To Reign in Hell: The Exile of Khan Noonien Singh

by Greg Cox

  She was used to the cold-shoulder treatment by now, but it still hurt. Her standing in the colony remained a work-in-progress that, unlike New Chandigarh itself, was going nowhere fast. At Khan’s insistence, the others tolerated her presence, some more grudgingly than others, but Marla knew that she was still regarded as an outsider and an inferior. For a moment, she regretted leaving Parvati Rao behind in the fields; thanks to Marla’s lifesaving medical assistance during that first sabertooth-hunting expedition, the Indian guardswoman was about the only human on the planet, aside from Khan himself, who actually treated Marla like a friend.

  Marla crossed the campsite in lonely silence. Her Starfleet medallion dangled from a chain around her throat, and she guiltily tucked it into the neck of her sweat-stained blouse, safely out of sight. She wasn’t ashamed of her past—on the contrary, she remained proud to have served, however briefly, in Starfleet—but, for Khan’s sake, she thought it wise not to flaunt her divided loyalties in the face of the other colonists. Why mark herself with a scarlet letter, as if she wasn’t already enough of a pariah?

  “Well, well,” a mocking voice called out, “if it isn’t Khan’s pretty little pet!”

  Marla recognized the voice and her heart sank. Great, she thought. Just what I didn’t need right now.

  She turned to see Zuleika Walker tending a large pot of boiling water, not unlike a witch brewing her cauldron—if your typical witch looked like a towering dark-skinned Amazon, that is. Weeks of strict rations had stripped every ounce of excess body fat from the woman’s body, making her formidable musculature all the more imposing. As usual, she wore only a revealing shroud of golden mesh, as a concession either to the heat, her vanity, or both.

  “What do you want, Zuleika?” Marla asked apprehensively. Although the hostile superwoman had not threatened Marla physically since their first night on the planet, she seldom missed an opportunity to give Marla a bad time, if only when Khan was not around. After the incident with the torch, Marla couldn’t help feeling uneasy at the sight of Zuleika in close proximity to another fire.

  “Want?” the other woman replied. Her dark eyes flashed indignantly. “I want to be somewhere civilized, with indoor plumbing and air-conditioning, not playing Gilligan’s Island on Ceti Alpha V, wherever the hell that is, but I guess that’s just not going to happen, is it, Mary-Ann?” She spat at the dusty ground between them. “I was a supermodel-slash-assassin back on Earth. Now look at me!”

  Marla didn’t quite get all of the woman’s archaic references, but the message—and the attitude—was clear enough. Fine, Marla thought angrily. She was tired of taking the blame for all the rigors of frontier life. What did Zuleika expect when she signed aboard the Botany Bay, a pleasure cruise to Risa? “I don’t have time for this,” she responded.

  She made sure Zuleika got a good look at the Colt automatic pistol (which would have been the envy of Lieutenant Sulu back on the Enterprise) tucked into the wide black belt around her waist. There had been some controversy, mostly generated by Ericsson and his lackeys, about Marla receiving the pistol, while many of the other colonists had to make do with axes and spears, but Marla found herself glad that Khan had remained adamant on this point; amid all these genetically enhanced physical specimens, her gun served as a much-needed equalizer.

  Just call me Annie Oakley, she thought.

  She turned her back on Zuleika, but could not resist glancing backward over her shoulder as she marched away from the other woman. Thankfully, Zuleika appeared content, for now, simply to shoot daggers at Marla with her eyes. “Go ahead, walk away,” she called out. “I’m not going anywhere—and neither is anybody else!”

  Marla made a mental note to ask Khan what a “supermodel” was. Some sort of genetically engineered prototype?

  The bulk of her Starfleet gear was stored in a half-finished shed not far from Khan and Marla’s own private hut. The basic wooden construction had been completed, but only the bottom third of the shack had been daubed with thermoconcrete, to provide a secure foundation. They were starting to run low on thermoconcrete, Marla knew; she wondered if there would be enough to finish the shed before the rains hit. If not, they might have to move the supplies back into one of the original cargo carriers.

  Thunder rumbled again, and Marla caught a glimpse of lightning to the south. That could be dangerous, she fretted, worrying about the colonists still out in the fields. They’d already had to stamp out a few scary brushfires, although so far there had been no casualties.

