❧ Out ❧ Of ❧ Time

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[savageries]

[He led McCoy down the long white hall that resided ahead of them both. Above them the lights occasionally flickered; there were more important concerns than fixing them. Besides, most of the power in the base was being drawn to the infirmary, the security systems, and the launching bay where the finishing touches were being put on the rocket. He hoped they wouldn't have to use it, but maybe it'd be better if they did. Either way, he didn't want to lose anyone else, he wanted them all to go to the stars.

It was a good thing McCoy was here. He gives the other a glance, a quick assessment of his posture and expression, before looking forward again. The question seemed harmless enough on its own.] I asked for my own curiosity. When I removed your blindfold, your expression suggested you knew my face. If you come from the future, then you know how this war ends, and what happens to my people and I. [Not that the future couldn't be changed, of course.

He doesn't argue with the man's premise about information, and one thing for another seemed a fair bargain.] The year is 1997. [Probably the last year of this war.

He led McCoy around a couple of corners, and then into a smaller room with a glass window that overlooked a much larger one. Beyond the window were rows and rows of beds, some empty, but more occupied. The doctors behind the glass who weren't wearing masks were ordinary humans, all of them immune to the virus made to target Augments. That only made this worse; they were superior, better, and yet somehow humans had found a way to make a biological weapon that could exploit their augmented genetics to kill them.

Stepping toward the glass, he picked up a small stack of folders and handed them to the doctor.] My people are sick, Dr McCoy, they've been infected with a virus designed to kill the genetically enhanced. Those files contain everything we know about the illness, but if your history books know us, then you may already know about it. If not, you may still be of some help us, your medical knowledge is years beyond ours.

[maythrowup]

[A nod, keeping tabs on Khan's location-- and his mood, his expression, ever-important-- even as he took account of the hallway, learning what he could about where he was being held captive. Which, as it turned out, wasn't that damn much. He'd have to start digging into old history lessons in his brain if he wanted enlightenment: it wasn't about to pop out from any of the walls of this maze, which all looked the same to him.]

Well, suffice to say... there aren't many mass murders who don't go down in history.

[As a blase example of why he'd recognize the man's face, with an edgewise look at him, but tone otherwise flat. Nonjudgemental.

He couldn't say the same for his eyes, or the wrenched torque to his mouth.

Damn lunatic.]

1997... [That year, however, he breathed out with some wonder. It shouldn't surprise him, all things considered, Khan being here, talking about his augments... but hearing it out loud? Was staggering, somehow. Made his palms sweat, made his heart beat faster.

Because it meant that the likelihood of Jim getting a rescue team to him was close to nil, even with all his foolhardy tenacity and well-meaning chance-taking.]

1997... [Repeated, just trying to breathe. All right. ...He was in it now, so he had to get himself out of it. He did follow along in the meantime, until they were in the wide room with its daunting windows, overlooking an archaic kind of medical sickbay if ever he'd seen one. The kind of rigged-up hospitals you saw in old war photos, set up hastily, bed by bed, to accommodate too-many.

It gave him a pang, even if they were Augments.

Frowning,]

...I can't help them. A cure was never found. [Bluffed.] You can check my medical tricorder, but it won't do you much good. And neither will I.

[That was playing a gamble, but hell, what choice did he have? Maybe if he was no use they'd simply kill him; be he doubted that. Khan would find a use. Denying that he had one could only buy time- hopefully.]

[savageries]

[Mass murderer? Of course.] I expected that your people's history would not speak fondly of me. [That he was a murderer wasn't something he'd argue, but the reasons for it were important, particularly when one was employing such a loaded, emotional term.] But, as history is written by the winners, by your words I can see we must lose the war. [He'd certainly not be written about so negatively otherwise. And, much as he hated it, he'd accepted the possibility, the likelihood of it. All he cared about now was saving the rest of his family, so they could take the rocket and see what awaited them out among the stars.

He can tell McCoy is judging him, it's not very hard to see it. And his repeat of the date is either recognition that he's actually been thrown into the past, or some recognition that he knows what will happen during this year. Perhaps both.

And he must feel something for the sick and dying beyond the glass. Whatever Khan might say about the rest of humanity, this man is a doctor, so perhaps has a conscience. It's true that that can't be said for most of the human doctors Khan has known (like the people who ran the labs where he was created), but perhaps McCoy is different.

His expression twists slightly, condescending, at the attempted bluff. It's not even so much that he sounds like he's lying, it's just how ridiculous the lie seems.] If you think I'm going to believe that your history books contain no records of this illness, or that everything you've learned in the past few hundred years give you no advantage, you're wrong. You've made no attempt. [he paused, then took a step toward the doctor.] Tell me, do you think my people deserve to die? Every single one of them? Do doctors in your time still swear oaths to do no harm? Or will you make an exception for the people that I love?

[maythrowup]

Or maybe the world has changed, and we don't call leaders who indulge in violences 'heros' anymore. [He gave back.] It's narrow-minded to apply the rules of your time period to my own.

[Or, that was the way it ought to have been. Peace, prosperity... a time beyond money, beyond country lines. A place where villainy was described in shade of nationality, and past savageries; wars, yes, but disease too, discrimination. Of course, it wasn't possible to wash out any of that entirely. There was an inter-galactic world now, and so while 'peace' was the winner that wrote the earth's history now and found fault with both the victorious and losing sides of all previous wars, it didn't change the fact that McCoy was in the army, more or less, and that he didn't think especially highly of Vulcans.

Everything had changed, and nothing had. Khan didn't need to know that.

But McCoy was more interested in making sure he knew he didn't know; to keep him guessing, if only to buy himself a little more time to try to figure his way out of this...]

I'm a doctor, man, not a judge. If your people live, will they kill others? Do those others deserve to die? I'm not god either, I don't make those choices... I swore an oath, and I don't want to see them suffer. But I also don't intend to set off a new timeline in hopes of curing a disease I'm not equipped to help you with.

[A pause, then gruffly,]

I'm sorry.

[savageries]

[Khan takes a step closer to him, eyeing him critically. "Narrow minded"? Heh, perhaps he was. He is extremely skeptical that human nature has really changed that much in this future the good doctor comes from, not when it hadn't changed in the last several thousand years. Humans were like children playing with very destructive toys, all Khan had wanted to do was bring peace and order to their lives. He suspects that will always be how it is, even if humanity goes out into the stars.

But it's McCoy's refusal, and the manner of it that really gives him something to work with.] You're not a judge, but you ask me if my friends will kill others, and you use that as a reason not to save them? If someone was dying, and you knew he'd killed before, would you refuse him treatment?

[He turned and looked through the window, the thought of losing every single one of them weighing heavily on him.] We're going to leave this planet, and leave the humans to their own devices. If we already do this in your timeline, then helping us will only change the number of us who escape. I never want to return here. [Probably.

He glances over his shoulder then.] In exchange one of the people you save may be able to help you find a way back to your time. [There were, after all, a few scientists in that room.]