ten_fwd | one \\ Ten Forward Lounge

This was probably going to be his best and only chance, Julian realized--there was no direct pressure on his windpipe, it would be at least three seconds before he would have hands around his throat again, scarcely enough time, but he could manage.

He taps his combadge. "Bashir to Transporter Room, emergency medical transport," he says in a rush, words tumbling from his mouth with enough clarity to register the command, but he sounds as if he'd just run a mile to do it.

He shoots an apologetic glance at Worf before the transporter beam engulfs the both of them, and the moment thwy materialize in Sickbay he's twisting again with all his strength to get free, hardly caring if his tunic rips.

It's enough. Khan registers the command, but before he can even bring his hand up to cut it off, the familiar swirl of transporter light takes them both. In less than a moment, they're both in the clean, sterile brightness of Sickbay. The doctor twists, and twists hard, sending a fresh jolt of pain blooming through Khan's ribs.

The fabric abruptly tears, freeing the doctor, and Khan is left with nothing more than a handful of cloth and a snarl of fury. No.

"Computer, level 7 forcefield," Julian snaps out, patience and understanding completely gone, washed away by the rush of adrenaline that he's now fully embracing. He's safely on the other side of it, feet firmly planted, and looking just as furious.

"You can bloody well sit there for a minute." There's blood on his uniform, transferred by the man's hands--which look uninjured, making Julian's stomach drop.

At least no one else in Ten Forward was hurt. He looks over at Doctor Crusher's office door--closed--and whirls to face the nurse that hurried over for the medical emergency call.

"It's fine, I have this under control." More or less. He dismisses her with a curt nod. He's not about to let anyone else get in over their heads.

The forcefield snaps to life audibly, and Khan takes a step back, eyes narrowed. His expression shutters, going cold and hard, rage leashed once again. This time, however, there's no curiosity tempering the look he gives Bashir, no interest.

It's almost like a betrayal.

He doesn't have time for sentiment, now. Khan takes another step back, folding his hands behind his back, and just stills completely. His posture is achingly straight, and he watches the doctor, the Sickbay, but he doesn't move. He's trapped, and it grates, itching beneath his skin, a burning need to escape, to get out. He's right back where he started a year ago: at Starfleet's mercy.

Except this time he has nothing to live for.

Julian takes a few deep breaths, calming the fight-or-flight response, mastering his heartbeat and the hormones in his blood.

"Bloody hell," he breathes after a few moments, anger flowing out of him and leaving just weariness and ache behind. He let his anger get the best of him, sure, but it wasn't like there was trust between them to betray.

He expected security to burst in at any moment--he tapped his combadge to call Worf, ask to be left alone--they were secure in Sickbay. He couldn't guarantee his crewmate would trust his judgement. Then he slides down the biobed to sit on the floor.

After that, there was silence. Angry, bitter silence. It was almost as if he hadn't been the one attacked twice and slammed against a wall.

Finally, the question couldn't go unasked any longer. "Who are you?"

The silence lingers. It was a question that would define his time spent here. He could return to being Commander John Harrison, weapons designer and Section 31's dirty secret. But he chafed under that name, under what it represented: he would not be Marcus' dog any longer, not even now, a hundred years in the future.

No. Better his true name - the one Marcus hid for fear of someone discovering who he really was, for fear of Khan rebelling. The one that had been a leader, a ruler, not a man desperate to save his family and who'd failed at that task.

"Khan Noonien Singh."

There's a thread of challenge in his tone, as though he's daring the doctor to disbelieve him. But in concession to some shred of decency, he follows suit, folding his legs beneath him to mirror the doctor. His gaze doesn't soften.

Julian's first impulse is to disbelief, it's true. The man in front of him looks absolutely nothing like what he does in the history books and Starfleet's records. But he can't help the instinctive, ingrained reaction to that name, loaded as it is and unexpected as the admission was. He stares, face pale, disbelief writ clear on his face and in his eyes. And then, he has to laugh--it's completely mirthless, an expression of shock.

"...of course. Why not," he murmurs. Then, louder: "You must be from the other timeline." It's the only reasonable explanation. He's heard enough about it by now.

Of all the people he could possibly come face to face with, Khan was one of the least welcome. But still, where are his manners, is the bitter thought going through his head.

"I'm Julian Bashir," he returns. Only fair.

