To Reign in Hell: The Exile of Khan Noonien Singh

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To Reign in Hell: The Exile of Khan Noonien Singh Page 11

by Greg Cox


  “Trust me,” Zuleika insisted. “Down by the river is one place you don’t want to spend too much time, not unless you’re properly armed.” She cast an envious glance at the Colt tucked into Marla’s belt.

  Forget it, Marla thought. I’m not that idealistic. For all she knew, the pistol was the only thing keeping Zuleika from killing her once and for all—that and the fact that they were going to need each other to survive on their own. For the time being, this gun is staying right where it is.

  They came to the brim of a shallow valley, which stretched across their path for what looked like kilometers. A narrow stream, perhaps no more than ankle-deep, trickled down the valley’s center, heading for the Kaur farther to the east. A stand of sycamores and papyrus had grown up along the sides of the brook.

  Marla peered nervously at the darkening sky, where the clouds were growing heavier and more ominous by the minute. She was uneasy about descending into the gully just as a storm threatened, but there didn’t seem to be any alternative; to go around the valley might take hours and there was no guarantee that higher ground could be found. And they did need fresh water….

  Zuleika didn’t hesitate before starting down the slope. Perhaps she was even thirstier than Marla, if such a thing was possible, or maybe she was just determined to put as many kilometers as possible between them and the camp. With a shrug of resignation, Marla followed closely behind her.

  The angle of descent was not too steep, and Marla had to admit that the gradual decline came as a relief after long hours of hiking across the grassy plains. Thorny acacia bushes gave way to mingled willows and papyrus reeds. She tried not to think about the uphill climb awaiting them on the other side of the valley.

  They had just reached the bottom of the slope when the first heavy raindrops pelted Marla’s face. Uh-oh… but it was already too late. Within seconds, the sky turned black as midnight. A howling wind came whipping up the valley, tossing Marla’s hair about wildly. Sheet lightning strobed the darkness. Water fell from the sky like an ion cascade.

  After weeks of teasing, the monsoon had finally arrived.

  Almost before they realized what was happening, both women were soaked to the skin. Marla’s torch was doused instantly, and the ground beneath their feet dissolved into sludge. The tiny stream, which had barely merited the name moments before, quickly swelled into a rushing cataract, topped by frothing white water.

  An icy dread gripped Marla’s heart.

  “We have to get out of here!” she shouted over the rampaging wind and rain. Zuleika nodded in agreement, her worried features devoid of her customary attitude and hauteur. Marla envied the other woman’s short, tightly beaded hair; at least she didn’t have windblown tresses flying in her face.

  Frantically, they tried climbing back the way they had come, but their boots slipped repeatedly upon the muddy incline, trapping them at the bottom. Marla discarded her worthless torch and grabbed on to some reeds, but the stalks came free from the soaked hillside, roots and all, sending her tumbling back toward the overflowing stream. Marla held on tightly to the shaft of her spear, determined not to let go of the weapon. More water gushed over the lip of the valley, pouring down the slope to join the swiftly growing floodwaters.

  Marla felt like she was drowning. The water was everywhere … in her eyes, in her mouth, beneath her hands and knees. Somewhere nearby, Zuleika let loose with an impressive barrage of late-twentieth-century profanity. From the sound of it, the volatile superwoman was just as overwhelmed by the deluge as Marla was, the sheer power and enormity of the storm rendering the genetic disparity between them insignificant.

  Not even Khan could stand against this, Marla guessed. A diabolical irony stabbed at her soul. I’ve been waiting so avidly for the monsoon! Now it may be the death of me….

  A tremendous roar, coming from upstream, drowned out Zuleika’s volcanic curses. Wiping the rain and hair from her eyes, Marla looked up in time to see a colossal wall of water barreling toward her like a tidal wave. The onrushing torrent stretched from one side of the valley to other, offering no hope of refuge.

  Beam me out of here! she thought fervently, even though she knew that wasn’t going to happen….

