ten_fwd_ooc | TEST DRIVE #6 - The Bridge and Ten Forward

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test drives

TEST DRIVE #6 - The Bridge and Ten Forward

Option 01. Ten Forward: The first thing you see is a bar. A large, lively bar filled with many different faces and many different smells, sights and sounds. This is Ten Forward, the Enterprise's off-duty lounge; feel free to get acquainted with your fellow travelers and try to find somebody who's in charge: this is your new home now, after all...

Option 02. The Bridge: Well, aren't you a lucky duck? You've found yourself in hallowed quarters. Wherever you were before, you're not there anymore. Now you're in a room that could be some kind of command center or control room; there's a captain's chair flanked by seats for his chief officers, computer panels and stations at each interior wall, and before you a broad viewscreen that shows the wide expanse of space rushing towards you. Have you ever wanted to be a starship captain for a day? Well, here's your chance. Feel free to roam around, but try not to touch anything shiny.

[OOC: The Bridge isn't usually available for in-game posts, so if you've ever wanted to play there, here's your chance!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Well, he was sure it had. But history here was, obviously, different.

Julian's not sure what part of Khan's answer surprises him more--Section 31, or an Admiral being involved in it. Surely that damn organization didn't go that deep into Starfleet. It leaves a sour taste in his mouth--bad enough that it existed. Worse still was that obviously, at some point, it had gotten into the upper echelons of Starfleet Command.

"Section 31." He says it as if it is a curse--it really might as well have been. A dark shadow of the organization Julian loves so dearly, perverting the Federation's ideals.

"That's different than what happened here."

Julian's recognition draws Khan's attention, but the clear disgust in his voice mirrors Khan's own, and he finds his suspicion soothed. Still, that it still exists in this time - or rather, this timeline, as is becoming apparent - is both infuriating and, strangely, elating.

He can still destroy them.

That savagery in his blood wasn't satisfied by the Archives, by Marcus, or even by San Francisco. But here, perhaps, he can do more.

"How fortunate for my counterpart," he replies, but his eyes are fixed, with single-minded intensity, on Julian. "You know of them?"

Oh Lord please don't start with the murderous rampages, literally almost no one knows about those assholes.

"Section 31? Yes. I learned of them rather recently." Julian looks dark, recalling the doubt he'd had after that simulation, that he really even now still carried. Did no one trust him because of the secret he'd had to keep? It was an insidious little seed of discontent still, lying at the back of his head.

"They keep to themselves. Obviously. No one on my crew had even the slightest inkling until after my encounter with them."

"Section 31 is the rotting heart at the center of Starfleet." The agitation Khan's feeling is growing more pronounced, fists clenched and shoulders drawn tight. "The rank and file are oblivious to their power, but the Admiralty is poisoned."

Khan abruptly turns, pacing the confines of the elevator like a caged tiger. "Marcus found my ship, woke only myself, and then held my crew, my family hostage to his whims."

Caging an augment, particularly an augment of Khan's time - the originals, bred for their sheer savagery - was a exercise in disaster. Starfleet should be grateful that he hadn't done more.

"Marcus isn't a name familiar to me," Julian says carefully, keeping an eye on him. He's getting agitated--being in a closed space with an agitated Augment is not high on Julian's preferred list of places to be. "He may have never attained Admiral here. If he went into Starfleet at all."

"It sounds like something they'd do. They plucked me off my station in the dead of night with none the wiser. If I'd not been able to catch a discrepancy in the simulation they'd put me in, I'd possibly still be there. Or they would have gotten rid of me when they realized I wasn't going to turn to them."

A staged shuttle crash or Jem'Hadar attack would have been all they needed. It wouldn't have been difficult to kill him and have done with it. Captain Sisko and the others might have suspected something, but what would they have been able to prove?

"I'm sorry. Really, I am." He can't even say that nothing of the like is going to happen here, because what protection can he promise against something like that? He doesn't even know if they have a presence on the Enterprise.

Not only is Khan's agitation hazardous to Julian's continued health, it's harmful to his own. There's sweat beading at his hairline, on his neck, even as he rounds, suddenly, on the doctor. "Save your apologies," he growls, but the effect is somewhat less intimidating when he's gone paler than a sheet.

Still. He doesn't need anyone's pity. What he needs is information. A new mission. If Section 31 still exists in this time, then their destruction is a worthy enough goal.

He steps back from the doctor, allowing him some space in the confines of the lift. "You mentioned a simulation. What use could they possible have for you?"

"Calm down," Julian says reflexively--the agitation is obviously taking its toll on Khan himself, as well as Julian's nerves. He could hear the other man's heartbeat pounding, see the sweat, the paleness. All signs of shock setting in. It's only after the brief phrase leaves his mouth that he realizes it might be an incredibly bad idea, touch and go as the situation is.

"Top of my class at Starfleet Medical, Chief Medical Officer on a station that is at the front lines against two enemy combatants, I'm sure they thought they could use me for something." Conveniently leaving out his enhanced mental and physical capabilities. He's nowhere near ready to divulge that to the man in front of him.

