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“Kirk.”
Kirk looked back and saw Khan coming up behind him. He didn’t slow his stride but Khan managed to catch up without seeming to put much effort in. “What, do you just wander all over the ship now?” he asked peevishly. He didn’t even see the security team nearby, ineffective as they were.
“Yes,” Khan confirmed, falling into step beside him. Somehow he gave the impression Kirk was walking a tad slowly now. “Except for sensitive areas, such as the advanced weaponry—“
“I know, I made the list.”
“Ah. Just another of your pointless complaints, then?”
Kirk rolled his eyes. Khan was, of course, right, but it was too early in the morning to deal with that. “Where’s Ruby?” Khan’s blunt edges were generally softened by her. Or Hamish, but for some reason Kirk’s mind went to Ruby—maybe it was the bright pink sweater Khan had over his customary black, with an intricate cable knit. And tassels ending in pom-poms. Naturally, he wore it well.
“Meditating,” Khan replied shortly. “She must clear her mind of all the emotions bombarding her from other people, in order to function properly.”
Kirk’s mind immediately went to the field of despair around Turkana. “Is that safe?” he questioned. “Do we need to—I don’t know, open a vent or something? Put up a shield?”
Now Khan rolled his eyes. He seemed somehow better at it. “It’s merely a psychological exercise. Your crew is in no danger.” His tone conveyed, ‘your tiny, fragile crew.’ Or maybe Kirk was just projecting after yesterday’s brush with the ion storm, which had knocked out quite a lot of systems in a very short amount of time. Nothing like drifting aimlessly in a dark ship to make you question whether people were even supposed to be out here. But, aside from Hamish helping out in Sickbay, the Augments had been very quiet and still until the crisis was over, which Kirk appreciated. But maybe that was why Ruby needed to meditate today, after the effort of keeping them all leashed.
“I need some more coffee,” Kirk declared, detouring to the Mess Hall. Khan did as well, his manner suggesting he’d been headed that way anyway. “Do you drink coffee?”
“Merely for social purposes,” Khan dismissed. “Its stimulant properties have no effect on Augment physiology.”
“That s—ks,” Kirk replied, with a smidgen of genuine sympathy. McCoy had suggested he try to empathize more with the Augments. “What do you guys do when you’re tired and have to work?” He punched the buttons on the replicator, trying not to look too eager.
“We rely on our willpower,” Khan informed him. “Instead of becoming addicted to outside substances.” He gave a significant glance to the cup Kirk was now cradling preciously as he tried to decide if it was still too hot to sip.
Kirk chucked McCoy’s advice aside. And the coffee was too hot, but he needed it more than ever, with Khan’s laser beam gaze boring into him. “Why are you following me?” Kirk wanted to know, shooting through the halls again. They’d both be jogging in a minute, trying to keep half a step ahead of the other one.
The idea of Khan following Kirk was obviously ludicrous. “I believe we are merely going to the same place.”
Kirk frowned. “I’m going to Sickbay.” To check on yesterday’s injuries.
“As am I.”
How convenient. “Why?”
“I have an appointment with Dr. McCoy.” Kirk really wanted to ask what it was about, but it seemed like that might be unprofessional, medical matters and all. Somehow Khan knew this and smirked faintly, amused by Kirk’s pesky morals that prevented him from doing whatever the h‑‑l he wanted. “About the potential for animal husbandry aboard the ship,” Khan finally answered, allowing him to know.
Kirk thought he vaguely remembered hearing McCoy complain about that, before the ion storm rearranged all their priorities—“I’m a doctor, not a farmer!” and so forth.
“You’re not gonna have, like, cows on board,” Kirk noted.
“No,” Khan agreed, as if that should be obvious. “Though experience with large animal handling would clearly be advantageous, your ship is ill-equipped for it.” So now it was Kirk’s fault the Enterprise couldn’t handle cows. Great. “Small animal care will have to suffice for the moment.”
