one \\ Ten Forward Lounge

[savagemind]

The ship was falling.

Correction: the ship had fallen, skipping across the ocean like a pebble on a lake, scraping Alcatraz clean and tumbling towards the city. Sparks showered the bridge, alarms screaming about hull integrity, bulkhead damage, warp and impulse drive failure. None of it mattered. From his perch in the captain's chair, Khan let nothing but grief and rage fill his thoughts as the city skyline filled the viewscreen.

They'd taken everything from him. Now he would return the favor.

The saucer struck. Khan was thrown forward, and everything went white--


And he woke, aching and crumpled on a cold floor. He pushed himself up, face twisted in a silent snarl, and took stock, mind immediately jumping to one single, obvious conclusion.

Starfleet.

They should have let him die with his crew. Their mistake.

Comments

[savagemind]

"You wouldn't be the first to try," Khan growls, bristling at the threat. That Julian steps forward is the only thing that manages to divert his attention, and the good doctor might find himself under a powerfully suspicious look.

If they had any sense at all, they would have brought him down already - but since they haven't, they must not know about John Harrison and the bounty placed on the 'ex-Starfleet Commander's' head. Coupled with the claim that this was the Enterprise - it most certainly was not - and Khan's certain that something has gone very wrong.

[alwaysnotwrong]

Try to hurt him, or try to restrain him? Worf can see no sense in waiting for trouble to come from this stranger. He looks to other officers in the lounge -- old faces to him now, but so much younger than he remembers -- and gestures for them to remain on guard. As for the onlookers, Worf is in the beginning stages of herding them back. Clearly this human is combative, highly stubborn despite his grievous injuries. Until something occurs between the two, he'll be ensuring that peace is kept in the area -- and he'll be informing whoever is commanding the bridge in very short order, as well.

[asklepian]

Well, in this case, one would follow the other. Punctured lungs, perhaps other internal organs, leading to internal bleeding (if that wasn't already happening, it was very likely) and shock.

Or, you know, we could do this like rational beings.

Julian takes another couple steps closer as he speaks, voice calm and as reassuring as he can possibly make it: the man's bristling at Worf, not necessarily him, even with that glare. Even so, he's well within the circle of the man's prior attack now, and he's ready to get out of it in a moment's notice if need be.

"We can explain everything, truly we can, it's a little much but you're not alone in this. And we can help you. You're seriously injured." Obviously.

[savagemind]

It's not reassuring, and the way the doctor is speaking to him - like some kind of spooked animal - is grating on his nerves. He's either an excellent liar, or so completely naive as to be pitiable. It's hard to tell.

Still, Khan allows him to approach once more, this time noting the room's exits, the way the Klingon was thinning the crowd, and the notable segment of officers remaining. Like they're preparing to make a scene.

If it's a fight they want, Khan will give it to them. The Vengeance didn't have the power to make it to Starfleet Headquarters, but he could do enough damage here, now. Destroying them like they destroyed his crew would have been fitting, but needs must.

"Then you may start by explaining what ship this really is, because it isn't the Enterprise. I was on that ship not two hours ago. I'll ask again: where am I?"

[asklepian]

A little of both, really, though more of the former than the latter anymore. Or so he'd think. It was all mostly an incredibly orchestrated and elaborately maintained pretence on his part anyway, so that no one would suspect him.

"It's the USS Enterprise-D, under Captain Picard. You were on a different one." He's not sure whether it was future or past, at this point all evidence was completely inconclusive.

He knows Worf won't do anything unless it becomes necessary--Julian trusts his judgment. And he hopes that Worf trusts his. He decides it's best to err on the side of telling him more than he asked for.

"You were brought here by an extradimensional being known to us as Q. He's been plucking people from different time periods and realities, and dumping us all here. It's something of a game for him."

[immutablysam]

Initially, Sam was content to let the doctor handle the new arrival - like they do around here. 'He' was just hanging out, feet up on a table, watching the show. Then came the throw, and Sam was up, knife in hand.

The newcomer wants a fight? Looks like fun...

Then the Klingon got there first, and pulled crowd control.

The new guy is tense, that much is obvious. Also fast. Real fast. And favoring injuries - not that it'd be showing much to most.

