. Kirk turned to him with something approaching pity.
“John, don’t feed false hopes. No one could survive such a fall.”
Doesn’t history really know any better than repeating itself? John thought exasperatedly when he replied with firm conviction: “He could.”
*
“The son of a bitch.”
That was all Kirk managed to say, leaning upon an unconscious, but definitely alive Khan Noonien Singh.
McCoy wielded the medical scanner; John didn’t trust his own hands. They stood inside a surprisingly well-preserved shuttle - if it was for some gravitational shifts of the newly-reformatted planet or for the auto-pilot miraculously kicked-in, they would never know.
“This doesn’t make sense,” McCoy scowled at the readings. “According to these scans, the man’s an embryo. He has the cellular age of zero generation - all his cells never divided. In any human, the mitosis doubles all the cells in a body about fifty times, and the DNA keeps track of this, but he’s like-”
“ Re-made. Regenerated.” John touched one pale hand. All the roughened skin gone; even the callouses from violin play disappeared from the fingertips. No scars, no bruises.
“The wave wasn’t strong enough to disintegrate him completely. His DNA repaired itself and the energy carried by the wave helped to revive him,” Spock offered a hypothesis.
“I bet the bastard counted on it,” John felt like passing out any moment with exhilaration.
“How did you know?” Kirk asked.
“I didn’t,” John admitted. “But then I remembered that the Genesis was programmed for a dead world. Completely inhabitable, without an atmosphere. Well, there already was one here on Ceti Alpha Five; and the sand storms added a lot of solid particles into the air as well, so the wave exhausted itself too soon. He couldn’t have known for sure that he’d survive, but he tried it nonetheless.”
“Body functions appear normal for a very deep sleep. Well, for a human. It seems that the wave has reversed all the changes they induced into him by the augmentation. But the brain-” McCoy frowned. “It’s tabula rasa. Mental activity of a newborn.”
“Oh great,” Kirk sighed, “just when I thought we’ve found the ideal Fountain of Youth.”
“The regeneration erased all previously created synapses,” Spock remarked. “Fascinating. Despite the evidence of a breathing body, we can safely assume that Khan is dead.”
“I’m sorry, John,” McCoy said uneasily. “This doesn’t look well for your friend either.”
“I’d give him a chance,” John smiled, squeezing the limp hand with both of his. Long fingers wrapped faintly around his - an automatic reflex. “Everything that Sherlock made...well, Sherlock- his intelligence, his low empathy, his pretty much bipolar personality disorder - if the bouts of mad activity followed by days in depression were anything to go by - in short, all his maddening self - it’s written in his genes. Maybe he’ll become less of an arse when there won’t be anyone around to call him Freak on a regular basis, but I certainly won’t miss that.”
“It could take years for him to learn everything he’ll need - the faculty of speech, to begin with,” McCoy warned him.
“That makes two of us who need to go to school,” John shrugged. “And mind you, he’s a genius. You’ll be surprised how fast he can learn.”
Epilogue
Three men walked down a private street in one of the historic quarters of London. The light drizzle was adding to the scenic atmosphere of the place, and neither of them minded getting a bit wet; the walk from the nearest transporter junction was but a short one.
“This is highly illogical,” the Vulcan observed, pointing his eyebrows to the door numbers they were passing by. On their side of street stood a house number seventeen, followed duly by nineteen, and then - a newly attached plate with polished brass numbers 221B hung on the door to which they were heading.
Black cab pulled to the kerb and John joined them, the name-badge from a medical conference still hanging loosely on his jacket.
“Sorry, gentlemen,” he said, slightly out of breath, “the shuttle got delayed.”
“What’s with you and transporters?” Kirk couldn’t hold back his curiosity.
“I guess it’s psychosomatic. My stomach just doesn’t like the idea of having my atoms scattered back and forth in space,” John smiled apologetically.
“You’re an old-fashioned boy,” McCoy said with heart-felt sympathy.
A deafening bang followed by a rattle of broken glass carried from inside of the house, accompanied by a string of particularly colourful curses. John sighed. One of the things brought by John’s presence at close quarters during Sherlock’s speech development was that this new Sherlock could swear like a sailor.
John ran up the steps, two at the time. The Enterprise trio followed him in a cautious distance.
“John!” the deep voice reverberated through the walls as the man emerged from the living room door, hair wild, eyes shining. “Finally! I was in a mortal danger of getting bored!” he added accusingly.