Not that Kirk did not see the point of this, but really, this was not a flying barnyard. “What kind of small animals are you thinking of?” he asked. “Because we don’t exactly have a lot of chickens running around, either.” Just the thought kind of made him queasy, after all the time he’d been forced to spend on his uncle’s farm growing up. Chickens seemed so innocent, but really—
“I’ve been thinking of starting a tribble breeding program,” Khan announced with some interest. “Dr. McCoy already keeps tribbles on board for medical experimentation—a practice, I might add, that was banned on Earth in my time.”
No, they just experimented on humans, Kirk thought. It seemed mean to say. But Khan probably wouldn’t care. It made Kirk feel better not to say it, though. “Tribbles don’t really need any help breeding,” he pointed out instead.
“I would of course be selecting for traits useful to us,” Khan planned. He sounded mildly excited about this—but then again, he would, with the opportunity to create a master race of tribbles. “More meat, better fur quality—“
Kirk grimaced. “You’d eat a tribble?”
“They’re fluff-covered meatballs, Kirk,” Khan described. “With a slight change in the ratio of amino acids and, of course, a general increase in overall muscle production, they could be quite nutritious.” He paused. “It’s how humanity, along with almost all other sentient species, altered the environment to its own advantage for thousands of years, before they even understood the materials of heredity.”
“Right, sure.” Kirk had been reading a lot about breeding, too, in the context of twentieth century debates. “Just—wouldn’t the fur get stuck in your teeth?”
“Obviously the fur would be removed first,” Khan informed him as they entered Sickbay. “There are multiple ways to skin a tribble.”
Hamish looked up from the patient he was attending on a biobed. “Are you telling jokes again?” he asked Khan mildly. “I thought we decided that wasn’t a good idea.”
Khan’s eyebrows moved a millimeter in a dismissive gesture. “I was describing my tribble breeding program,” he corrected, in case that wasn’t obvious to Hamish, which he clearly felt it should be. “What are you still doing here? You should go home and get some rest.”
It occurred to Kirk that Hamish had probably been working for over twenty-four hours straight. But Augments were supposed to be able to handle that, right? “Hey, nice sweater,” he said to Hamish, perhaps a bit randomly.
“Thank you, Captain. Ruby made it.” Kirk could’ve guessed that—it was striped in purple and pink.
“Where’s McCoy?”
Hamish glanced around. “He was finishing up with—“
The doctor appeared from another room, pulling off a bright red surgical suit with the help of a nurse. After a few minutes of clean-up he seemed to remember why Khan might be standing there. “Oh, we had a meeting, didn’t we? Sorry.”
“You’ve been busy,” Khan allowed generously, but he didn’t offer to leave.
“How’s my crew?” Kirk asked. “What’s all that?” He gestured at the surgical implements.
“Ensign Jenner had a punctured lung,” McCoy reported briskly. “Had to get in there the old-fashioned way and regenerate the tissue.”
Hamish smirked faintly. “That’s hardly old-fashioned,” he commented as McCoy glanced over the biobed patient’s readings. “I used to sew wounds up with needle and thread.” McCoy and Kirk shuddered simultaneously at the barbarism of the ancient medical practices.
“That was only on humans,” Khan felt compelled to point out.
“And the children,” Hamish added. “Fifteen cc’s inavoline?” he asked of his patient.
“Sounds good,” McCoy agreed, and Hamish administered it. “You’re catchin’ up fast,” he complimented.
“Nat—“ Khan began to respond, but Hamish silenced him with a slightly pleading look, and Khan rolled his eyes.
“Was that the most serious injury?” Kirk pressed. “The lung?”
McCoy dropped into a chair, tired of standing—he’d been up a long time as well—and Kirk sat down on the edge of the desk. Khan remained ramrod straight per usual, making them seem sloppy. “Mostly minor burns and breaks,” McCoy described. “Ensign Xie there whacked her head pretty good on a console.” He indicated the unconscious young woman Hamish was tending. “Most serious was Lieutenant Pardo, he got a big blast of ionic radiation while trying to stabilize the deflector array. Thought we were gonna lose him.”
No one could say the Enterprise crew were not brave and dedicated—it made Kirk proud to lead them. “But you didn’t lose him?”
