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!]

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Everything is, of course, more advanced than he remembers; he'll need to acquire a PADD to correct his outdated knowledge.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

Julian gets a quiet hm in response, more thoughtful than judgmental. The device knitting his bones back together brings a welcome sense of ease, and he's able to draw deeper, more even breaths the longer it continues.

It's... odd, now. The lull of the Sickbay, the faint threads of conversation and the quiet, ever-present hum of a starship is almost soothing against his careworn nerves. But fury had kept his grief at bay - without it, he can feel the loss, as deep as his bones.

He's lost friends before. Family. But he's never been alone, not even when Marcus had held his crew hostage for his obedience. They had still been alive. Now he has nothing, and this new Enterprise has nothing to offer him.

Eventually, he realizes the silent has drawn on too long. ""I'll need a PADD, then," he says. He needs to do something, even if it's just research.

Well, maybe not quite nothing. But Julian wasn't about to let slip his own little secret--he still needs to keep that quiet.

But he feels like perhaps the comparison that's always made him feel bitter and saddened--that there were few ways that people like him could be, either righteous all the time or hateful and full of rage and violence--was not quite as it should be.

He wasn't about to say that Khan wasn't dangerous. But he was capable of being reasoned with, and quiet contemplation, and obvious sadness. He was human too. Not just the vicious tyrant he'd been remembered as.

"I'll see what I can do."

They'd all been human. They'd all suffered and loved and lived beyond the stark condemnations of history texts. History never cared that Joaquin struggled with nightmares but adored dogs, that Kati could play perfectly any instrument you put in her hands, that Otto could coax even the most barren soil into a beautiful garden. The winners write history, and now only Khan is left to remember his people as people.

They were more. They were better. But their genetic stock was still human, and in another life, another time? They could have been more than just the specter of genetic experimentation gone wrong.

But that is, perhaps, a conversation for another time. Khan merely nods, suddenly beginning to feel the bone-deep weariness that sometimes accompanies his rapid healing. "Thank you."

For more than just the medical care.

Julian would be interested in hearing about them. Someday. He understands being so unilaterally despised--he'd feared it so terribly, and it had been a weight off his mind when everyone on the station had shrugged off the revelation of what he was and continued to take him for who he was. It had taken himself longer to realize that the world wasn't going to end just because everyone knew he was an Augment. It would be longer still before he stopped hating it.

But that is certainly a conversation for another time, if he breeches it at all.

"I'd ask how you'd gotten hurt in the first place, but I don't think I'd like the answer."

It's open-ended, if Khan would like to volunteer the information. Judging from his violent reaction to anyone wearing a uniform, his comment that the Enterprise had been severely damaged (if not outright destroyed, but he hadn't sounded certain of Captain Kirk's death, so he couldn't discount it being merely crippled), Julian was of the mind they had an impending explosion on their hands. He'd been against the Enterprise crew, Julian was sure of it--just as had happened in this timeline, eventually. He didn't know if Doctor McCoy was from before or after that point.

He just continues working, healing the fractured arm next. His job is not to judge--though admittedly he was sometimes rather bad about that--his job is to keep everyone in one piece.

There's a thoughtful hum - telling doctor Bashir exactly what had transpired was likely to lose him a potential ally. The man was not unintelligent - he would have easily picked up on Khan's wariness, his hostility towards Starfleet. He's made no attempts to hide it.

"You wouldn't." Because he can see now that Julian is a healer first. The loss of life that no doubt resulted from Khan's actions would appall him. "My ship was too damaged to sustain orbit. I was disinclined to attempt to save it."

Which is, perhaps, the most delicate way of putting 'I crashed my starship into a planet in a fit of suicidal vengeance' ever.

Khan was certainly right there. Defending oneself was one thing--and Julian could understand defending himself from Section 31, which he'd neatly divorced from Starfleet in his head.

But his mind is working, and he knows what's being held back there is who he was fighting with. Nevermind where he crashed. He realizes he's more than likely providing medical assistance to someone who was, nominally, an enemy. He'd probably end up in the brig before too long, simply for the attack on one of Captain Picard's crew. But he still would be treated at some point--may as well be now.

"In a battle against the Enterprise," he says calmly, a slight tone of questioning in his voice. He doesn't want to assume. But he's fairly sure he's right. "What about your crew?"

Even a ship the size of the Defiant needed crew, and it was so much smaller than most others. He didn't know how large the ship Khan was on had been, but he could assume it was larger than the escort ship.

The division isn't so clear to Khan - Section 31 is merely an extension of Starfleet, in his mind, a neither acting without the approval of the other.

But it doesn't matter, because as soon as the question is out of the doctor's mouth, Khan is abruptly stilling, posture ramrod-straight and fists clenched. "My crew is dead," he says, words slower and diction crisper for all the plain grief and fury behind them. "They were murdered in their sleep by Commander Spock."

And here, now, he feels more hatred for Spock than he ever did Marcus. The Admiral was a despicable creature, low enough to exploit Khan by using his family against him, but ultimately still afraid of the augments - too afraid to go through with killing them, as he had threatened so many times. Spock, however, had done just that, beamed over the bodies of Khan's sleeping family and let them explode in the belly of his ship.

He'd wanted to kill him. But with the Vengeance crippled, he'd taken the next best option - destroy the institution that had enabled their deaths. Go down with his ship, and be with his family at last.

Except as someone in Starfleet, he knows the rank-and-file has absolutely no knowledge of them. Unless they've been approached, like himself. They're separate from Starfleet, and not subject to the same rules as the Fleet.