  As she wound through rows of huts, on her way to the storage shed, she spotted Paul Austin, one of Ericsson’s cronies, loitering nearby. A sunburnt American, with ruddy skin and tattoos, he was leaning against a typical hut, smoking a cigarette made from a local plant that bore some slight familial resemblance to Terran tobacco. Marla shook her head; of all the barbaric habits that Khan’s people had brought with them from the twentieth century, smoking was one of the most baffling. Why inhale noxious fumes, when even the humans of their own era knew it was bad for them?

  Intertwining snakes, spiders, and scorpions covered the tattooed American’s bare arms and chest. The revolting creature Daniel Katzel had just discovered would have fit right in.

  Conscious of Marla’s scrutiny, Austin crushed his cigarette beneath his heel and strode away, perhaps concerned that Marla might report him to Khan for shirking. He needn’t have worried; Marla figured she was unpopular enough without becoming the camp snitch, which was one of the reasons she tried not to complain to Khan about the harsh treatment she got from Zuleika and the others.

  It worried her, though, that Austin had been lurking so near Khan’s quarters—and the supply shed. What if he wasn’t just taking a smoking break?

  Quickening her step, she arrived at the shed, where she was relieved to see Vishwa Patil, a security officer who had once been stationed at Khan’s fortress in northern India, standing guard over the precious supplies. Meticulous about his appearance, despite the rough conditions, he sported a trim military haircut along with an impressive handlebar mustache, whose oiled tips curved upward below his cheeks.

  A padlock and chains provided additional security for the shed, of a sort; the chains could not stop Austin or any other colonist from breaking in, of course—Marla still remembered Khan snapping his manacles in half in front of poor Chekov—but a broken lock would alert her if someone had been at her carefully hoarded Starfleet gear.

  “Good afternoon,” she greeted Patil. “I need to retrieve a new fuel cell.”

  The stern-faced Indian nodded and stepped away from the door. Although clearly uninterested in small talk, the guard knew that Khan had granted Marla full access to the shed. Thank heaven for small favors, she thought; after Zuleika, she wasn’t up for another argument.

  Marla unfastened the lock and pulled the door open. She stepped inside, leaving the door open to let in the daylight. More light filtered in through the cracks between the un-plastered saplings. After her exhausting hike in the sun, the relative shade of the thatch-covered hut came as a welcome change.

  Her eyes adjusting to the shadows, she quickly inventoried the contents of the shed, which included spare medkits, life-support gear, hazard vests, tritanium-mesh blankets, snow gear, a universal translator, antigrav cargo pallets, electronic clipboards, transtator components, protein re-sequencers, plasma lights, generators, rechargers, and other Starfleet-issue equipment. No communicators, though; Captain Kirk hadn’t wanted to give Khan the capacity to lure unsuspecting starships into a trap.

  To her chagrin, she found only two fully charged power cells left for the tricorder. I’ll have to remember to recharge my old one, she realized; a somewhat time-consuming procedure. Recycling and cannibalizing their existing equipment was a way of life on Ceti Alpha V. After all, we can hardly requisition Starfleet for fresh supplies.

  It occurred to her that there were probably a few more cells stored in one of the old cargo bays that now served as watchtowers. Not wanting to plac
e all their eggs in one basket, Khan had made sure that reserves of their most essential supplies were safely tucked away inside the impregnable steel carriers. I should probably check on those supplies as well, she thought.

  Without warning, the door slammed shut, leaving her in the dark. A heavy weight hit the ground outside. She heard footsteps and called out, “Patil?”

  No answer.

  Marla hurried to the door, only to find it locked from the outside. Thunder boomed overhead. She shoved on the door with both hands, but it refused to budge. Something large and massive was wedged against the other side. Marla was trapped. “Patil?” she yelled again, more anxiously this time. Had something happened to the guard? “Let me out of here!”

  She smelled smoke. A sudden fear gripped her heart.

  Oh no!

  But it was already too late. The dry timbers surrounding her caught fire immediately, the flames quickly blocking every avenue of escape. Choking black smoke filled the shed, and Marla dropped to the floor in search of purer air, even as the acrid fumes invaded her nose and lungs.