“No,” McCoy confirmed. “There’s not really much you can do against that big a dose of ionic radiation, or so I thought—but Hamish had a brilliant idea.” Everyone turned to stare at the Augment, who really looked like he’d rather not be noticed.
“Which was?” Kirk had to ask. McCoy’s expression encouraged Hamish to explain, while he surreptitiously helped himself to Kirk’s coffee.
Hamish’s eyes skittered to Khan. “A low dose of polaron radiation,” he told them tentatively. “It purges the excess radicles from the cells…”
Kirk pretended he knew what that meant. “Well, great.” Hadn’t there been more coffee in his cup a moment ago? “And he’ll make a full recovery?”
“Oh yes, he should be fine,” Hamish promised.
Glancing between the two Augments Kirk was getting suspicious. “How’d you think of that?”
“We, er, had some experience with polaron radiation before—“
“Effective interrogation technique,” Khan answered crisply, without discomfort. “A medium dose is quite painful and the physical effects are generally disconcerting to people.” Weak human people who were easily disconcerted by things, his tone said.
Kirk blinked. “You used it to torture people?” It was still way too early in the morning for this.
“When necessary to obtain information,” Khan agreed readily. Hamish just sort of shrugged, clearly not sure what was appropriate to say, and went back to monitoring the biobed studiously.
Kirk was not surprised Khan endorsed torture, more that he’d needed to resort to it. Surely a mere glance from an Augment was enough to make hardened warriors spill their secrets. “Okay, well, glad you put it to better use,” he commented blandly. Then another thought occurred to him and he turned back to McCoy. “If Pardo was that bad off, why didn’t you just use Augment blood to heal him?” Khan swiveled to face him, away from scrutinizing Hamish. “They gave permission, after all. Well, most of them.”
“Ah,” McCoy replied, as if this was a sticky point. “Lt. Pardo indicated he did not want treatment with Augment blood.”
Kirk raised an eyebrow and he heard Khan sneering in the background. “When?” he asked in confusion. The guy had been irradiated and was probably unconscious when he hit Sickbay.
“When he had his last physical,” McCoy shrugged. “I’m asking people now as part of the routine. How far should medical technology go in an attempt to prolong your life, that sort of thing.” He tried to sound casual but could tell his audience was not receptive. “Especially important for non-humans, as we don’t have a complete picture of what Augment blood might do to them—“
“You ought to be investigating that—“ Khan interrupted.
Kirk interrupted him. “Pardo’s human. Er, isn’t he?” McCoy indicated yes. “So no concerns about how it works. Why didn’t he want it?”
McCoy glanced between Kirk and Khan, who were both waiting to hear his answer. Khan’s expression said he understood all too well already, though. “Well, he dropped a ship on San Francisco, Jim,” McCoy pointed out, indicating Khan. “Some of the crew are not comfortable accepting help from an Augment after that.” Khan seemed to feel this was just petty.
“No, no, no, no,” Kirk reacted, startling McCoy. “Crew members do not get to refuse treatment that could save their lives.” He felt very strongly on this point.
McCoy blinked at him, fearing that he was serious. “Um, yeah, they do,” he countered slowly.
“That’s ridiculous.”
“That’s Starfleet medical ethics, which I’m kind of bound by,” McCoy noted.
Khan scoffed. “You humans with your rigid sense of morality—“
“Shut it,” Kirk told him, and refocused on McCoy. “I completely understand not liking the Augments,” he assured the doctor. “Well, Khan anyway.”
“Thanks,” said Hamish flatly, as Khan rolled his eyes.
“But if you don’t like them,” Kirk continued, “you don’t go to the gym when they’re there. You ask not to be assigned to guard duty with them.”
“Has that happened?” Khan inquired curiously. “I don’t suppose you could provide me with a list of names—“
He sounded so innocent, and yet clearly was not. “Khan!” rebuked Hamish.
“—so I know who to avoid!” Khan claimed, as though he was just trying to be considerate, and not planning to divide the crew into camps when the revolution finally came.
Kirk tried to ignore him. “You don’t die rather than use Augment blood in an emergency,” he concluded to McCoy. The idea was boggling his mind and clearly the doctor didn’t know how to enlighten him.