Julian knows he's about to step on a landmine the moment the words are out of his mouth, he can feel the tension in the air rising. He'd meant the crew of the starship--but Khan had taken it to mean the other Augments who'd been aboard the Botany Bay. He doesn't protest that Spock would have done no such thing--he never met the man personally, but he knows that his strength of character wouldn't have allowed it. Certainly would have allowed for tricking him, though that seemed cruel. But in the heat of a battle, if it had been the only option...Julian knows he'd have done something just as drastic to protect his own people.

It was really no wonder that Khan had been so furious. Ready to tear through all of them. Julian would have felt similarly. But if it's his first reaction, he's going to be in the brig for his entire time here, and Julian wouldn't say it would be uncalled for.

There was the promise of violence in his shoulders and hands, if anyone said the wrong thing just then. Julian moves to the replicator, instead of opening his mouth, and orders two cups of tea, coming back and offering one before sitting on the opposite biobed with the second.

The aggression that had been mellowed minutes before is back in full force, Khan watching Julian's movements with a gaze that's focused, predatory. It might even be impressive, how quickly the switch can be flipped, how the Augment can slip into a battle-ready mindset in an instant - but it bodes nothing good for the rest of the Enterprise.

He's expecting a phaser, or a hypospray, or worse - something to render him docile while the good doctor realizes his mistake and calls security. What he's not expecting is tea, and there's obvious suspicion on his face when it's placed in his hands.

Caution keeps him from drinking first, though he doubts Bashir's ethics would allow him to stoop to drugging his drink. "What are you doing?"

Oh please, he's not going to be so brazen as to try that right off. Not with you so edgy and suspicious of his every move. Julian might not be the best at subterfuge, but he's fairly sure pulling such a juvenile mistake would have his spymaster Cardassian friend on him even from eight years and half the Alpha Quadrant away.

"Offering you tea." Obviously. He's British, it's just about standard protocol for any situation, especially ones where he has not the foggiest idea what to say. He's not going to let you out of here until cooler heads prevail, and so you might as well make yourself comfortable.

He sips at his cup first, as if to say 'see? No sedatives.' He'd need something strong enough to down a mammoth to even make you drowsy anyway, anything strong enough is going to taste awful.

It's clear that Khan's not completely mollified, but the passive acceptance isn't what he'd been expecting - it's enough to focus that aggression elsewhere, to divert his attention. The cup in his hands is warm, and suddenly tea seems like a very good thing - but then he couldn't remember the last time he'd had anything to eat or drink. On Qo'noS, perhaps.

(It would explain why he's been healing so sluggishly - he needs to fuel the process somehow, and stolen Starfleet rations don't last forever.)

Still, he takes a sip with reservation, still watching. It's not drugged, but he's still wondering what the doctor actually hopes to accomplish - or is it simply a case of good manners? Has it really been so long since he felt civilized that he'd forgotten the customs?

"Obviously. Why?"

Because uncomfortable and traumatizing conversations are best accompanied by tea? He's fairly sure he can dodge if you throw it at him, even from this distance.

"Do you really need a reason?"

He'll give you one if you insist, but it's sort of sad you can't take the kindness at face value. After a moment, eyes searching, he gives the most innocuous one that comes to mind with a bit of a self-depricating smile.

"I'm British. Tea in uncomfortable situations is something of a hallmark of our interpersonal relationships."

Kindness for the sake of kindness is so rare as to be foreign to him, and he doesn't trust it. The answer is obviously frivolous, but Khan finds himself easing into the attempt at conversation.

"I'm familiar with the concept of British sensibilities." He was, after all, raised in India - for a given definition of 'raised' - and had spent a not-insignificant amount of time London. The customs were not entirely dissimilar.

Wow, aren't you just like an abused and half-feral cat. And it may be frivolous, but it's close to the truth. Sometimes the truth is just idle courtesy.

"I imagine you would be, living in India as long as you did." He had already stated that he'd researched them. Though he didn't think it might be a bit much to reveal just how much he remembered, which was truly everything he'd read. He retained information like it had been carved into his mind.

Careful, Julian - this cat builds warships.

It's a well-known fact, but it still prompts Khan to raise an eyebrow - it's not often that people acknowledge that, while he had control over a full quarter of the planet, India had been his home. His seat of power. "Correct," he allows with a nod. "Though it is much different now."

It's to be expected - things had changed rapidly even in the few short years he held power. Over the course of three, four hundred years? It was recognizable, yes, but only just.

"There's quite a lot that's different now," Julian says--and while Khan might not agree with him, Julian has been to the past, seen how human nature changed. It hadn't been very long, but he'd been stuck in the seediest underbelly of society when Captain Sisko, Dax, and himself had been time-tossed. It was lucky for him that the Captain was there.

"How long did you spend in Britain?" Because that accent was so very similar to his own, and he was curious. He hadn't recalled anything from his reading that indicated Khan had spent any significant time in the part Earth Julian called home.

"Prior to our exile? Rarely." A few diplomatic trips, a few visits to his brothers and sisters, but little else. The Augments of Europe had been too busy fighting their own wars to bother themselves with Khan's empire - and by the time he had truly grown to be a threat, they hadn't dared try.

"After I was awoken, over a year." His words are chilly, but his grip on his cup is still carefully modulated, even gentle - he's bitter, but calm.

After had been a parade of endless tests and measurements and threats, followed by the never-ending dreariness of London. He hadn't been allowed to travel out of the country - he wasn't allowed that much leash.

TEST DRIVE #6 - The Bridge and Ten Forward

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