STAR TREK - TOS - The Eugenics Wars,Volume 1

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For Cyn and Dave

Contents

Acknowledgments.5

PROLOGUE.8

CHAPTER ONE.11

CHAPTER TWO..15

CHAPTER THREE.19

CHAPTER FOUR..24

CHAPTER FIVE.28

CHAPTER SIX..38

CHAPTER SEVEN..43

CHAPTER EIGHT.45

CHAPTER NINE.49

CHAPTER TEN..53

CHAPTER ELEVEN..57

CHAPTER TWELVE.62

CHAPTER THIRTEEN..66

CHAPTER FOURTEEN..74

CHAPTER FIFTEEN..79

CHAPTER SIXTEEN..87

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN..90

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN..93

CHAPTER NINETEEN..98

CHAPTER TWENTY..106

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE.108

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO..111

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE.114

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR..116

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE.120

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX..122

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN..126

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT.131

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE.135

CHAPTER THIRTY..145

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE.151

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO..158

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE.171

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR..175

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE.180

AFTERWORD..185

About the e-Book.187

Acknowledgments

As history teaches us, nobody fights the Eugenics Wars alone. Thanks to my editor, John Ordover, for

enlisting early on; to my agents, Russ Galen and Anna Ghosh, for securing vital defense funding, and to

the entire Malibu Lunch Group for providing countless hours of R&R during the war years.

I also want to thank Sumi Lee for German lessons, Kim Kindya for fashion tips and Cuban profanities,

Josepha Sherman and Amy Goldschlager for eyewitness reports on Lenin’s Tomb, Marina Frants for tips

on Russian grammar and vocabulary, the Star Trek Timeliners for advice regarding stardates, and, of

course, Robert Lansing, Teri Garr, and Ricardo Montalban for inspiration.

Finally, thanks to Karen Palinko, for careful proofreading and keen editorial insights, and to Alex, for

having a much better attitude than Isis.

“We want no Caesars.”

—JAWAHARLAL NEHRU,

first prime minister of India

PROLOGUE

Captain’s log, stardate 7004.1.

Under top-secret orders from Starfleet Command, the Enterprise is en route to the Paragon Colony on

the planet Sycorax, to evaluate that colony’s recent request to join the United Federation of Planets. At

issue is one of the Federation’s fundamental principles, a centuries-old taboo perhaps second only to the

Prime Directive in its scope and sanctity. ...

“GENETIC ENGINEERING? ON HUMANS?”Dr. Leonard McCoy was utterly, and audibly, aghast.

He stared across the conference table at his friend and captain, James T. Kirk, as if he couldn’t believe

what he was hearing. The doctor’s sagging, careworn features looked even more vexed than usual.

“Have the brass at Starfleet lost their paper-pushing little minds? Human genetic engineering has been

banned throughout the Federation since its very founding—and for good reason!”

Kirk smiled at his friend’s predictably cantankerous response. Along with Mr. Spock, the three men

were alone in the ship’s primary conference room, Starfleet regarding the full particulars of this mission to

be on a strictly need-to-know basis. Kirk sat at the head of the long, rectangular table, with Spock and

McCoy facing each other across the polished brown surface of the table.I should have known McCoy

would react this way, Kirk thought.

“Calm down, Bones,” he instructed McCoy. “Nobody’s talking about lifting the ban right away, just

rethinking it a bit. After all, it’s[2]been three hundred years since the Eugenics Wars; a case could be

made that people are a lot more civilized these days, that we wouldn’t necessarily make the same

mistakes our ancestors did.”

“Even when those mistakes nearly destroyed all life on Earth?” McCoy shook his head vehemently.

“Civilization may be more advanced, but I’m not sure people themselves are any smarter, especially

when it comes to messing around with our own genetic blueprint.” The doctor gave Kirk a probing look.

“Good Lord, Jim, you met Khan. Don’t you remember what sort of a monster he was?”

Kirk nodded, his expression growing more sober at the mention of that name. Only four years had

passed since the captain had made the mistake of reviving the genetically enhanced crew of theS.S.