“Jim, what do you want me to say?” McCoy shrugged tiredly. “I’m a doctor, first and foremost—“
“Which means you should be planning to do everything possible to save someone’s life!” Wasn’t that obvious?
He could tell from the way McCoy’s eyes narrowed that he’d gone too far. “Oh, that’s what I’ve been doing wrong,” McCoy replied acidly.
“You know that’s not what I mean,” Kirk insisted. He sipped his coffee and tried to lighten the mood a bit—well, as light as you could get while still discussing a matter of life and death. “I mean, if someone on the crew gets sick or injured, we do everything we can to try and save them, right? Crazy stuff—like when I had to attack that huge alien bear to get the algae from its fur for some healing compound! Remember that?”
“How could I forget,” McCoy intoned. “The bear gets larger and fiercer every time you tell the story.”
“Or when you cooked up a cure for that plague that had been raging for fifty years, by reprogramming its genetic code.” Kirk was willing to share the glory, and he saw McCoy smirk faintly, finally.
“That was especially brilliant, I grant you,” the doctor agreed.
“Or the time I had to go into the hostile village and negotiate with the high priestess for the antidote to—“
“I saw that high priestess,” McCoy interrupted smartly. “Those ‘negotiations’ were no hardship for you.”
Kirk rolled his eyes but declined to argue further, especially since Khan was tracking their conversation closely with a dangerously thoughtful expression. “My point is,” he redirected, “we’re going to go to all that trouble trying to save someone’s life, and they’re going to refuse to use something we have on hand, readily available, even as a last resort?” It seemed… ungrateful somehow. “Isn’t that, like, dereliction of duty or something?”
McCoy stared at him. “Are you serious?” he demanded. “What, you’re gonna ding their record after they’re dead?”
But Kirk was on a roll now, finally feeling like he’d found a watertight argument. “Hey, we’re out here in deep space, we’re not able to just replace someone who dies. What if they’re the only specialist on board? Okay, if they die, they die—I mean, that’s horrible,” he added quickly, “but maybe it can’t be helped. Like they were instantly vaporized or something.” McCoy grimaced at him. “But they choose to die, when something right here could save them, and leave us in the lurch?” He shook his head, confident he was on the right track. “That’s completely unprofessional. And dishonorable,” he dared to add.
One reaction Kirk did not expect in response to his profound argument was laughter. “I take it back, Kirk,” Khan claimed cheerfully. “Your morality is wonderfully flexible. And your imagination is delightfully lurid as well.”
If Khan was complimenting him, Kirk was probably on the wrong track. “Great reasoning, Spock would be proud,” McCoy cracked. “The fact remains that it would be unprofessional and dishonorable for me to treat patients in a way I know they don’t want.”
The solution was obvious to Kirk, if you had a time machine handy. “Well what’d you ask for?” he complained. “If you didn’t ask, you wouldn’t know.” Khan’s chuckles resumed.
McCoy sighed. “I already interpreted it as liberally as I could, since Hamish administered the treatment—“
Kirk saw his reasoning slipping away and was peevish about it. “Oh, that’s not ‘helping’?” he asked with some sarcasm.
McCoy was not intimidated, but when was he ever? “Fortunately as a fellow doctor, Hamish is also bound by medical ethics,” he explained pedantically, “to assist patients even if they don’t like him.”
“Except for when he helped torture people,” Khan just had to add.
Kirk gave him a look for his tactlessness, which made no difference to Khan, of course. Though his self-satisfied expression faltered somewhat when Hamish reacted, frustration, anger, and guilt all easily read in his sudden movements. “You know, sometimes, Khan—“ he began, and everyone in the room was riveted to him, wondering what he would say or do next. Then Hamish let out a sigh and deflated, as if he saw no point to the challenge. “Sometimes I really don’t like you,” he concluded quietly, and Khan frowned without understanding. “I’m going to get some coffee. You want some coffee, Dr. McCoy?”
“Sure, thanks,” McCoy agreed. Kirk didn’t make his the way he liked.