Sam lets 'himself' be kept back, finding a table to lean back against, and putting the knife away. But will spectate from as close as current security presence allows for to wait and watch.

Damn security anyway, ruining everyone's good time. At least there's... no, wait, there's not even booze here.

Sam'll have to keep an eye on this one.

[alwaysnotwrong]

At about the point that Sam flashed his knife, the Klingon he'd glimpsed just so happens to be looking his way. Considering the circumstances, not to mention whose ship he is currently aboard, Worf is not about to leap into theatrics. Those have their time and place. His sense of heroism has been tempered by a long, hard war.

Instead of tackling the long-haired human, Worf sidles Sam's way. Purposeful, expression dour, he looms over the semi-reclining spectator when he suggests, "I would not bring more trouble to this situation if I were you."

[immutablysam]

"That's why I'm staying back here. Looks like it's in hand." Sam agrees, gesturing to the table he's leaning against.

For now.

[alwaysnotwrong]

"Are you a security officer, or have you been contracted into Captain Picard's security personnel?" Worf asks, tone leading.

In truth, he knows so little about how the dynamics of his old post have changed. With Q causing so much sustained mayhem, things might have branched off into an entirely different timeline. He does not know, nor does he care. Unless and until Julian requests assistance -- which ought to be any time, considering the instability of his patient -- Worf does not want untrained outsiders brandishing bladed weapons in the vicinity.

In fact... "weapons are prohibited to non Starfleet personnel." The jig is up, human.

[immutablysam]

"Just a spectator. Looked like a fight brewing, turned out it wasn't, so now I'm over here while you talk to the new guy."

Sam glances at the sheaths, then redraws the knives, flipping them around to hold by the blades to offer the hilts to Worf. "Guess I better hand these over to Starfleet personnel, huh."

[alwaysnotwrong]

"You would do best not to hide any other weapons on your person, as well." Worf nods to one of the formally uniformed security personnel, and the gold-suited officer stepped forward. "These will be taken to the armoury. They may be returned upon the Captain's approval, but you will have to earn his trust first."

Were this a Klingon vessel, or any other ship in the Federation, Worf would never have interposed himself into the chain of command... but something about the discussion he'd had with the flustered Captain had left him wanting to take up the reins again, if only to show that he was not a stranger, nor was he out of control. The fact that his team all recognized him as though he had never left, nevermind being out of uniform, helped.

"What is your name?"

[immutablysam]

"Sam, Sam Bowe, and I only have two hands. It'll take a minute or ten to finish disarming."

After Worf takes those, there's the knife at the small of Sam's back. Then the boot knives. then the spare side sheaths. Then under the vest on the left. And the concealed brace of throwing knives at the right. Each handed over two at a time.

Sam likes his knives, ok?

"Just tell me how to go about earning that, then. I don't much like being disarmed long. From the way you hold yourself, you're used enough to a weapon to appreciate that." 'He's' done as asked, and stood down, and handed over the blades so far, after all. Good start.

[alwaysnotwrong]

Worf stifles his urge to ask how long Mr. Bowe had been holding on to this small battery of weapons, though his not inconsiderable eyebrows pinch closer together over the ridges of his nose, the more knives make their debut into the waiting hands of the attendant security officer beside him.

"The Enterprise is a galaxy class vessel intended for exploration and civilian life; she abides by Starfleet rules and regulations to police her population, and does not require vigilantism." Worf examines Sam for a hard moment or two. "If you wish to retain your weapons, you will need to prove that you understand Federation guidelines and be willing to follow them. Even then, you may only keep them within your quarters." The mek'leth wedged into the belt at the back of his robes is sitting heavy at the moment, but Worf can play by these rules just as well as any Starfleet Officer. He will attend to those once he has finished lecturing this civilian.

It feels strange to slip into his old role so easily, but until he has a better understanding of what is going on, somebody needs to ensure that order is being enforced in this situation.

It's at this point that the two humans go for their grappling throws, and Worf, brief but firm, turns a few last words at Sam: "when this is over, then we will talk." No nonsense, considering there is more than enough of it going on around Bashir and this dangerous new arrival. Then the Klingon turns his full attention back to the scene and the few other officers that have arrived upon it, coordinating a moment to deal with Khan safely.