That comment catches his interest - alternate timeline? - but Khan merely notes it and files it away for reference at another time. That the doctor knows his name and doesn't disbelieve him is a red flag - how much is known, how much of his more recent past has Section 31 let slip - but he won't deny the satisfaction he feels.

Four centuries since his exile, and he is still known.

"Doctor Bashir." He tests the name and title, giving the other man a shallow nod. Any trace of the half-savage warrior from minutes before is gone, locked just beneath the surface of this Khan - as cold and still as a glacial lake.

Julian has seen a lot in his time in Starfleet, being faced with the man who was perhaps the most infamous of the Augments is not the most unbelievable of them. One of the more unwelcome, certainly. He had never thought how it would feel to come face to face with the embodiment of the taboo against genetic enhancement, the reason his very existence is illegal.

He doesn't look happy about it. He isn't happy about it. Where Khan looks calm, he's sure it's deceptive. Julian is reminded of vacations as a child in Yorkshire, and seeing the Bolton Strid--a deceptively narrow and calm stream, winding through the green countryside, that no one had ever survived falling into.

He needs to tell Captain Picard exactly who they're dealing with here. The danger is too great.

""You're not Starfleet--" obviously, or he wouldn't have had such a violent reaction, "--why are you wearing an unmarked uniform?"

"Because Starfleet likes to ensure that their assets know exactly who they belong to." From any other person, it might sound flippant, but from Khan it's a simple statement of fact. Section 31 saw him as little more than a pet Augment to use at their leisure - Marcus had been the only one to take the threat of him seriously.

He at least, had met a fitting end.

Khan folds his hands in his lap. If Bashir wants answers, then he'll have to submit to a few questions of his own.

"None of your peers know, do they?"

"Who they--Starfleet doesn't own people," Julian is obviously disgusted by the idea. It's not exactly stated in a way that gives a good connotation.

He doesn't know what had happened, because that is an incredibly unhelpful answer. Julian hasn't gotten around to discussing recent events with Doctor McCoy.

"About you? I'd refrain from introducing yourself with your full name to anyone wearing a Starfleet uniform, if that's what you mean." Somehow, he doesn't think that's the case.

Edited 2014-12-17 21:56 (UTC)

Ah, and there's the denial he was expecting. He'd received it from Kirk, before he'd seen the truth - that whatever noble ideals Starfleet had are poisoned in their highest offices. If Khan were any less mannered, he might snort.

"No? Then perhaps I imagined the year of servitude they forced upon me while they held my crew hostage." He leans forward, very slightly, fingers curling in his lap. "Your Starfleet is more corrupt than you can even imagine."

But he tilts his head, then, gaze suddenly thoughtful. "But you know that already, or you wouldn't be hiding."

Not even four months ago, Julian would have vehemently, even violently denied any allegation that Starfleet--any part of it--ccould be involved in anything even approaching what Khan was talking about. Before he'd been abducted in his sleep by Sloan and his men, put through a simulation designed to break him, force him to admit he'd been turned into a Dominion mole. After his first experience getting spirited away from his bed in his sleep, he hadn't been able to truly rest for weeks. He'd had nightmares of his imprisonment, and that was bad enough. Sloan's little simulation had made him question the reality of being on the Enterprise for weeks.

He still opens his mouth to protest out of deeply ingrained habit and true belief. Section 31 was not Starfleet. But he bites his tongue, curses lowly. "Section 31. You mean them." The utter fools, they thought they could control one of the most brilliant, devious, and ruthless of a group that was feared after four centuries for those traits?

"They're not Starfleet." He goes silent for a few moments more, eyes hard, cold, and cautious. "And you're making rather large assumptions about me."

Not untrue ones, and it seems that no matter what he says, he's not going to be able to convince him otherwise. He'd blown that chance by showing off back in Ten Forward.

"I'm hiding because I'm eight years in the past, from my perspective, and I'd rather not risk getting my younger self kicked out of Starfleet before I can enter the service under a Captain who will defend my right to be here."

He tilts his head in a mirror of Khan's motion, subconsciously. "My crew knows perfectly well what I am. All of Starfleet does. But they don't yet."

"Section 31," Khan confirms, and there's a smile on his face, now. It's not a happy one. They had done more than try and control him, they had controlled him. His pride bristles at the thought, but it's the truth. Marcus had exploited his one real weakness, his devotion to the few of his kind who'd survived to follow him into the stars.