Khan pivoted to track Hamish’s exit. “You don’t need coffee—“ The Sickbay doors snapped shut behind Hamish.
After a moment Khan turned back around, his expression oddly reminiscent of Spock’s when humans did a silly, emotional thing. “You’re a real jerk sometimes, you know?” Kirk pointed out to him. Which he tried never to say to Spock.
Khan shrugged. “And I’m the best at it.”
To his horror an involuntary laugh burst out of Kirk. “No, that’s wrong,” he amended hastily, clearing his throat. Blame it on a release of tension. “G-d, what are we going to do?” he asked McCoy, trying to get back on topic. “How many people won’t take Augment blood, no matter what?”
“Well, I haven’t asked everyone yet,” McCoy replied unhelpfully.
“Can you stop asking?”
“No.”
“You should provide us with that list,” Khan jumped in smoothly, “so that in the event of an emergency we can respond appropriately. By letting your crew members die, apparently.” He gave Kirk a pointed look.
Kirk would not say Khan communicated with him non-verbally—he didn’t want to be that much in synch with the other man—but his comment did make Kirk think of something. “That is seriously horrible,” he judged of Khan’s description, “and no, you can’t have the list.”
Ever on the lookout for those medical ethics, McCoy countered, “He does have a point, Jim—“
“No,” Kirk declared firmly. “He’ll use it to target anti-Augment people. Can’t take the risk.”
Khan did not dispute this but merely added, “And if I don’t know who they are, I can save them without violating any ethics.”
He said the word like it was a sticky cobweb he’d run into, which was kind of how Kirk was feeling about it at the moment. “Gosh, that hadn’t occurred to me at all,” he claimed flatly, as McCoy rolled his eyes. “What a dilemma. I’ll need to form a committee to investigate that one.”
“I suppose you’re happy to have Augment blood used on you, should it become necessary?” McCoy asked, equally sarcastic.
“H—l yes,” Kirk proclaimed. “Might as well get something good out of him.”
This also made Khan laugh. “Used again, Kirk,” he reminded them with amusement. “You helped yourself to my blood quite liberally before. And no one bothered with consent then, did they?” He seemed to find this extremely funny, and not in a bitter, angry way.
“Extreme circumstances,” McCoy claimed, then added, “and lack of historical context.” His tone softened just slightly and Kirk knew he was thinking of how the young Augments had been exploited for their healing powers.
Khan waved off his compassion. “Think nothing of it,” he allowed grandly. “In the long run it has benefitted me and my family.”
Kirk blinked a couple times, wondering if Khan had just said something positive about him, then decided he didn’t want to know for sure. “But Pardo will be okay?” he checked with McCoy.
“Oh yeah,” the doctor assured him. “A couple weeks he’ll be back on his feet. Maybe a month for full duty.”
“It could have been tomorrow,” Khan noted obnoxiously. “Lost productivity, Kirk.”
Kirk ignored this. “Anything else I should know about?”
“Well, G-d, now I don’t know,” McCoy cracked. “I didn’t expect the conversation to go in this direction.”
Kirk conceded that. Time to lighten the mood a bit. “Have you been drinking my coffee?” he asked suspiciously.
“Are you finished?” Khan inquired. Kirk supposed he had been relatively patient. “Shall we talk about my project now? I don’t wish to impose.” Somehow his very politeness was imposing.
“He wants to breed tribbles?” Kirk said to McCoy. “Is that really a good idea?”
McCoy was now shuffling a couple of datapads. “It’ll be under controlled conditions.” He looked up with narrowed eyes. “Though of course if you have any moral objections—“
Kirk rolled his eyes and accepted the datapad McCoy offered him, which contained a summary of the injuries. Meanwhile McCoy took the report Khan held out and began to skim it. Khan was very good at waiting silently, while never letting you forget that he was there.
“Oh, good, you figured out about the chromosomal abnormality,” McCoy said randomly. “I meant to mention that.”
“It was obvious from the past data,” Khan dismissed, “though I was unable to confirm my hypothesis, as the most recent twenty-five years of scientific literature is blocked for us.” He managed to say this in a casual way, which was nonetheless pointed.
