To Reign in Hell: The Exile of Khan Noonien Singh (28 page)

She paused to let the other woman catch up with her. “Yes?” she asked patiently, despite her fatigue. Her ubiquitous tricorder was slung over her shoulder, ready to disgorge another day’s worth of recordings onto her dwindling supplies of data disks. “Can I help you?”

“I’m sorry to bother you,” Karyn said. The former college professor, whose dark hair was cut just below her ears, had an anxious expression. “But I was wondering if you could spare a few moments to come see Astrid?”

“Is something wrong?” Marla asked. She had noticed that Karyn’s daughter had not shown up for class today. Along with Joachim, five-year-old Astrid Ericsson was one of Marla’s prize pupils. Even among a brood of genetically enhanced prodigies, all of whom were maturing at an accelerated rate, Astrid was smart and capable beyond her years. Marla had already pegged the little girl as a rising star and likely future leader of Fatalis. “Should we go find Dr. Hawkins?”

Please,
Marla prayed, as a sickening notion occurred to her,
don’t tell me the eels have gotten to another child…
.

Karyn shook her head. “I don’t think she’s sick. Something’s bothering her, though, and she won’t tell me what it is.” Worry deepened the furrows on the woman’s face. “She won’t eat, she won’t do her homework, she’s barely speaking. I was wondering, perhaps you can talk to her?”

That’s odd,
Marla thought. She couldn’t think of anything that might be troubling Astrid. The little girl had gotten a perfect score on yesterday’s quantum mechanics exam and was well liked by her peers.
What on earth could be bothering her?

“Of course,” she volunteered, sympathizing with the obviously worried mother. “I’ll be happy to talk to her, if you think it would do any good.”

Karyn beamed in relief. “Thank you so much,” she said, taking Marla’s hand. “I’m sure you can find out what the problem is. Astrid thinks very highly of you.”

Then how can I say no?
Marla thought, shrugging her shoulders in resignation. She cast a wistful glance in the direction of her own quarters as Karyn guided her in the opposite direction. She had been looking forward to spending the evening with Khan, in the privacy of their own chambers, but apparently that was going to have to wait a bit.
A teacher’s work is never done, I suppose
.

Karyn and Harulf Ericsson lived in a block of rough-hewn apartments carved out of one of the lower levels of the underground complex. Marla felt a familiar pang as she and Karyn passed various other families retiring for the night; after five years of marriage, she and Khan still had no children of their own and by now Marla had pretty much given up on the prospect. For years she had nursed a
secret fear that Khan would seek out another woman to bear him an heir, yet Khan had never even spoken of looking elsewhere, choosing instead to groom young Joachim as his future successor.

Then again,
Marla mused,
Astrid Ericsson may have something to say about that further on down the road
.

A hanging metal curtain marked the entrance to the Ericssons’ quarters. Karyn pulled the curtain aside and gestured for Marla to step inside. “Go on,” she urged pleasantly. “Astrid is waiting.”

But instead of the precocious child, Marla found Harulf Ericsson and Paul Austin instead. The two men grinned wolfishly as she entered the cave. Marla suddenly sensed that she had made a frightful mistake. “What—?” she began, backing away, only to feel Karyn’s hand clamp tightly over her mouth. The other woman shoved Marla toward the waiting men, who pounced forward to seize her. An old piece of rubber, cut from the sole of a discarded boot, was thrust between her jaws and tied in place with a gag. Austin yanked on her arms, trapping them behind her back. Marla struggled to free herself, but the superman’s grasp was too strong.

She was caught.

I don’t understand,
she thought.
Why are they doing this?

Harulf Ericsson smiled at her predicament. “Why,
Lady
Marla,” he said sarcastically, making a joke of her title. “How nice of you to grace us with your
exalted
presence. I’m sure our humble abode hardly compares to the one you share with our glorious leader, but we’re hoping to improve our situation soon—with your generous assistance.”

What does he mean by that?
Marla wondered fearfully. Her heart pounded in her chest as she tried to anticipate Ericsson’s
plans for her. Her eyes searched the cramped, sparsely furnished cave, but saw nothing that offered any hope of mistake. Astrid, she could not help noticing, was nowhere to be seen.
Probably off with a babysitter,
Marla guessed. She realized now that this had nothing to do with Ericsson’s daughter—and everything to do with his ruthless ambition.