Botany Bay, all of whom had been trapped in suspended animation since fleeing the Earth in the 1990s,

following their disastrous defeat in the infamous Eugenics Wars. Their charismatic leader, Khan Noonien

Singh, had briefly captured theEnterprise —and nearly killed Kirk—before the captain had managed to

turn the tables on Khan and his fellow supermen, stranding them on a primitive planet somewhere near

the Mutara Sector.That was a close call, Kirk remembered; he couldn’t blame McCoy for citing the

very existence of Khan as a compelling argument against the sort of genetic tampering under discussion.

“Your point is well taken, Doctor,” Kirk assured him. “In fact, it’s our firsthand experience with Khan

and his followers that persuaded Commodore Mendez to assign this fact-finding mission to the

Enterprise. Our recommendations will carry a lot of weight with the Federation Council when they meet

to decide the future of the colony on Sycorax.”

“You mean,your recommendation is the one the Council will listen to,” McCoy insisted without any

rancor. The doctor seemed somewhat mollified now that his misgivings had received an attentive hearing

by Kirk. “So what’s the story with this so-called Paragon Colony anyway? How in blue blazes did we

end up with a community of genetically engineered humans here in the twenty-third century?”

Kirk let Spock fill McCoy in on the background of the colony. “The[3]galaxy is a large place,” the

Vulcan explained, “and spacious enough that those who object to their society’s policies can establish

their own communities far beyond the boundaries of any controlling authority. To be more specific, the

Paragon Colony was founded over a century ago, outside the Federation’s sphere of influence, by

individuals who sought to create a genetically engineered society. The colony has had little or no contact

with the outsiders until very recently, when they discreetly appealed for membership in the Federation. In

exchange for said membership, they offer the Federation generations of expertise in human genetic

engineering.”

“Which just happens to violate one of our oldest and wisest laws!” McCoy pointed out acerbically.

“And the higher-ups back home are seriously considering this notion?” He rolled his eyes heavenward.

“God help us!”

“To be honest, Bones,” Kirk confided in him, “it’s Starfleet that’s most interested in the colony’s

proposal, for reasons of galactic security. Even before this Paragon business came up, there had been

some highly hush-hush discussions about repealing, or at least loosening, the restrictions on human

eugenics programs. A few of our top strategists have called Starfleet’s attention to the fact that humanity

is threatened by species such as the Romulans and Klingons, who are physically superior to ordinary

humans in many ways. They argue that we need to close the ‘genetic gap’ by breeding enhanced humans

who can stand toe-to-toe with whatever alien species we encounter. There are even rumors that the

Klingons have already launched covert genetic-engineering projects of their own, and that we may be

falling behind in a genetic arms race.”

McCoy looked positively appalled. “The Klingons are rushing over an evolutionary cliff, so we have to

hurry up and join them? That’s the kind of reasoning that nearly blew humanity to kingdom come

centuries ago.” A passionate urgency crept into McCoy’s voice as he leaned toward Kirk. “I can’t speak

for the Romulans, Jim, but I’m darn sure that we poor humans aren’t ready to play God with our own

chromosomes just yet. Good Lord, we’re talking about the very stuff that makes us human in the first

place.”

[4]His slender fingers steepled before him in a contemplative pose, Spock took a more objective

perspective. “Despite humanity’s own unfortunate experiences, a number of other sentient species have

indulged in eugenics without suffering the adverse consequences recorded in your history. Take the

Hortas of Janus VI, for instance: Once every fifty thousand years, they choose the best of their generation

to be the sole mother of the next generation of Hortas, thus employing selective breeding to steadily

improve their species.” Spock directed an ironic glance at McCoy. “As you yourself can testify, Doctor,

this process has produced a remarkably civilized and intelligent life-form.”

Kirk repressed a smile, amused as ever by his friends’ familiar antagonism. He could always count on

Spock and McCoy to land on opposite sides of every issue; that was just one of the reasons he made it a

rule to always listen carefully to both of them.