McCoy was not going to take sides on that one. “A little extra challenge for you,” he commented absently.
Kirk foolishly glanced up and found Khan’s blazing blue eyes boring into him. There was a very good reason he’d locked down Augment access to the latest scientific research: Khan was a psychotic genius. But somehow Khan’s gaze made his decision feel… petty. With a sigh Kirk scrolled through the datapad to the security clearances and opened the Augments’ access to research journals—not in everything, but a few biological disciplines. Plants and animals and ecology, that sort of thing. No doubt they could still get into mischief with it if they tried.
Which, it had to be noted, they hadn’t.
“Thank you,” Khan told him crisply.
Kirk went back to his injury report. “Well, this looks solid,” he judged. “Well done, Bones.”
“I’ve got a good team,” the doctor said modestly. “Hamish included,” he added to Khan, whose expression clearly said, ‘Naturally.’ Fortunately, before he could actually say it, the Sickbay doors opened and Hamish returned, bearing two cups of coffee.
“Sorry for the delay. Here’s your coffee, Dr. McCoy,” he said, setting the cup down on his desk.
“Thanks—“
“That should probably be for me, right?” Kirk needled his friend. “Since you drank mine.”
“You don’t like it this way,” McCoy predicted, sipping the steaming liquid confidently.
Hamish took a breath and turned to Khan, who was watching him curiously. “I’m sorry,” Hamish said, and embraced him. Khan’s stiff posture melted to enfold him. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“You’re tired,” Khan excused, which seemed to miss Hamish’s point. “Go back to the cabin and rest. Why are you drinking this?” He took the coffee from Hamish and sniffed it.
“It’s decaf,” Hamish assured him. “It’s just a social ritual.”
Khan’s expression indicated how pointless he found those and he gave the coffee back. “You did well assisting the humans with their crisis,” he judged, resuming his more formal stance.
“Thanks. Thanks for letting me help,” Hamish replied, less dryly. Khan gave him a prompting look. “Right, going home.” He nodded at McCoy and Kirk and started to leave.
“Oh, hang on,” Kirk called, hopping off the desk. “I’ll walk with you. Bones.”
“Jim.” McCoy went back to Khan’s breeding program. “So, edible tribbles…”
Kirk and Hamish exited Sickbay together. They were not going to the same place but Kirk followed Hamish’s path. “Hey, I just wanted to say thanks for helping out,” Kirk told him forthrightly. “I know it can’t be easy, when you know some people don’t like you because of, er, who you are.”
Hamish’s lips twisted into a wry smile. “It’s because of what I’ve done,” he corrected.
“Well, that was a long time ago—“
Hamish shook his head. “No, I mean, we all share in what Khan did, in London and San Francisco,” he explained. “We would all have done the same in his place. None of us is going to deny him for it.”
Kirk pounced on the marginal uncertainty in his tone. “Really? I don’t get the feeling you would have acted the same way.” He didn’t know if that would be taken as a compliment or an insult.
“Only because I’m not as clever as Khan,” Hamish asserted, “or as focused.” He gave Kirk a sideways glance. “Don’t bother trying to understand Augment psychology, Captain,” he advised with a self-aware smirk. “We’re all rather messed up. But I appreciate what you said. I like helping people.”
Kirk took Hamish’s point about Augment psychology. Wouldn’t want to delve into that mess. But he was still curious. “You apologized to Khan,” he noted. “Just now. Why bother? He doesn’t care. Er, does he?”
“I’m sure he doesn’t,” Hamish confirmed matter-of-factly. “You heard him—he writes it off because I’m tired, a lesser being than he is.” He didn’t sound bitter, merely pragmatic. “I apologize for me, Captain. For my own sake. Just because Khan won’t care, doesn’t make it okay to say something mean to him.” He glanced at Kirk to see if he understood.
Kirk would hardly have called what Hamish said mean. But he could see the other man preferred to take the high road—a higher road than Kirk usually even thought about. “Okay,” he finally replied. “Get some rest.” They parted ways and Kirk headed to the Bridge, marveling at how the Augments—some of them, anyway—were even better at being nice.