  For a second, she considered trying to dig her way out of the burning hut, but the thermoconcrete foundation rendered that scheme unworkable; there was no way she could tunnel deep enough to escape the hut before the flames consumed her. She could feel the heat of the roaring blaze all around her, scorching her skin.

  In desperation, she fired her pistol into the air, praying that someone in the camp would hear the shot and come to her rescue. “Help!” she cried hoarsely, choking on the smoke. “Patil! Somebody! Help me!”

  But no one answered.

  8

  The hunt was on, and Khan did not intend to return empty-handed. He, Joaquin, Ericsson, and one more colonist, Karyn Bradley, pushed their way through the tall grass in search of the elusive sabertooths. Fortune will be with us today, Khan thought confidently. I can feel it in my bones.

  A hot wind blew across the savanna, causing the yellow grass to rustle and stir like waves atop the sea. Khan took care to march directly into the wind, so that his scent would not precede him.

  “Your Excellency, look.” Joaquin pointed to a clump of impervious “axebreaker” trees not far away. Such thickets, they had learned, offered shade and the occasional water-hole, which often attracted the beasts they sought. Khan was encouraged to see birds nesting in the upper branches of the trees, confirming the locale’s appeal to the indigenous wildlife.

  He nodded in agreement, and the hunting party stealthily made their way toward the dense green grove. Khan was armed with his phaser, which never left his person, while Joaquin and Bradley both carried American-made rifles, from the Botany Bay’s original stores. Ericsson sullenly carried the rest of their gear through the intense humidity. The Norseman’s once-fair skin had long since been browned by the merciless sun. His only weapon was a handmade stone axe.

  As they approached the thicket’s outer fringe, their efforts were rewarded by the unmistakable rumble of a purring smilodon. Signaling the others to silence, Khan cautiously drew back the fronds of a leafy bush in order to peer deeper into the sylvan bower. His blood surged in anticipation of the kill. The beast’s tusks and hide shall serve as testaments to my revenge.

  His eyes beheld a massive sabertooth, stretched out on the undergrowth between two thick tree trunks. The stripped bones of an unfortunate bison were scattered upon the floor, and it required little imagination on Khan’s part to imagine the mangled skeleton of one of his people in place of the dead ruminant’s bones. Sated and content, the smilodon dozed placidly in the shade, seemingly oblivious to the arrival of the four superhumans. Its eyes were closed in slumber, and its steady purr sounded like the murmur of a well-tuned motor.

  Perfect, Khan thought with pleasure. The specters of his martyred followers rose up in his memory, demanding vengeance. Khan slowly raised his phaser, taking careful aim at the sabertooth’s colossal skull. The weapon was set to Kill, not disintegrate; Khan had no desire to forgo his trophy. I will teach this planet that there is a new and greater predator on Ceti Alpha V.

  Then, at the worst possible moment, the wind shifted, carrying Khan’s scent into the thicket. Amber eyes snapped open and the recumbent sabertooth sprang into action, every sense alert to danger. In haste, Khan fired at it, but the animal had already bolted for safety, taking cover behind the broad tree trunks. The deadly crimson beam blackened the bark of a guiltless axebreaker, even as the fleeing smilodon suddenly veered toward Khan, lunging at him with its powerful foreclaws extended. Tusks like daggers sliced through the air between them.

  Khan swung his phaser around, desperately trying to meet the creature’s charge with another blast of energy. Gunshots rang out behind him, however, and the beast was sent hurtling backward, turning a somersault in the air. Patches of bright red blood burst from the sabertooth’s tawny hide. An anguished roar joined the echo of the two, almost simultaneous rifle blasts.

  Khan risked a glance behind him, where he saw both Joaquin and Bradley standing with their rifles still poised against their shoulders. The scent of gunpowder assaulted his nostrils. A look of vast relief flooded Bradley’s freckled countenance, although Joaquin’s face remained as stoic as ever. Ericsson, if anything, looked distinctly disappointed by Khan’s survival.

  The smilodon crashed to earth, then instantly broke for the relative cover of the deep grass. Khan’s gaze snapped back to his prey in time to see the wounded sabertooth disappear into the rustling waves of yellow and brown.

  “Hurry!” he shouted to the others, eager to claim the beast that had attacked him only seconds before. “We must not let it get away!”