He shakes his head. "Of course they are Starfleet. Section 31 is mandated by the very charter that makes up your organization." He knows - he's read it, along with the laws that declared him illegal, a non-citizen that predated the Federation and was not, therefore, subject to the protections it offered. All of which were so kindly offered by Marcus.

But Julian's acknowledgment of his own augmentation prompts a kind of satisfaction in Khan's gaze. He isn't one of Khan's family, not by far - but they're dead. Gone. And four hundred years in the future is a man alike, if nothing else. "You chose to serve organization that wants nothing to do with your existence?"

"They're not. They don't answer to Starfleet Command, if they ever were part of the Charter they've slipped that, and no one oversees them." Julian's tone is vicious, and angry, 31's very existence is anathema to everything the Federation stands for. The ideals that he truly holds dear, that every Starfleet officer holds dear.

It's obvious that he's had some personal dealings with them, and that he's not fondly recalling them.

"They're a cancer." It's the only true way to put it. An insidious disease, and as a physician, as a Starfleet officer, and as a decent human being, Julian doesn't intend to let them stay where they are now that he knows they're there.

Julian has read those laws, too, studied them front to back, and if he knew what Khan was thinking then, he'd have to wonder how Marcus manipulated them, or how he outright lied, because he'd never feared losing his citizenship. Even in his darkest thoughts, he knew he'd lose nothing more than his Starfleet commission and his medical license should his true nature come to light. It would be difficult, but he could still make a life for himself on Earth, or out in space. There were colonies where they didn't care one jot if someone had a license to practice medicine, so long as you could suture a wound.

"What I chose was to enter a service where I could do the most good."

It wasn't his existence they were truly worried about.

Julian is fortunate that he was born human - he'd had citizenship from the moment he was born. Khan never had the luxury, and after his farce of a 'trial' the entire world had been eager to disclaim his kind. None of the 20th century Augments had been
'grandfathered into' the Federation.

"Article fourteen, section thirty-one. In times of emergency, extraordinary measures may be taken to secure the interests and defense of the Federation and its protectorates." It's recited in the same flawless manner that Julian should recognize - eidetic memories are a blessing and a curse. His lips quirk.

"And what, dear doctor, have they done to set you so against them? A recruitment attempt, perhaps?"

He can read Julian's anger easily - the man wears it one his sleeve - and Khan finds himself approving. Good. Let him hate them. Let them set another of his kind against them - they'd fall that much sooner.

"I know it," Julian snaps. Sloan had quoted it at him, too. Thinking about the man, what he stood for, infuriated him. "An autonomous division, accountable to no one--much less to Starfleet Command. Working on their own for two hundred years, without any oversight--"

His nails dig into his hands, recalling how exhausted he'd been when Sloan told him what his shadow division did, how furious he'd felt that such a thing could exist, two hundred years after the founding of the Federation. That they judged people, put them on trial, and summarily executed them without so much as a whisper if they'd been deemed a threat. And he'd felt violated, to be taken from his bed on DS9 with none the wiser--they'd dug into his records, down to even his visits to Quark's holosuites.

Julian snorted. "They tried, yes." He had the grace and the good luck to be able to tell them no. They had to let him go--or did they? A freak shuttle accident on the way back to the station, from the medical conference he'd never actually been able to attend, and he never would have returned...no one had missed him.

"They're the antithesis of everything about the Federation that I believe in. What makes you think I wouldn't be against them?"

Edited 2014-12-19 04:14 (UTC)

"Because so many in your organization aren't!" Khan growls, tone finally giving voice to his frustration. "Section 31 is not some small, clandestine outfit, doctor. They're a military force tens of thousands strong, and they do what they do because they believe in it."

A restless part of him wants to pace. He reins in the instinct, leaning forward instead. "Do you want to hear a story, Doctor Bashir?"

A story of what happens when you attempt to cage an man created to rule - created to be better. Of what happens when you try to make a wolf into a dog, and are surprised when it turns on you.

Julian speaks quietly, in response. "We believe too. And we outnumber them." Julian recalls Captain Sisko's quiet order: the next time Sloan approaches him, because he understands now there will be a second time, he's to listen. He's to stare straight into the abyss, and drag the monsters hiding there kicking into the light. And he has faith that he can do so. It would take a sacrifice, he was sure. Maybe his career, his freedom, or even his life, but he is determined to see it through.

"We are going to bring them down." His voice is quiet, but filled with conviction. He's set on this course, now. And he will succeed.

"What did they do to you?" Because what else could that story be?