  The flash flood struck with the unbelievable force, snatching up both women and carrying them along in its unstoppable rush toward the River Kaur. Marla held on to her spear with both hands as she was tossed about wildly by the turbulent waters. She tried holding her breath, only to end up gasping for air whenever her face bobbed above the spuming whitecaps. Uprooted bushes and branches smashed against her, the jagged twigs tearing at her flesh. The brutal current spun her about randomly, so that she barely knew which way was up. Once she collided with what felt like another human body, but the flood whisked her away from the other woman before she could even determine if Zuleika was still alive.

  Khan! she screamed silently. Help me—please!

  A wave splashed against her face, invading her mouth and nose. She gasped and sputtered, spitting out a mouthful of muddy water before the flood pulled her under again….

  Khan looked on grimly, accompanied by Joaquin and Vishwa Patil, as a team of colonists sifted through the charred remains of the storage shed. Alas, there appeared to be little to salvage; the advanced twenty-third-century equipment had all been destroyed, leaving them only whatever Starfleet equipment remained in the original cargo bays. Of this shed’s contents, it seemed only Marla and her protective blankets had survived.

  Marla.

  A pang pierced his heart. Despite his stony exterior, doubts and second thoughts plagued him. Had he rushed to judgment regarding Zuleika Walker? What if Marla had been right and Zuleika had indeed been innocent? If so, he had condemned both women to certain death on the basis of an overhasty decision. “Impatience will be your fatal flaw,” an old acquaintance had once warned him, back during the Eugenics Wars. Could it be that this flaw had cost Marla her life?

  His eyes probed the crime scene before him, searching for proof of Zuleika’s guilt or innocence. Between the fire, the rain, and the frantic efforts of the firefighters, however, the site was far from pristine. The sodden ground had been trampled over by multiple feet since the initial attack on Vishwa Patil, meaning that any revelatory evidence had been hopelessly lost.

  Not that there was likely to have been many clues to begin with; setting a dry wooden shed on fire with a piece of tinder was not exactly a crime that required extensive effort or preparation. As Marla had rightly pointed out, most anyone could have snapped shut the padlock and lighted the blaze, all in a matter of minutes.

  He turned toward Patil, who was also contemplating the burnt wreckage. An ugly scab covered the bump at the base of his skull. “You saw or heard nothing?” Khan asked the Indian security officer.

  Patil shook his head. His imposing mustache vibrated as he spoke. “Nothing, Your Excellency.”

  Khan clenched his fists in frustration. There had to be some way to uncover the truth. “You did not smell smoke?”

  “The camp always smells of smoke,” Patil said with a shrug, “what with the cooking fires, campfires, and such. The Walker woman was boiling a big pot of fresh water maybe twelve meters away.” He rubbed the sore spot at the rear of his head. “Raised quite a bump, she did. I suppose I should be thankful that she dragged me away from the shed before putting the torch to it.” A mournful sign escaped his lips. “By the time I came to, only a few moments later, the entire structure was ablaze. I tried to get to the door, to set Lieutenant McGivers free, but the smoke and flames … they were too much for me.”

  He showed Khan his palms, which were still reddened where the fires had lightly scorched him. They matched the burns on Khan’s own hands.

  Khan frowned. Now that he heard it again, something about Patil’s story did not ring true. Why would Zuleika be so crude as to hit Patil with a rock, especially if her true target was Marla, not Patil? Zuleika was an assassin par excellence; she could swiftly and efficiently render a
man unconscious with her bare hands, simply by clamping on to the appropriate pressure point. And why, having spared his life, would she take the chance of him recovering in time to rescue Marla? Again, she had the talent and skill to safely incapacitate him for hours.

  Suspicion flared in Khan’s mind. “Tell me,” he asked sharply, invading the other man’s personal space. “How did you know that Zuleika was busy boiling water if you were standing by your post?”

  “Um, I’m not sure,” Patil answered. He stepped backward, retreating fearfully from Khan’s scrutiny. “I must have heard as much from someone else … after the fact, that is.”

  Khan was not convinced. To the contrary, the guard’s uncertainty, and sudden nervousness, reinforced Khan’s sense that Patil was hiding a particularly heinous secret. He cast a meaningful look at Joaquin, who instantly seized Patil from behind. “Lord Khan!” the guard cried out in alarm. “I don’t understand!”

  “The truth!” Khan demanded. There was no time for further games or evasions, not with Marla and Zuleika facing unknown perils at this very moment; for all he knew, both women were already dead.