  There would be time enough to thank his defenders later. For now, the hunt continued. Phaser in hand, Khan charged into the brush. His boots pounded loudly against the earth as he ran after the vanished smilodon. He heard Joaquin and the others running behind him, Ericsson cursing in Norwegian beneath his breath.

  Despite its injuries, the sabertooth made good time through the grassland, easily outdistancing its determined pursuers. But although Khan could not catch even a glimpse of the departing animal, a trail of smeary bloodstains made tracking the big cat mere child’s play. There are advantages, Khan noted, to old-fashioned ammunition; a phaser blast left no bleeding wounds.

  Joaquin caught up with Khan, jogging only a few paces behind his leader. “Beware, Your Excellency,” he huffed. “A wounded animal can be more dangerous than ever.”

  True enough, Khan acknowledged, without slowing his pace. “You know, my friend, I might have slain the beast myself, back there by the thicket.”

  “Of course, Lord Khan,” Joaquin agreed readily. “But I did not wish to take that chance.” He gripped his rifle with both hands as he ran. “Forgive me for my presumption.”

  Khan smiled, amused by the bodyguard’s apology. He was not so proud that he begrudged a legitimate attempt to protect his life. “It is of no matter,” he assured the other man.

  The trail of blood led uphill, toward a stony ridge overlooking the savanna. The sabertooth was seeking higher ground, Khan surmised. He was undaunted by the climb ahead; the upward chase would leave any ordinary man winded, but Khan and his people all had fifty-percent superior lung capacity. If anything, he increased his pace as he reached the base of the ridge.

  A puddle of warm blood, filling a shallow depression in the rock, verified that they were still on the right track. Bradley winced at the sight of the crimson pool. “It’s bleeding badly, poor thing.” A note of sympathy, and regret, entered her voice. “It’s a shame we have to kill it.” Her eyes entreated Khan. “Are you certain we can’t somehow coexist with these animals?”

  Khan recalled that the tall brunette had been an academic back on Earth, sheltered somewhat from the crueler realities of life. “Homer said it best,” he informed her. “‘There are no compacts between lions and men, and wolves and lambs have no concord.’” He shook his head solemnly. “On Ceti Alpha V, the only endangered species is
us.”

  “Yes, Lord Khan,” she said, tightening her grip upon her rifle. “I understand.”

  Splashes of red led them up the side of the ridge until they came to the entrance of cave, tucked into the gap between two flanking boulders. A scraggly bush partially concealed the open cavity, which appeared to lead deep into the craggy bluff. Crimson smudges stained the thornscrub.

  Khan’s face lit up. Could it be that, after months of searching, he had found the man-eaters’ den at last? He eagerly chopped away the prickly shrub, clearing the entrance. His eyes probed the darkness beyond, but saw nothing but shadows. He unclasped a palm-sized flashlight from his belt and stepped toward the gaping maw.

  “Your Excellency!” Joaquin exclaimed. “You cannot mean to enter the cave.”

  “That is precisely what I mean to do,” Khan declared. He had not hunted the sabertooth all this way just to turn back now. He raised his hand to forestall further debate. “Do not attempt to dissuade me. The beast dies today.”

  An unexpected voice spoke up. “Then let me go first, Lord Khan,” Ericsson volunteered, without his usual sarcasm. “Your safety is paramount.”

  Khan’s eyes narrowed as he examined the Norseman, surprised by the man’s offer. Was Ericsson simply trying to get back into Khan’s good graces, or had he some darker motive? Khan saw no obvious flaw in the other man’s proposal; indeed, it would be safer to have the possibly duplicitous Norseman in front of him than behind him. And I hardly wish to leave him standing guard outside the cave, where one convenient “avalanche” could bury the rest of us alive.

  “Very well,” Khan stated, stepping aside to permit Ericsson full access to the cavern’s entrance. “Bravery is a trait I seek always to encourage.” He quickly assigned the others their duties. “Bradley, you will stand watch outside the cave. In case of a collapse, it is imperative that you get assistance from New Chandigarh to dig us out.” He turned to Joaquin, whom looked perturbed by these recent turn of events. “You, my friend, will follow after me into the cave, and we shall not emerge until the creature’s lifeless body is in my possession.”