This time, Khan doesn't stop when he whirls on Julian. He fists a hand in the doctor's shirt and shoves him, relentlessly, against the turbolift wall, his eyes dark with fury. "Don't." he snarls, and the meaning is clear: don't tell him to calm down. He has every reason to want to burn the world.

But it's only then that he notices the faint, nearly imperceptible tremble in his hand where he's gripping the doctor's shirt, the sudden chill in the air. He recognizes the signs. He's dealt with the sudden crash of adrenaline and endorphins before, even fairly recently - but now the pain is sinking into his bones, and it brings him back to himself.

It takes a moment, but Khan visibly masters himself, banking his fury and closing off his expression. He uncurls his hand from Julian's tunic, easing up on the pressure and releasing the other man - but he doesn't apologize.

The air leaves Julian's lungs all at once with the impact--it's rough, and strong, and he can tell still that it's not all the force that could have been brought to bear against him. He'd only been able to see it coming, not to do anything against it.

Every muscle in his body tenses, ready to fight and to flee, but he forces himself off red alert because he knows in this situation he's put himself in it won't do any good. He can't run anywhere, and if he was sure before that he didn't hold a candle to a 20th century Augment, that only proved it. He needs to be as non-aggressive as possible.

There's fear in his eyes, caution, but he's about as calm as one can be when faced with a raging Khan. But he can only start breathing again once the other man lets him go.

"You're going to work yourself into shock," Julian says levelly. You're not completely immune to it, you know.

He's aware, if the flat look he aims at the doctor is any indication. Shock can affect him, but it requires much, much more effort - if he's gotten this close, he must have misjudged his injuries.

He coaxes his heart rate into something slow and steady - slower than a human could manage - taking as breathes as deeply as he can with a punctured lung. The cuts on his hands and neck have already closed, the more superficial ones already nothing more than red and angry-looking lines. The same, he knows, is happening internally, but severe damage requires more time. Time, and fuel, and sleep - all three of which he's lacked these past days.

"I'll heal," he eventually replies. It's dismissive, but not unduly so - it's a rare injury that he can't recover from.

You were in a bloody starship crash (and it's good luck for you that Julian doesn't know about your crashing a starship into San Francisco, or he'd be far less willing to help you), that's probably enough to do it.

Wouldn't it be easier to let him help you? Damn but you're a stubborn one.

"You'd heal faster if you'd just let me help you. I'm still offering." It's an olive branch as much as anything. Julian knows who and what you are, and he's still willing to help.

"Help how?" The suspicion is clear on Khan's face. A genuine need for medical treatment has been rare for him - the curiosity of doctors and scientists eager to exploit him, much more so.

But Bashir is still offering, despite having seen the face of Khan's fury already - had been offering before he ever revealed who he was. And as much as the idea rankles, the sooner he's healed, the sooner he can find a way out.

Julian's face holds no sign of deception. He's completely earnest in his offer, and he really does have very few ulterior motives. Those he does have, he thinks are positive enough, thanks. Maybe if he does something to help you, you'll think before going off the rails.

"Your ribs won't set themselves before they start healing. Best to get that seen to. I can also staunch the internal bleeding faster than your natural healing process. That's all." He's not going to scan you, he's not going to inject you with anything suspect. Just a simple offer of assistance, because he is a doctor and that is what he does, dammit.

It takes a long time for Khan to consider the offer, lips pressed thin and eyes searching Julian's face. He's certain he can set his ribs on his own, but the internal bleeding is leaving him chilled, his fingers numb. And the good doctor isn't lying about what he plans to do.

It's a risk, but the odds are in his favor. Any deviation in treatment can be dealt with if it happens - there's little chance the Julian would be able to stop him. And it's clearly something of a peace offering, some small overture of trust.

"Very well." The assent comes grudgingly, but it comes nevertheless. Don't make him regret agreeing.

He's sure you could, but all in all isn't it best to leave this sort of thing to the professionals when they're available and genuinely interested in helping you?

"Just...please remain calm, alright?" Doctor McCoy isn't on duty right now, so hopefully he won't be in Sickbay. That would be a spectacular mess, to understate things dramatically. "Please. Just remember, no one here is out to harm you."

Well. Doctor McCoy wasn't going to be happy, but...

Khan's expression clearly suggests he doubts that statement very much, but he's already made his decision. Doctor Bashir is either foolish or ethical enough to offer his help without deceit, and that's something he hasn't experiences in a long time - three hundred years, even.

He offers Julian a shallow nod of assent, but distinctly makes no promises. Given that he has no idea who is on this ship or how they might react to him, he reserves his right to defend himself by any means necessary. For now, he'll tentatively trusting Julian's judgement.

Honestly...it's probably both.

Julian gives him a searching look, then turns to the controls for the turbolift, entering the code to get it moving again. It's a short ride to Sickbay, and if Khan doesn't decide to break it, it'll be spent in silence.