Edited 2014-12-19 23:56 (UTC)

And this time Khan does stand, gives into the need for movement, the itch beneath his skin. He's already moving easier than he was in Ten Forward - testament to his augmented healing.

"Four hundred years ago my people and I exiled ourselves to the stars, in the hopes that when we woke, we would find something better." He lingers on the last word, then shakes his head. "But the destruction of Vulcan forced your Federation to face it's own mortality, and Starfleet became more aggressive in its search of known space."

A humorless smile, and Khan paces the edge of the force field, predatory. "My ship was found, and turned over to Admiral Alexander Marcus, of Section 31. I was the only one woken."

"Once Marcus realized that he had found the answer to the Klingon threat, he decided to ensure my cooperation. There were eighty-five of us when we left Earth. When we were found, we were seventy-three. Seventy-two of my sleeping crew, of my family, were left in Marcus' hands, insuring my good behavior."

He finally turns back to Julian, eyes blazing despite the chilly precision in his words. "There is nothing I would not do for my family, Doctor Bashir." Including being turned into Starfleet's pet Augment.

Julian watches him stand, but doesn't follow suit--he just watches, listens. The story beginsnthe way he's expecting. It very rapidly changes.

Khan is on a roll--Julian doesn't stop him until he stops, despite reeling from disbelief. He hadn't heard about the recent history of the other timeline.

"The destruction of Vulcan? Vulcan hasn't been destroyed." His mind reels at the implications. Not even the Borg or the Dominion have managed anything like that. That the Klingons had been able to do so--why else would they be considered such a dire and horrible threat? What had happened in that timeline?

"In my timeline, it has." He'd read the reports he wasn't supposed to have access to, reports that had detailed everything that had been kept from the public. How the future had splintered, how Nero had used the Narada to release a substance into the center of Vulcan, how the planet's gravity had devoured itself and collapsed into a black hole.

Intriguing technology, at the time.

"A rogue Romulan with a mining vessel was responsible - a member of your timeline, traveling back in time to altering history. Vulcan's destruction weakened the Federation, and the Klingons pressed the advantage."

"Marcus wanted a war. A preemptive strike. But he knew he's never get public approval for weapons and warships - the Federation had lost it's teeth. So he conscripted me."

If that was what had happened in the other timeline...Julian just stared, because the idea of an entire core world, billions of people, gone--Vulcans, aside from those in Starfleet, were rather insular, they didn't leave their world...if there'd been any kind of warning, Starfleet would've responded, and evacuated as many people as they could, but the survivors would still be a fraction of the population.

He's obviously reeling from the idea, but his mind can't stop running with what would have happened--he murmurs to himself, sounding dazed.

"...they created an alternate timeline. Our relations with the Klingons were rocky at best, a hundred years ago, they would have..."

He takes a shaky breath, and draws his hand down over his mouth. "We're not...Starfleet has always been a defense force, on top of the scientific, humanitarian, and exploratory missions...of course the Federation wouldn't have approved, we don't attack other powers. Not without provocation."

The revelation obviously affects Julian far more than Khan - he has no attachment to Vulcan. No interest beyond the academic. The Botany Bay had been found only after the planet's destruction, and the only Vulcan who had made an impression on the Augment was Kirk's treacherous first officer.

(One day, Khan would murder Spock.)

As it is, he's in no mood to coddle the doctor's shellshocked psyche. This is the truth of his world. This new universe may, may be different, but it changes nothing about the reality in which he lived.

"Starfleet is poisoned at its core. Don't pretend your Admiralty doesn't know about Section 31's existence. They merely turn a blind eye for the sake of their own moral posturing."

If their interests were threatened, the Federation would be merciless in attacking the 'other powers', just as they had been merciless in exploiting him.

Julian is a doctor, and though Starfleet has seen great losses within his lifetime, it's still too much to take in. Khan might not care about Vulcan, but Julian had friends who were Vulcan, people he knew, who now in the other timeline might very well never exist.

He draws a few breaths, hissed in through his teeth, at the implication that because Section 31 exists, all of Starfleet is wrong. He knows that it isn't.

"Not here," he says--quietly, but with conviction. He's sure of it. One or two admirals might know--it's possible. Likely, even. But not all of them. He grinds his teeth, almost. "Not all of them. And the rank and file officers, the bulk of the Fleet, have no idea. If they did know, it'd be gone by now."

one \\ Ten Forward Lounge

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)