  He took hold of Patil’s throat and squeezed.

  Patil gasped out loud. “Please, Your Excellency!” he squeaked. His face turned red, then blue. Bulging veins throbbed upon his brow. “I can’t breathe!”

  Khan squeezed more tightly.

  Patil’s eyes protruded from their sockets, the bloodshot orbs seeing neither mercy nor hesitation in Khan’s own eyes. “Yes! All right!” Patil choked out. “I confess, it was me!”

  I knew it, Khan thought. He released his grip enough to let Patil speak more easily.

  “Forgive me, Your Excellency!” Patil gasped as he spoke, hungrily sucking air into his lungs. His agonized face pleaded for mercy. “I did it for you, Lord Khan! The Starfleet woman was a wedge between you and your true followers, giving your enemies an issue to use against you.” The words came pouring out of him now, in a desperate effort to justify his actions. “You were blind to the threat she posed, and I could not stand by and let you be brought down by a woman again, like on the Enterprise, and back on Earth….”

  Khan knew to whom the latter remark referred: the Lady Ament, once one of his most trusted advisors during the glory days of his reign on Earth. An exotic beauty of great intelligence and charm, she had ultimately proven to be a double agent employed by his enemies. Along with the meddlesome Gary Seven, she had played a key role in his eventual downfall.

  Even after three hundred years, Ament’s betrayal still rankled, but Khan had never made the mistake of equating that feline traitoress, long dead by Joaquin’s hand, with Marla. They were two very different women. Indeed, they could be truly said to be not even of the same species.

  “So, you see, Your Excellency,” Patil insisted, “I sought only to rid you of an inferior specimen who stood between you and your greatness.” Only Joaquin’s unbreakable grip kept the confessed arsonist from dropping onto his knees to beg for his life. “Perhaps I erred, but, I beg of you, do not condemn me for an excess of loyalty to your cause!”

  But Khan had already stopped listening to the security officer’s excuses. Marla, and the possibility that she might still be alive, was all that concerned him now. Intent on finding her, he casually withdrew the silver dagger from his belt and thrust it directly into Patil’s heart.

  The man convulsed once, then expelled his last breath. Joaquin checked the pulse at Patil’s throat, confirming that he was dead, then dropped the corpse onto the muddy ground beside the blackened ruins of the shed. The rest of the salvage team watched the execution in stunned silence.

  Khan did not bother to address the crowd. His mind was kilometers away, where Marla and Zuleika faced every manner of peril Ceti Alpha V had to offer. “Hurry!” he called out to Joaquin. “Gather a search party. Get every man or woman the camp can spare. We must set out at once.”

  “But, Your Excellency!” Joaquin protested. “The Starfleet woman defied your will!”

  “With good reason, it appears,” Khan stated. “I am not so proud that I do not know when I have made a mistake. Do as I instruct.”

  The bodyguard appeared less than enthusiastic at the prospect of Marla’s return, but not enough to defy a direct order from his master. “As you command,” he assented, and hurried to round up the search party.

  Thunder rumbled overhead. The sky darkened dramatically, and a heavy rain began to fall. A hot, humid wind blew against his face, and Khan recognized the long-awaited onset of the monsoon.

  No matter, he resolved, even though the sudden downpour left his dark hair plastered to his skull. The camp was well prepared for the rain, being safely distant from the riverbank, but he knew the surrounding countryside was awash with dry riverbeds that would rapidly fill with water. Storm or no storm, he would not rest until he found Marla again.

  Perhaps it was not too late to save her.

  Swept along by the flood, Marla fought to gain some control over her watery tumbling even as the surging torrent punched its way through the grass and scrub, rushing downhill toward the River Kaur. Eventually, after what felt like an eternity being tossed about like flotsam, she sensed the current begin to slacken as the natural gully widened and leveled off, causing the cataract to spread itself thinner. A stand of palms swayed before the force of the flood, and Marla managed to halt her progress by wedging the shaft of her spear between two unyielding saplings.

  The besieged trees bent but did not break. Marla gripped the horizontal spear with white knuckles, letting the worst of the torrent pass over her until at last the fleeting water left her behind, lying facefirst upon the muddy underbrush, gasping for breath. I did it! she thought, amazed at her own survival. I’m still here.