“That would be a mortal danger for me,” John countered. “Sherlock, we’ve got visitors. So whatever you’ve done to our flat, get it straight. Now.”
This is the end, my friends. The last chapter I reserve for the amazing cover my unbeatable beta rranne made for me - we only have to sort out the details. Thanks to you all who stayed with me through this!
.
.
.
“It’s got even the deserts,” Kirk observed, face almost pressed against the window. Ceti Alpha Five rotated slowly and peacefully beneath them, its new surface unfolding before their eyes, surprising them again and again.
“Del always voted for the diversity,” John explained. “He made Zinaida pull an all-nighter more than once just to calculate the exact area needed to keep the meridian atmospheric circulation stable.”
Spock joined them, upright and reserved as ever in stark contrast to the unaffectedly enthusiastic Admiral. “No animal life forms?”
“They weren’t in the matrix,” John shook his head. “The twins wanted the world ready for colonisation. And when I call them twins,” he added when he saw Spock’s eyebrow rise, “that was Zinaida’s favourite joke. Vance and Del-- they couldn’t be more different; tall and short, dark and fair, calm and wild…”
Just like-he couldn’t even finish the thought, afraid that his voice would betray him. “They worked so well together. Del March was a proper genius, but so unsettled- he needed Vance to be the making of him,” he finished, turning back to the window.
Reliant was put in running order with the help of technicians from the Enterprise and was already on her way to the docks. Joachim and his people agreed to stay aboard Enterprise for the time being; they chose Ceti Alpha Five for their homeworld again-not a prison this time, but an open harbour. A Federation base would be built here once a thorough exploration of the planet was completed.
“Bridge to Admiral,” the velvety voice of the communication officer spoke.
“Kirk here. What is it?”
“Mr. Sulu here, sir. I get some very exceptional sensor readings from the planet surface.”
“In what way, exceptional?” Kirk frowned.
“The signal response is definitely metallic, sir.”
Both officers turned to John expectantly. “Perhaps ore veins?” John offered the most likely explanation.
“Ore wouldn’t appear as metal on the sensors,” Spock objected, as they were leaving the Captain’s cabin for the bridge. “With the exception of gold veins, of course.”
“Seems that Mr. Sulu hit on a gold mine,” Kirk laughed. “On the screen with it, you lucky man.”
“It would be the universe’s tiniest gold mine ever,” Hikaru Sulu pointed out. True; the area in question wasn’t more than few meters in diameter. The helmsman zoomed in the view and reduced the noise, sharpening the image so that they could see the odd signal source in detail.
It looks familiar, John’s brow furrowed, catching the next thought in the same time as Spock said: “It’s a shuttle.”
Reliant’s shuttle.
John stood in the middle of the bridge, eyes transfixed on the screen, the world around him spinning in a slow motion. He couldn’t bring himself to react; the voices of the others coming as if through deep waters.
“How could it escape destruction? We saw the wave taking it over,” Kirk asked suspiciously.
“The field was weaker in the higher atmospheric strata,” Spock pondered the possibility. “Maybe the same applies for the wave. The shuttle could have been swept along with the turbulences and fallen back onto the surface.”
It’s the altitude, John heard a voice in his head, and this time he noticed the alertness in it, the familiar hitch he’s heard hundreds of times, whenever Sherlock’s mind started to spurt down the path of evidence, leading to a revelation...
“Check for life signs.” Kirk’s order was tinged with doubt. Human tissue was nothing compared to metal and composite, after all.
He strove for the altitude; even when he knew we couldn’t escape into free space he still tried to get us as high as possible...why? John’s mind whirled. What was he missing? No one knew Genesis better than he; now, when the whole team was dead...wait.
Khan knew how to activate the device. Who taught him how to do it?
John remembered the look of absolute obedience in Madison’s face when he killed Jedda.
Madison told him everything about Genesis. How it worked, turning everything within its reach into a new matrix programmed specifically for the target-
There it was. Suddenly it all became clear.
“...germs? Could be a contamination; the signal’s definitely too weak-”
“I need a shuttle,” John heard his own hoarse voice, interrupting Sulu’s reports. “Please,” he added when he collected himself a bit. Kirk turned to him with something approaching pity.
“John, don’t feed false hopes. No one could survive such a fall.”
Doesn’t history really know any better than repeating itself? John thought exasperatedly when he replied with firm conviction: “He could.”