“I should have known you’d be in favor of this lunatic proposition,” McCoy drawled, eyeing Spock

dubiously. “What else could one expect from someone whose people have done their damnedest to

breed honest emotion out of their own blood and bones?”

Spock was characteristically unfazed by the doctor’s outburst. “The Vulcan repudiation of emotion,” he

corrected McCoy, “is the result of over two millennia of intellectual and philosophical discipline, and not

a matter of mere biology. Furthermore, I did not say that I supported the Paragon Colony’s petition to

join the Federation; at present, there is insufficient data on which to make that decision. I merely

observed that, on the basis of galactic history, genetic engineering and the selective breeding of sentient

beings cannot be considered socially irresponsible by definition.”

McCoy sighed wearily. “Why do I even try to talk sense to you, you pointy-eared, walking tricorder?”

He sank back into his chair and regarded Kirk quizzically. “What about you, Jim? What do you think

about all this?”

Good question,the captain thought. His initial response to the commodore’s classified communication

had echoed McCoy’s: Why risk creating another Khan? On further reflection, though, he felt obliged[5]

to give the matter deeper thought. The original ban on tinkering with human DNA had been drafted by a

generation for whom the atrocities of the Eugenics Wars were still recent history; it could be argued that

such sweeping and unconditional legislation had been an overreaction to the crimes of Khan and his

contemporaries. Perhaps itwas time to take another, less emotional look at the potential pros and cons of

human genetic engineering ... ?

“I believe it was Samuel Hopkins of the First Continental Congress who said he had never encountered

an issue so dangerous that it couldn’t be talked about,” Kirk stated firmly. “With that in mind, gentlemen,

I intend to keep an open mind until we arrive at Sycorax and hear what the colonists have to say. I also

want to see for myself just what a genetically engineered society looks like.” He rose from his seat at the

head of the table. “That concludes this briefing. Thank you for coming, Bones, Mr. Spock. You may

return to your duties now. Please keep the specifics of our mission to Sycorax confidential for the time

being; there’s no point in stirring up controversy before Starfleet has decided on a suitable course of

action.”

“Whatever you say, Jim,” McCoy agreed, standing up and stepping away from the table. “I don’t envy

you the decision you have to make; talk about being on the hot seat.” Automatic doors whished open as

McCoy headed for the exit; he paused in the doorway to look back at Kirk. “You know my door is

always open if you want to talk about it.”

“Thank you, Bones. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Spock lingered behind while the door slid shut behind McCoy, cutting off the sounds of the busy

corridor outside. “What can I do for you, Mr. Spock?” Kirk asked.

TheEnterprise’s first officer stood behind his seat, his impeccable posture and dignified bearing

betraying his Vulcan roots as surely as the tapered points of his ears and the slightly greenish cast of his

complexion. “A word of advice, Captain. While I do not share the good doctor’s excessively visceral

reaction to the matter at hand, his suggestion that you look to the history of your own world is not without

merit. As we have learned through our own experiences in the past, the latter part of the twentieth

century was an extremely[6]volatile period in Earth’s history, in which, besides Khan and his fellow

genetic tyrants, a number of crucial variables were at work, including, for example, the covert activities of

Gary Seven and his associates.”

That’s right,Kirk thought. Seven, an undercover operative for an unknown alien civilization, would have

been a contemporary of Khan, more or less. Indeed, Kirk recalled, Spock’s subsequent research had

revealed that both Seven and his partner, a young woman named Roberta Lincoln, had ultimately played

key roles in the cataclysmic drama of the Eugenics Wars. “I wonder what Seven’s take on the Paragon

Colony would be.”

“That we can only speculate upon,” Spock observed. “His actions in the past, however, are a matter of

historical record.” He stepped away from the conference table and headed for the door. “The future of

the human race remains to be charted, Captain, but a fuller knowledge of the past can only inform your

decisions in the days to come.”

Kirk nodded solemnly. “An excellent suggestion, Mr. Spock.” He glanced at the triangular computer

node rising from the center of the conference table. “How long until we reach Sycorax?” he asked his

science officer.