  But what about Zuleika?

  The sudden cloudburst had faded to a drizzle, giving Marla a chance to catch her breath. Drenched and exhausted, she climbed slowly onto her knees, then leaned on her spear as she dragged herself up to a standing position. Gallons of water seemed to stream from her soaked hair and shredded uniform, joining the muck beneath her feet. The faded red fabric of her Starfleet uniform hung in tatters upon her shaking frame. Amazingly, her pistol was still secured to her belt, which struck her as nothing short of miraculous.

  She turned toward the Kaur, looking for Zuleika. At first all she saw was uprooted bushes and branches, but then she spotted a sludge-covered figure at the very edge of the Kaur, which seemed to have swollen beyond its usual boundaries, flooding the surrounding banks. Great for agriculture, Marla noted, but maybe not all that safe for the two of us.

  Never mind keeping a safe distance from the river. The Kaur had come to them.

  “Zuleika!” Marla called to the prone figure. You can’t be dead, she thought anxiously. You’re a superwoman, remember? Marla couldn’t believe that she was running to the rescue of her worst enemy. She doubted Khan would approve. “Can you hear me?”

  The downed Amazon lifted her head in response to Marla’s cry. She started to lift herself from the mire, then collapsed, wincing in pain. “I think I broke a rib,” she gasped. Her spear lay by her side, proof that Zuleika had also managed to hang on to a weapon during their tumultuous ride down the flooded valley. Her machete, on the other hand, was nowhere to be seen.

  Marla tried to imagine what kind of impact could have fractured one of Zuleika’s superdense bones. Must have been hit dead-on by a floating tree trunk, she guessed, or maybe she bounced off a boulder on her way down. Probably would have killed me….

  “Hold on!” she called to the other woman. Using her spear as a cane, she descended toward the river, trying hard not to lose her balance upon the muddy ground, which oozed disconcertingly beneath her boots. “I’ll be right there!”

  She hoped Zuleika wasn’t too badly injured. The odds against their continued survival were bad enough already. She could only pray that the superwoman’s recuperative abilities were as enhanced as the rest of her.

  But as s
he hurried to reach Zuleika, something else got there first.

  Marla’s eyes widened in alarm as a huge, muck-encrusted mass rose out of the turbid water at Zuleika’s feet: a monstrous river turtle the size and shape of an inverted bathtub. A curved beak gaped open, revealing rows of pointed yellow teeth. The prehistoric chelonian was quite obviously a carnivore—and very hungry.

  “Behind you!” Marla shrieked, alerting Zuleika barely in time.

  Snatching up her spear, Zuleika rolled onto her back and thrust the point of the lance into the monster’s beak. The turtle hissed angrily, and a musky odor filled the air. The beak snapped shut, breaking the spear in two. The creature shook its head wildly, trying to dislodge the business end of the spear from its gullet. Zuleika dragged herself backward through the mud, desperate to distance herself from the mammoth alien.

  Marla took advantage of the animal’s distraction to draw her gun. Was the antique firearm powerful enough to penetrate the turtle’s bony shell? Marla wasn’t sure, so she aimed for the turtle’s exposed head.

  She pulled the trigger—and nothing happened.

  What? Her heart plummeted as she realized that the flood had somehow rendered the ancient pistol inoperative, and at the worst possible moment.

  By now, the monster turtle had disgorged the offending speartip, and was once more advancing on Zuleika. Four massive claws propelled it through the mud and its head extended out from its shell, like a cobra striking out from beneath a concealing boulder. Zuleika screamed and jabbed at the head with the bottom of her broken wooden shaft, as the fanged beak snapped viciously at the air.

  Marla ran toward the unequal battle, splashing through the mud. She lunged between the giant turtle and Zuleika, and began thrusting her own spear at the fleshy opening beneath the monster’s carapace. The turtle’s head whipped around savagely at the end of its snakelike neck, attempting to take a bite out of its new attacker. Cold reptilian blood spilled onto the mucky ground, adding a bright crimson tint to the reddish brown quagmire. Marla felt like a cave-woman locked in some primeval struggle for survival.

 

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