The Rise and Fall of Khan Noonien Singh, Volume One (44 page)

Perhaps to change the subject, McCoy looked upward at the verdant dome cresting high above their heads. “What’s with the greenness?” he asked. “I feel like I’m in the Emerald City of Oz, or maybe in an undersea city on Celadon Prime.”

“The dome is one of our proudest accomplishments, Doctor,” Clarke said, clearly delighted to expound further. “Believe it or not, the dome is a living organism, genetically designed by some of our top scientists. It’s chlorophyll-based, meaning that it can convert Sycorax’s diffuse sunlight directly into energy the dome can employ for its own use and maintenance. In addition, it also absorbs carbon dioxide from the atmosphere outside, converting it into oxygen. At present, most of that oxygen is consumed by the colony’s population, but enough is released back into the outer environment that, over centuries, the dome’s own respiration should help terraform the planet.”

“A living biosphere,” McCoy uttered, sounding genuinely impressed. “That’s astounding!”

“We think so,” Clarke said proudly. “The dome also has roots
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ex
tending deep beneath the planet’s surface, absorbing vital minerals, nutrients, and even fresh water from underground reserves.” She watched the faces of her guests, gauging their reactions to her revelations concerning the dome. “It’s completely adapted to its environment.”

“What about the forcefield?” Kirk asked. “Is that to reinforce the dome against the extreme atmospheric pressure?” He still remembered the strain that Sycorax’s crushing air density had placed on the shuttlecraft’s hull and shields.

“In part,” Clarke admitted, “but the deflector screens also serve a more important purpose, namely shielding our own carefully constructed DNA from ultraviolet light, cosmic radiation, or anything else that might trigger random mutations.” She frowned momentarily at the thought, then shrugged her shoulders. “Obviously, after devoting generations to refining and perfecting our genetic heritage, we can hardly leave ourselves vulnerable to unpredictable factors beyond our control.”

“But random, unplanned mutations are how all living species evolve,” McCoy objected. “By eliminating chance, you take yourselves out of the elementary process of natural selection.” His dour tone and expression made it clear where he stood on the subject. “You’re risking total genetic stagnation.”

With an expansive sweep of her arm, the regent invoked the prosperous colony below. “We’re far from stagnating, Doctor,” she chuckled. “In fact, we’ve evolved more in two generations than
Homo sapiens
has in two hundred thousand years. Natural evolution has too high a failure rate; as a physician, you must be aware of all that can go wrong when chromosomes mutate.” She turned toward Kirk, directing her argument at the highest-ranking Starfleet representative present. “Just how long, Captain, do you think it would take for something like our dome to evolve naturally?”

Kirk saw where she was going with her query. “Several hundred millennia, I imagine.”

“We created the dome, from test tube to final organism, in less than a century,” Clarke bragged on her people’s behalf. She gave Kirk a
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calculating and meaningful look. “Naturally, we’d be happy to share the exact genetic sequence for the dome with your scientists should we be accepted into the Federation.”

That’s quite an inducement,
Kirk thought, but was it enough to overlook the colony’s genetic experimentation on humans? The Chrysalis Project had no doubt had its breakthroughs as well, but its ultimate legacy was still the Eugenics Wars.

“For now, though, I think you’ve said enough,” Gregor Lozin cautioned the regent. His harsh tone, and disapproving demeanor, provided a striking contrast to Clarke’s personable manner. “We should not share all our secrets with these strangers before we are certain that it’s indeed in our best interests to do so.”

“Captain Kirk and Dr. McCoy are more honored guests than strangers,” Clarke admonished Lozin. “But perhaps we should get down to business. ...”

The discussion moved indoors, where Clarke seated herself behind a solid coral desk. Kirk and McCoy each claimed an oak chair padded with organic sponge, while Lozin paced restlessly about the regent’s private office. Clarke’s secretary occupied a corner chair, typing notes into a personal datapad.

“
As you may have gathered,” the regent began, “Chairman Lozin has his own reservations about allying ourselves with the Federation. Perhaps he should elaborate a bit.”