*
“The son of a bitch.”
That was all Kirk managed to say, leaning upon an unconscious, but definitely alive Khan Noonien Singh.
McCoy wielded the medical scanner; John didn’t trust his own hands. They stood inside a surprisingly well-preserved shuttle - if it was for some gravitational shifts of the newly-reformatted planet or for the auto-pilot miraculously kicked-in, they would never know.
“This doesn’t make sense,” McCoy scowled at the readings. “According to these scans, the man’s an embryo. He has the cellular age of zero generation - all his cells never divided. In any human, the mitosis doubles all the cells in a body about fifty times, and the DNA keeps track of this, but he’s like-”
“ Re-made. Regenerated.” John touched one pale hand. All the roughened skin gone; even the callouses from violin play disappeared from the fingertips. No scars, no bruises.
“The wave wasn’t strong enough to disintegrate him completely. His DNA repaired itself and the energy carried by the wave helped to revive him,” Spock offered a hypothesis.
“I bet the bastard counted on it,” John felt like passing out any moment with exhilaration.
“How did you know?” Kirk asked.
“I didn’t,” John admitted. “But then I remembered that the Genesis was programmed for a dead world. Completely inhabitable, without an atmosphere. Well, there already was one here on Ceti Alpha Five; and the sand storms added a lot of solid particles into the air as well, so the wave exhausted itself too soon. He couldn’t have known for sure that he’d survive, but he tried it nonetheless.”
“Body functions appear normal for a very deep sleep. Well, for a human. It seems that the wave has reversed all the changes they induced into him by the augmentation. But the brain-” McCoy frowned. “It’s tabula rasa. Mental activity of a newborn.”
“Oh great,” Kirk sighed, “just when I thought we’ve found the ideal Fountain of Youth.”
“The regeneration erased all previously created synapses,” Spock remarked. “Fascinating. Despite the evidence of a breathing body, we can safely assume that Khan is dead.”
“I’m sorry, John,” McCoy said uneasily. “This doesn’t look well for your friend either.”
“I’d give him a chance,” John smiled, squeezing the limp hand with both of his. Long fingers wrapped faintly around his - an automatic reflex. “Everything that Sherlock made...well, Sherlock- his intelligence, his low empathy, his pretty much bipolar personality disorder - if the bouts of mad activity followed by days in depression were anything to go by - in short, all his maddening self - it’s written in his genes. Maybe he’ll become less of an arse when there won’t be anyone around to call him Freak on a regular basis, but I certainly won’t miss that.”
“It could take years for him to learn everything he’ll need - the faculty of speech, to begin with,” McCoy warned him.
“That makes two of us who need to go to school,” John shrugged. “And mind you, he’s a genius. You’ll be surprised how fast he can learn.”
Epilogue
Three men walked down a private street in one of the historic quarters of London. The light drizzle was adding to the scenic atmosphere of the place, and neither of them minded getting a bit wet; the walk from the nearest transporter junction was but a short one.
“This is highly illogical,” the Vulcan observed, pointing his eyebrows to the door numbers they were passing by. On their side of street stood a house number seventeen, followed duly by nineteen, and then - a newly attached plate with polished brass numbers 221B hung on the door to which they were heading.
Black cab pulled to the kerb and John joined them, the name-badge from a medical conference still hanging loosely on his jacket.
“Sorry, gentlemen,” he said, slightly out of breath, “the shuttle got delayed.”
“What’s with you and transporters?” Kirk couldn’t hold back his curiosity.
“I guess it’s psychosomatic. My stomach just doesn’t like the idea of having my atoms scattered back and forth in space,” John smiled apologetically.
“You’re an old-fashioned boy,” McCoy said with heart-felt sympathy.
A deafening bang followed by a rattle of broken glass carried from inside of the house, accompanied by a string of particularly colourful curses. John sighed. One of the things brought by John’s presence at close quarters during Sherlock’s speech development was that this new Sherlock could swear like a sailor.
John ran up the steps, two at the time. The Enterprise trio followed him in a cautious distance.
“John!” the deep voice reverberated through the walls as the man emerged from the living room door, hair wild, eyes shining. “Finally! I was in a mortal danger of getting bored!” he added accusingly.
“That would be a mortal danger for me,” John countered. “Sherlock, we’ve got visitors. So whatever you’ve done to our flat, get it straight. Now.”