“At our current rate of speed,” Spock reported, swiftly performing the necessary calculations in his

head, “approximately seventy-two hours, thirty-four minutes.”

Time enough to do a fair amount of historical research,Kirk concluded. It dawned on him that it had

been years since he had last reviewed the grim, tumultuous saga of the Eugenics Wars, and that there was

much he still did not know about that fateful era. “Please take the bridge, Mr. Spock. I believe I’ll remain

here for a while more, doing just as you advised.”

“Very good, Captain. I will leave you to your studies.”

Spock left, and Kirk found himself alone within the sloping blue walls of the conference room. With only

his thoughts to keep him company, he listened for a few moments to the steady, reassuring hum of his

starship, then took a seat midway down the length of the table.[7]“Computer, access Earth historical

records for the late twentieth century. Begin with the first citation relevant to the topic designated

‘Eugenics Wars.’ ”

The miniature viewscreen facing Kirk flashed in acknowledgment. “Processing request for data,” stated

a familiar feminine voice, the voice of theEnterprise computer. “Beginning historical display now. ...”

CHAPTER ONE

EAST BERLIN

GERMAN DEMOCRATIC REPUBLIC

MARCH 14, 1974

ROBERTA LINCOLNpaced nervously outside the Russian embassy, hugging herself against the chill of

the cold night air. The monumental stone edifice, built in a stolid, neoclassical style, loomed behind the

young blond woman, silent and dark. Roberta peered at her wrist-watch; it was ten past two in the

morning, only ninety seconds later than the last time she’d checked her watch.What’s keeping Seven

and that darn cat? she wondered anxiously.They should be back by now.

Restless and apprehensive, she strolled down the sidewalk, wincing at the sound of her own heels

clicking against the pavement. The echo of her footsteps rang out far too loudly for Roberta’s peace of

mind. The last thing she wanted to do was attract the attention of the local cops or, worse yet, one of the

innumerable informants working for the Stasi, the dreaded East German secret police.

Fortunately, Unter den Linden, the wide city boulevard running north past the embassy, seemed

deserted at this ridiculously late hour. The only traffic she heard was an elevated train rattling by a few

streets over. Roberta clung to the shadow cast by the huge building, keeping a safe distance from the

streetlamps at either end of the block, while also maintaining a careful lookout for any sign of trouble.

“C’mon, c’mon,” she muttered impatiently, wishing Seven could hear[10]her.You’d think I’d be used to

this sort of thing by now, she thought; after all, she’d been working with Gary Seven, alias Supervisor

194, for nearly six years now, ever since that unforgettable afternoon in 1968 when she’d shown up for

what she’d thought was an ordinary secretarial job, only to find herself caught up in a bizarre happening

involving nuclear missiles, talking computers, and a starship from the future.

Heck,she mused,what’s a little East German espionage compared to some of the spacey

shenanigans Seven has dragged me into over the last few years? Nevertheless, she shivered beneath

a heavy gray overcoat, and not just from the cold. The thick wool garment she wore was neither flattering

nor fashionable, but it helped to preserve her anonymity while simultaneously warding off at least some of

the winter’s chill. A black beret and matching kerchief, the latter tied below her chin, concealed most of

her tinted honey-blond hair, while her gloved hands were thrust deeply into the pockets of her coat for

warmth. Her fidgety fingers toyed with a thin silver device, snugly stowed away in the right pocket, that

looked and felt like a common fountain pen. A mere pen, however, wouldn’t have reassured Roberta

nearly as much as this particular mechanism, even as she prayed devoutly that she wouldn’t have need to

use the servo before this night was over.

A pair of headlights approached from the north and Roberta turned her back on the empty street.

Probably just a delivery truck making a late-night run, she guessed, stepping deeper into the gloomy

shadow of the embassy, but her heart raced a little faster anyway. Roberta held her breath, while casting

a wistful glance southward toward the lights of the Brandenburg Gate, only a block and a half away. The

imposing marble arches, along with their attendant armed border guards and vigilant watchdogs, marked

the frontier between East and West Berlin, making the safety of the Allied Sectors seem tantalizingly

close by.