“Thank you, Regent,” Lozin said brusquely. “No offense, gentlemen, but I am scarcely alone in my concerns about surrendering our colony to Federation hegemony.” He stood stiffly beside the regent’s coral desk, his posture practically trumpeting his wary and intractable nature. “This colony has managed for decades without the involvement of outside powers. Indeed, it can truly be said that we have prospered in defiance of the Federation’s antiquated and irrational strictures on human genengineering. Some of us have not forgotten that it was precisely the Federation’s ridiculous prejudices and superstitions that drove our founders out of UFP-controlled space a century ago. And, judging from Dr. McCoy’s remarks, the Federation hasn’t changed its attitude much since then.”

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Kirk wondered briefly if Lozin could possibly be descended from the late Viktor Lozinak, one of the guiding lights of the old Chrysalis Project. It was certainly possible, he theorized, that Lozinak could have passed on his dream of a genetically engineered society to his descendants, along with a healthy dose of paranoia where outside forces were concerned.

“Strict controls on the alteration of human DNA are hardly ridiculous,” Kirk replied. “The more I learn about the Eugenics Wars that nearly destroyed humanity, the more I appreciate the dangers—as well as the potential advantages—of what you’re doing here.”

“You see,” Lozin challenged Clarke. Resting his palms on the desktop, he thrust his scowling face at the regent. “I told you that the Federation is still not ready for us. Their minds are still bogged down in the mistakes of the distant path, rather then open to a new and revolutionary vision of tomorrow.” He stepped away from the desk, casting a critical eye on the seated Starfleet officers. “We should never have invited them here.”

“You know, for a genetically engineered utopia,” Kirk observed with a trace of humor in his voice, “you seem to have a surprising amount of disagreement going on.” He softened his remarks by smiling good-naturedly. “Perhaps you haven’t transcended ordinary human nature as much as you believe?”

Clarke shook her head. “To the contrary, Captain. A certain, specified degree of opposing temperaments and opinions has been deliberately worked into the fabric of our society, in order to achieve a healthy balance of viewpoints.” She nodded at her more conservative colleague. “My friend Chairman Lozin is simply fulfilling the function he was expressly designed to serve.”

“Sort of a genetically engineered Loyal Opposition,” McCoy translated, sounding both intrigued and scandalized.

“Exactly,” Clarke stated. “Just as my DNA has been carefully tailored to help me perform an executive role in our society.” She once again directed her words to Kirk. “You see, Captain, we’re far from the out-of-control genetic tyrants that caused so much trouble back in the bad old days of the twentieth century. We’re no threat to the Federation, and we may just be its future.”

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“I still think this is a mistake,” Lozin protested, raising his voice as he grew even more insistent. Heavy brows converged above his nose as the angry furrows in his forehead deepened. “Both the Federation—and the Klingons—can only contaminate the advanced society we’ve worked so hard to create. They’re random variables, capable of completely undermining all our efforts and precautions.”

“The Klingons were not exactly invited,” Clarke reminded him pointedly. “Despite Captain Koloth’s pretense at civility, we face the very real possibility of an armed invasion.” Her face took on a grim expression as she leaned forward to look Kirk in the eye. “Let me be perfectly frank with you, Captain. Despite some isolationist tendencies, we’re no fools. We know who and what the Klingons are. Given a choice, we would much rather throw in our lot with the Federation. But, and please do not misunderstand me, if the Federation is unwilling to accept us, then we will have no choice but to join forces with the Klingon Empire, on the best terms that we can negotiate.” She paused to let the full implications of her ultimatum sink in. “That would be bad news for us, but possibly even worse news for the Federation. Do I make myself clear?”

“Absolutely,” Kirk said, frowning. The prospect of genetically enhanced Klingons overrunning the galaxy was as troubling as the possibility of another round of Eugenics Wars. Maybe even more so.