She cursed herself for her naïveté.
I should never have trusted Karyn, no matter how talented her daughter is
. She felt a surge of anger at the duplicitous mother.
But how dare she take advantage of my concern for the children!

Not a trace of remorse showed on Karyn Ericsson’s face as she joined her husband in front of their captive. Marla wanted to shout at them both, tell them how despicable they were, but, gagged as she was, she couldn’t even threaten them with Khan’s wrath. A chilling thought occurred to her:
They wouldn’t risk provoking Khan like this—unless they never expected me to see him again.

“I’m sorry our daughter isn’t here to welcome you,” Ericsson continued, “but there’s someone else I’d like to introduce you to.” Karyn fetched a sealed clay jar from a limestone shelf and offered her husband a pair of metal tongs. Ericsson carefully opened the container and reached in with the tongs. “And here he is.”

Marla’s eyes widened in horror as she spotted the greasy larva squirming in the tong’s grip.
No!
she thought, literally frozen in shock.
Not that! Anything but that!

Panicked, she fought to break free of Austin’s grasp, but the tattooed superman held her fast as Ericsson approached her, bearing the quivering eel in his tongs. He lifted her hair with his free hand, exposing the area around her right ear.
Please, no!
she pleaded with her eyes.
Don’t do this!
But Ericsson ignored her petrified expression, lifting
the tongs toward her ear. Marla flinched in terror as she felt the slimy larva come into contact with her skin.

The next few seconds felt like an eternity. The eel slid upward, leaving a trail of mucus behind it. She felt the larva navigate her lobes, then slide implacably into her ear canal. A searing pain erupted inside her head as the larva burrowed through her eardrum on its way toward her brain. Relief, of a purely physical nature, came a few moments later, as the eel sprayed some sort of anesthetic goo inside her ear, sealing the gap in the perforated eardrum; apparently, the parasite had no intention of rendering its host crazed with pain—at least not yet.

It doesn’t matter,
Marla thought numbly. She knew there was no possible hope for her now.

She was a dead woman.

But what did Ericsson hope to gain from killing her?

Revenge?

She could feel the eel moving through her inner ear. She felt a growing pressure within her skull, like a tumor at work, and a sort of fog descended on her thoughts, along with a peculiar sense of detachment….

It was like one of those dreams where one is acting and watching oneself act at the same time. One knows what’s going to happen, but goes through the motions anyway, like an actor following a script laid out by one’s unconscious mind. Marla felt like an outside observer in her own body, listening to her heart calmly settle down as though nothing horrible was happening to her.

As though she hadn’t already been murdered.

In a grotesque parody of compassion, Karyn Ericsson wiped the blood and mucus from the outside of Marla’s ear, concealing any evidence of the larva’s passage. Harulf
watched Marla’s face carefully while he waited for the larva to complete its trek to her cerebral cortex. He stared into her eyes as if he expected to see the deadly eel staring back at him.

He snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Are you still there, Lady Marla?” he asked. A pitiless smirk showed through his beard. “Nod if you can hear me.”

Never!
Marla thought defiantly, determined not to cooperate with her killer. To her horror, however, she felt her head nod as instructed.
No! Stop it!

Ericsson grinned. “Very good, Lieutenant McGivers.” His fingers toyed with Starfleet medallion around her neck. “Now then, Marla, I want you to listen to me very carefully. We’re going to remove your gag, but you are not going to scream or call for help. Do you understand me?”

Marla nodded again, like a puppet on a string.
Don’t!
she thought in dismay, unable to stop herself from obeying Ericsson’s commands, no matter how hard she tried. It was like a bad dream she had no hope of waking from.
This can’t be happening!

“Do it,” Ericsson told his wife, who undid the gag and removed the rubber sole from Marla’s mouth. Austin kept a tight grip on the prisoner’s arms, just in case Marla had not entirely succumbed to the eel’s effects.

He needn’t have bothered. Marla tried desperately to scream, but her treacherous throat refused to cooperate. Her frantic cries echoed inside her skull, but nothing emerged from her paralyzed lips.

“So far, so good,” Ericsson observed. He shared a triumphant look with his two conspirators before returning his attention to their captive. “Are you still listening to me, Marla?”

“Yes,” she heard herself say. She couldn’t believe it was her own voice.