He's careful to watch for any signs that the elder man's superhuman strength is about to give out, but otherwise offers no assistance as they walk toward the doors. Much to Julian's relief, he was correct in assuming Doctor McCoy wasn't present--Doctor Crusher was in her office, but she wouldn't recognize Khan as he looked now. She wasn't about to jump to any conclusions.

The ensign that he'd put in a chokehold looks to have been dismissed already, probably told to take the rest of the day off, so they have the room about as to themselves as could be expected.

The silence doesn't bother Khan - indeed, he's more interested in mapping the path they're taking than conversation. He's alert, back to assessing the ship, the Sickbay, even the crew members - every person they pass is another piece of data. The lack of reaction from the crew tells him that they are well used to such new arrivals, and the ship is efficient, well-organized despite its size; a clear sign of a respected Captain.

Everything is, of course, more advanced than he remembers; he'll need to acquire a PADD to correct his outdated knowledge.

Stepping into Sickbay, Khan allows Julian to lead him to one of the bed and perches, posture achingly straight, on just the edge. The lack of guards here is a small reassurance, but he keeps his eyes on the good doctor anyway.

"Well, Doctor Bashir?"

Well, obviously he's meant to get on with it then.

Julian's not at all shy about what he needs to do--he's a doctor, this is his domain, and he is the professional here. "Shirt off, if you please. Can you get it without much pain?" He could probably palpate the bone through it, but best to be accurate. He preferred to get hands-on with this sort of thing, decreasing his dependence on technology where he could.

The osteo-regenerator would be making an appearance, though. He couldn't do everything himself.

Khan doesn't even deign to reply to that question - this is far from the worst pain he's ever had - and his uniform shirt disappears in one swift, overhead motion.

The result is... well, a mess. His lack of a shirt reveals a remarkably fit torso, but the effect is ruined by the wide, ugly swath of purpling bruises that stretch from his flank all the way to his back. The ribs on his right side are subtly uneven, broken from where he must have slammed into the console upon impact, and several small, already-healing lacerations litter his arms. His breathing is still shallow, and his blood pressure is still low - what happened to him clearly would have killed a lesser man.

Any other patient would be in agony - or dead. But Khan remains as straight-backed as he was before, waiting for Julian's assessment as though he's done this a thousand time.

(He has, of course, but rarely with a doctor so... ethical.)

Well that's obviously a no, then. And you say 'ethical' like it's a curse, really now.

He can see the breaks, hopefully the bones haven't already begun to knit, but they generally heal much slower than skin does, so it should be fairly safe. Julian's hands are steady, strong, and warm as he goes over the breaks, coaxing the ribs back into alignment. The temperature of Khan's skin is much lower than it should be, and feels a bit clammy--obviously far too much blood loss.

He'd like to give something for that as well, but somehow Julian thinks he wouldn't appreciate an injection, no matter how well-intentioned.

More like a welcome surprise. Most of the doctors Khan has dealt with would have him restrained by now.

Julian's touch prompts little more than a quiet exhale, even as he feels the bones shift under his skin. The worst break is the one puncturing his lung - he doesn't flinch when it's aligned, but his breath stutters for half a second before he wills himself to keep his breathing even.

Still. Julian's hands are steady and clinical, which is more than he can say for most, and it's appreciated. "You're skilled in your work," he offers, finally. It sounds suspiciously akin to a compliment.

Julian prefers to show at least some level of trust, and using restraints doesn't exactly show it. If he's offering an olive branch, it can't be with something else hiding behind his back.

He'll take it in the spirit in which it was given. He wasn't exaggerating when he said he was top of his class--second out of all of them, in fact, but he'd been holding himself back--and he prides himself on being genuinely good at what he does.

"Thank you," Julian says simply, looking carefully for any slight bulge or indentation in the skin that would indicate that he'd missed a bone. Confident that he hasn't, he pulls out the osteogenic stimulator and switches it on.

It's an olive branch that seems to be working - for all of his snarling and pacing and aggression earlier, Khan makes for a startlingly well-behaved patient now. He spares only a cursory glance at the osteogenic stimulator before his attention refocuses on the Sickbay as a whole - who's coming, who's going, and more importantly, where all of the exits are located.

"How are you with history?" he asks, gaze still scanning their surroundings. It's not quite as off-handed a question as it sounds - he wants to know what he's missed. How far has the Federation's reach spread, these past hundred years?

"Outside of my areas of interest, barely passable at best I'm afraid." Julian focuses the device on Khan's ribcage, letting it work.

It was, perhaps, not quite accurate. He remembered anything and everything he'd ever read or learned, history included, and could call the knowledge up if needed. But he'd already played enough cards right now, he needed to hold some of them back.

Sickbay is quiet--this is Starfleet at its finest, exploring and engaging in peaceful diplomacy, there's not much to do aside from research, and a few nurses and assistants are about, engaging in it. Only a few people come in, trading words with them--observations about experiments in the adjacent science lab, mainly, with a few scattered questions about plans for after shift ends.

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