Until Doctor Bashir is able to teleport the two of them directly to safety, the only one keeping an eye on Sam is the officer who is carefully dealing with his mess of knives. At that point, it looks as though the Klingon is going to be preoccupied by sending a team to sickbay to determine the state of the two men, and then forwarding a report to the Captain. Just like old times... then, if Sam is still present, he turns the human's (or at least humanoid's) way again. "You have chosen an inconvenient time to make my acquaintance, Mr. Bowe." It is not necessarily a dismissal, more a growling gripe. Worf has only just barely come to terms with his own displacement, and he has already had to deal with two similarly violent situations!

[immutablysam]

Against his typical nature, Sam waits patiently during the altercation, arms crossed, taking note of every movement - he can't get involved... at least not with the alien watching - getting his weapons back is more important than the scrap, and apparently more important to the locals than helping make sure no one is hurt. So... he'll play the good soldier for now.

Besides, this is a chance to study and assess. Khan is going to be trouble. Sam is sure of it. So every shift, every stance, every move is filed away for the point where there's a reckoning.

When Worf returns, Sam is still where he was left. "With all these newcomers showing up aboard your civilian vessel, some of 'em prone to violence, seems there ain't going to be many convenient times." he replies casually.

"Nice blade. Let me know if you ever want a sparring partner in your fancy training room things."

[alwaysnotwrong]

"Hmph," was the most witty reply that Sam was going to get, at least for the mean-time. After one more interruption -- this time at the behest of Julian, calling off Worf -- the Klingon finally returned his full attention to the human. Sam reminded him terribly of a program that his son had enjoyed as a boy... it was the accent, the tonality of it all. "We have all dealt with Q before. That you have all been brought here by him gives us a common frame of reference." The invitation, however, causes the Klingon to raise his chin appreciatively. "Perhaps another time. The training simulations aboard the Enterprise allowed me to hone my skill and 'vent off steam'. They may become useful for some of you, as well." Though Worf had no idea who Khan was at the time of his appearance, he could at least speculate that the man would either end up focusing all of that feral rage into training or time in the brig. It could not otherwise be both!

[savagemind]

Enterprise-D. The fourth iteration of this vessel, which means he is no longer in his proper time - but that's nothing new, is it? He will adapt, as he's always done; the question now is just how far forward has he been flung?

Khan's eyes narrow. "Assuming, for the moment, that you are telling the truth," he says, diction growing impossibly crisper with each jolt of pain knifing through his ribs, "then what is the current standard date?"

An extradimensional being, really. One thing is certain - Section 31 surely isn't behind this; their lies are far more believable.

[asklepian]

Julian's not in his proper time either, but he's been flung back...also not new for him, and he much prefers this time to the last.

He doesn't protest that he is telling the truth--he knows that he is, and that's enough. "It's 2366."

The man doesn't sound particularly disbelieving, aside from the blatant accusation of lying.

[savagemind]

A century. A century in which the Klingon Empire has allied with the Federation, in which the Enterprise has been reborn several times over, and in which Starfleet, despite his efforts, still stands - and judging from this ship, is stronger than before.

It's no ruse - the doctor with carelessly free with his expressions - but Khan doesn't relax. Can't relax. His people are dead.

"And what do you do with those who find themselves on this ship?" Judging from the wariness, the scorn, it's clear he expects the answer to be nothing good.

[asklepian]

"Well, that's up to you and the Captain mainly. I've been brought here myself as well as...I presume my friend Mr. Worf," Julian adds, glancing towards the robed Klingon. "We've not had time to catch up as of yet. At any rate, I'm from 2374."

And Starfleet has taken its share of beatings over the years, though the lion's share of it hasn't quite occurred yet.

"That said, I take shifts in Sickbay, cycling through with the other physicians."

He comes closer still, hands out--not a threat.

[savagemind]

And suddenly, Khan stills. Completely. He watches the doctor's approach, something inscrutable in his eyes, gaze flickering between Julian's hands and his face. "I want nothing to do with Starfleet."