“Very good,” Ericsson said, as though praising a well-behaved child. “Now stay right where you are until I say you can go.” He nodded at Austin. “Release her.”

Marla felt her arms drop limply to her side. She wanted to lash out at Ericsson and the others, kick and punch and bite until they were all broken and bleeding on the floor. Barring that, she wanted to run from this place as fast as humanly possible, all the way to Khan and anyone else who might be able to help her.
Get moving!
she shouted silently at her recalcitrant legs.
Run away—now!

Instead, she just stood there, waiting helplessly for further instructions.
Like one of those androids on Exo III,
she thought bleakly.

Ericsson chortled at her unwilling obedience. “This just gets better and better.” He put down the tongs and reached for the polished obsidian knife tucked into her belt. He stepped closer to her, until his face was only a couple of centimeters away from hers. Marla was unable to look away from his cold blue eyes.

“Listen to me, Marla,” he said. Any trace of amusement evaporated from his voice and expression, as his tone became deadly serious. “I want you to find your husband. Do not tell him or anyone else what has happened here. You must act as though everything is normal and nothing is wrong with you. Can you do that, Marla?”

“Yes,” she answered, against her will.

Ericsson thrust the blade into her hand and wrapped her fingers around its hilt. “Take your knife,” he told her. “Use it to kill your husband. Get him alone first, then cut his
throat, stab him in the heart, and keep on stabbing him until he is dead.”

The part of Marla’s mind that still belonged to her reacted in utter horror.
Kill Khan?
The very thought scared her more than dying. She tried to hurl the knife away, but it remained securely with her grip.
I can’t … I’d never…!

“Repeat after me,” Ericsson insisted. “Khan must die.”

“Khan must die,” Marla said hollowly.

“Precisely.” Ericsson stepped back and gestured toward the door. “Go now,” he commanded. “Your husband is waiting for you.”

Marla walked through Fatalis, caught in a waking nightmare. Although she was free at last from her captors, Ericsson’s words still echoed irresistibly in her mind.

Khan must die.

Assorted colonists, including Zuleika, greeted her in the tunnels and Marla responded calmly to each, unable to warn her friends and comrades of the danger to Khan. Meaningless pleasantries spilled from her lips as, moment by moment, she drew steadily nearer to the quarters she shared with their leader. The obsidian blade rested securely against her hip.

The trip seemed to last forever—and was over far too soon. Fear and anguish gripped her heart as she spotted Joaquin standing guard outside the arched doorway to Khan’s private apartments. The zealous bodyguard took no chances; when he wasn’t watching over Khan personally, one of Suzette Ling’s handpicked security officers stood guard in his place.

“You’re late,” he grumbled as Marla approached. Over
the years, their mutual dislike had evolved into, at best, a grudging tolerance for each other. They still weren’t friends, but Joaquin no longer distrusted her as he once had … unfortunately. At the moment, Marla would have given anything for the Israeli giant to eye her with suspicion once more, perhaps even take her into custody.

Please, Joaquin,
she pleaded inwardly.
See what’s happening to me. Don’t let me near Khan!

“I was busy,” she told him. “One of the children was having trouble with his homework.” Guilt stabbed at her soul as she heard herself lie effortlessly to her husband’s guardian.

“Joachim?” his father asked.

“Of course not,” Marla assured him. “Another child.”

Joaquin grunted, having exhausted his interest in the conversation. He stepped aside to let Marla pass, much to her dismay.
No!
she thought hysterically.
You can’t let me get to Khan. You have to stop me!

“He’s waiting,” the bodyguard said.

Screaming inside, Marla passed through the doorway.

The chambers beyond consisted of two interconnected grottoes, both larger than the Ericssons’ single cavern, along with a natural sinkhole to serve as a private latrine. The furnishings were rudimentary—a chair, a desk, a handmade wooden bed bearing a mattress stuffed with moss—yet Marla had done her best over the years to add a few personal touches to their spartan accommodations. Dried flowers, procured before the desert swallowed up the savanna above, adorned limestone shelves and awnings. Her data disks and recharger occupied a carved marble bedstand. A miniature sculpture of a medieval knight and his lady, salvaged from the ruins of New Chandigarh, occupied a niche
above the bed. Khan’s old flag, now badly singed around the edges, served as a bedspread. A disintegrating grass carpet covered the floor.