Granted, those brown-uniformed guards were under orders to shoot any would-be escapees on sight,

but Roberta couldn’t help experiencing an irrational urge to make a run for it.Don’t be silly, she scolded

herself.It’s not going to come to that. Seven will be back any second now ...I hope.

[11]A covered truck rumbled past her, and she breathed a sigh of relief as the unassuming vehicle

rounded the corner two blocks farther up the boulevard, disappearing down the adjacent cross-street.

That would be Friedrichstrasse, she remembered, mentally calling up the maps she’d memorized for

this mission. Her briefing had been exhaustively thorough, but no amount of preparation was going to help

her, she realized, if she got caught on the wrong side of the Iron Curtain.

A rueful smile lifted the corners of her lips. She could just imagine trying to explain her situation to a

stone-faced Stasi interrogator:No, no, I’m not affiliated with the CIA or the U.S. government at all.

I’m actually working for an independent operator trained by a bunch of secretive extraterrestrials

who want to keep humanity from nuking itself into extinction. ... Boy, wouldn’t that go over great

with the Commies! She’s probably end up in a Soviet asylum, if she wasn’t simply shot at dawn.

“Guten abend, fraulein,”a voice whispered in her ear.

Gasping out loud, Roberta spun around to find a stranger standing beside her. Where the heck had he

come from? In her effort to evade detection from the passing truck, she had completely overlooked the

newcomer’s arrival.Sloppy, sloppy, she castigated herself for her carelessness.Some spy girl I am.

Emma Peel would never let someone sneak up on her like this.

Thankfully, the speaker did not look like much of a threat, at least not on the surface. To Roberta’s vast

relief, the man wore neither a police nor an army uniform; instead he looked like a middle-aged

accountant or shopkeeper, out for a post-midnight stroll. The man was short and jowly, his balding head

exposed to the frigid night air and a pair of plain, black spectacles perched upon his bulbous, somewhat

florid nose. Like Roberta’s, his hands had sought the warmth of his coat pockets, but, despite the cold,

his face was flushed and red.Germany’s the beer-drinking capital of the world, Roberta recalled.

Maybe the stranger was just heading home after an especially long night at his favorite bar?

“Er, hello,” Roberta replied uncertainly She spoke in English, but her automatic translator, ingeniously

disguised as a silver pendant shaped like a peace symbol, converted her awkward greeting into[12]

perfect German, just as her matching earrings conveniently translated the stranger’s every utterance into

English.Beats a Berlitz course any day she thought, grateful for Seven’s advanced alien technology.

“You shouldn’t be out so late, pretty girl,” the man warned her ominously. The avid gleam in his eyes, as

well as a sinister smile, belied the cautionary nature of his words. Peering past the stranger’s spectacles,

Roberta flinched at the sight of the German’s glazed, bloodshot eyes.Ihaven’t seen eyes that crazy

since the last time Charlie Manson was on TV, she thought, stepping backward and away from her

unwelcome visitor. “Don’t you know it’s not safe?” he taunted her. His left hand emerged from his

pocket, clutching the ivory handle of something that looked alarmingly like a closed switchblade.

Just my luck!Roberta lamented silently.You try to do a little innocent night’s spying and what do you

get? Attacked by some sort of psycho/mugger/rapist! “Stay back!” she whispered hoarsely, afraid

even now to raise her voice so near the soldiers guarding the gate. “I’ll scream, I swear it!”

She was bluffing, of course. She didn’t dare raise an alarm. That could compromise the entire mission,

putting Seven in danger as well, not to mention the cat.

“Go ahead,” the German said, licking his fleshy lips in anticipation. With a click, a silver blade sprang

from the ivory handle, catching the light of the streetlamps. “Old Jack likes screams, especially from

pretty young things who know they’re about to die.”

STAR TREK - TOS - The Eugenics Wars, Volume 1

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