An odd statement, considering the insignia on his own uniform, but Khan is no more a part of Starfleet than he is humanity. He's a relic, a wolf in a time of sheep - sheep like this earnest young doctor.

A doctor too trusting by half.

When Khan lunges this time, it's not merely to throw Julian away from him. No, he puts his own weight behind the movement, a sudden explosion of controlled violence directed squarely at the medical officer.

[asklepian]

The stillness is like the calm before the storm, and considering their earlier interaction, Julian is on hyper-alert. The tension in the man's body is palpable in the air, and he can further see muscles bunching before the sudden and violent release.

Perhaps not the best idea, with a Klingon in his corner and surrounded by other Starfleet officers--some armed, fresh off Security shifts--and it's too many eyes by far for Julian's tastes, trying to hide his nature as he is, but it's also too dangerous to let himself be caught. He can't count on it being just a warning blow.

He's moving very nearly at the same time Khan is, twisting like a snake with his reflexes and reaction time enhanced beyond that of a normal human being, possibly enough to avoid the blow that's coming, but he can't be sure. He never thought he'd be truly testing himself against another Augment.

[savagemind]

There's a warning shout from the remaining officers, but it comes precious seconds too late - Khan is in motion, mind calculating every option, every trajectory, to place him exactly where the good doctor is.

...or rather, where the doctor was.

There's a sudden twist, an elegant little dodge that swings Julian free of Khan's lunge. It's neat, tidy, and far, far quicker than he should have been. It should be impossible - for a human.

Khan doesn't allow himself miss a second time. Pivoting with his own misjudged momentum, Khan turns, mind already accounting for the increase on reflexes the other man displayed, and manages to fist a hand in the doctor's tunic. He hauls the other man back, pressing them both against the bulkhead in a single, swift move, and immediately snakes a hand to close around the other's throat.

He doesn't squeeze - not yet. But there's just enough pressure there to remind Julian to be mindful of what he says.

"You're not one of mine." A quiet statement. But if Julian is what Khan suspects, then he'll understand the meaning in his words.

[asklepian]

Oh, good show, Bashir, just fast enough to dodge the first attack--he might be able to play that one off, but it didn't get him much of anywhere, now did it?

Julian's eyes widen as he's caught, not fast enough to truly get away and put distance between them, and between that and the man's words it's both confirmation for Julian's suspicions and condemnation of his own secrecy. He knows, and it's not like he has reason to leave it alone like Dylan, Trance, and Ezri.

Julian's pulse races against the hand holding him, eyes wide in fear--calculated, because it's how he should be reacting, a smokescreen for the thoughts racing through his head. He doesn't have leverage, he could go for the ribs on the side that the man is still favoring, but there's a good chance (87.2%) that between the adrenaline and his already demonstrated ability to ignore pain, it wouldn't work to get the hand from around his neck. Instinct is to grab at the hand threatening to cut off his air, Julian heeds it and throws himself into the act.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" There's not a cadence of a lie at all in his voice, just the honest tremor of fear.

[savagemind]

There's muttered panic behind them both, a rustling of fabric as phasers are fumbled for, prompting Khan to turn his head just enough to growl over his own shoulder. "Come any closer, and I'll snap his neck before you even manage to get a single shot off."

Not that he will, not when he has something that's thoroughly caught his interest in his grasp. He studies Julian silently, assessing, deaf to his protestation. There isn't a human alive who could outpace him, past or present. But he spend decades sparring with his brethren, and he knows them as well has he knows himself - and this is so very familiar.

"Don't you?" He cocks his head, gaze too intent. "I don't miss. Not when the target is human."

[asklepian]

"Let me go, and you won't get tossed in the brig for your entire time here," Julian responds, with slightly more bravado than he actually feels--which honestly isn't much. He ignores the accusation--aside from a burst of indignation, because he is human, genetic tinkering be damned.

He can feel the weight of that stare physically upon him, and he hopes that were he truly in danger, that threat to break his neck would have been carried out by now.

He wonders, if he's fast enough, if he can call for a site-to-site transport. In Sickbay, he has the clearance to put up force fields...one of those would be incredibly useful right now.