DA VINCI RESEARCH BASE

SOUTH MAGNETIC POLE

ANTARCTICA

DECEMBER 2, 1984

THE FROZEN WASTELAND
was colder than Rura Penthe, Gary
Seven observed. Transporting into the antarctic wasteland was like traveling back in time to Earth’s Ice Age, something Seven personally hoped never to do again. He half-expected to see a herd of woolly mammoths lumbering across the barren polar icescape.
Good thing Isis is in Moscow with Roberta,
he reflected.
With or without fur, she wouldn’t find this frigid environment very appealing.

Even now, at the height of the antarctic summer, when the endless white snow reflected the glare of a never-setting sun, the temperature outdoors was still many degrees below zero. A fierce, flaying wind blew against him; Seven could feel the biting chill of the wind even through several layers of nylon insulation and heat-trapping undergarments. A greasy black unguent protected his exposed cheeks from frostbite, but the ongoing blizzard severely reduced visibility. He estimated that he couldn’t see more than three hundred feet ahead, tops. Beneath his parka, his fifty-two-year-old body shivered involuntarily, a survival mechanism designed to generate heat. Despite the discomfort, he was grateful for every painful sensation. In an environment like this, it was when you
[289]
stopped
feeling the cold, when a deadening numbness set in, that you really had to worry.

The fur-lined hood of his parka obscured his peripheral vision so he had to turn his head in order to check on his partner on this mission. Like himself, Noon Singh wore heavy arctic gear, as well as protective goggles to avoid snow blindness. “Are you all right, Mr. Singh?” Seven asked, his breath misting before his lips. This wintry climate was a far cry from the sweltering Indian heat that the young man was accustomed to. “How are you doing?”

Noon had to raise his voice to be heard over the howling wind. “I am quite well,” he insisted, clearly determined not to show any sign of weakness, despite the telltale chattering of his teeth. “Where is this laboratory you spoke of?”

Less than two hours ago, Seven had surprised Noon in the Indian city of Bhopal, where the young student had been visiting friends during the annual Sikh festival of Nanak Jayanti. Seven had finally chosen to call in the favor that the gifted teenager owed him. His intentions in doing so were twofold. For one thing, this seemed like a good mission on which to test the youth. For another, he needed backup on this operation, and Noon’s genetically enhanced stamina made him better equipped to cope with the inhospitable antarctic climate than either Roberta or Isis, both of whom were, in any event, otherwise engaged. The two female operatives were busy monitoring the situation in Moscow, where Communist leader Konstantin Cherenko was rumored to be near death. Seven had high hopes for one of Cherenko’s potential successors, a man named Gorbachev, but only if the reform-minded Russian apparatchik managed to survive the Kremlin’s bitter internal power struggles. Roberta and Isis were there to insure that he did.

Which left him and Noon to cope with the crisis at hand. Seven used his servo to confirm that their destination lay to the south, roughly five minutes away by foot. The wand’s sensors locked in on the nuclear generator powering the top-secret American science station, providing him with a guidepost to navigate by.

A frown cracked the frozen grease upon Seven’s face. Given the
[290]
im
mense difficulty of transporting conventional fuel across the snowbound wastes, atomic energy was the only practical way to provide Da Vinci Base with heat and power; nevertheless, it was hard not to be reminded of Sarina Kaur’s tragic last moments, especially with her orphaned son standing only a few feet away.
Noon Singh will have a much more promising future,
Seven vowed,
if I have anything to say about it.

Seven shoved the memory aside. “This way,” he said, pointing a gloved finger in the direction indicated by his servo. Leaning forward against the wind, their faces turned downward to shield them from the stinging gusts, the two men trudged through the turbulent snowstorm, their insulated boots sinking deep into crystalline snowdrifts that crunched beneath their steady tread. Seven knew that the snow was merely the upper layer of an immense ice sheet that stretched nearly two miles beneath them, weighing heavily upon the buried continent below. Nearly ninety percent of the world’s ice was tied up in the antarctic icecap, or so the Beta 5 had informed him earlier. He had to admire the determination and perseverance of the men and women who had established a scientific outpost here at the coldest and most isolated place on Earth.
Too bad,
he thought,
that their work is so dangerous to the peace and safety of the entire planet.