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Wrong Answer: A Killing Game AU
by Terranfem
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May 2000
Disclaimer: No copyright infringements intended. All Star Trek characters
belong to Paramount.
Warning: Spoilers for the episode "The Killing Game". This is a
darker turn to the scene in the Killing Game where Tom, who thinks he is
Lieutenant Bobby Davis in World War II, encounters Harry Kim in the
corridors of Voyager. He is immediately suspicious of who Harry is and
asks Harry a question.
Feedback: Any comments and/or constructive feedback are very much
appreciated. Flames are not!
Archiving: Will be archived only at my site. Please do not
archive anywhere else without permission.
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I'm dead, was Harry Kim's grim thought as the Nazi soldier
aimed at him. He tensed, ready to fling his tool metal box at the soldier in
a last ditch attempt to save his life when all of a sudden, two shots rang out
from behind him and killed the Nazi soldier.
Harry whirled around to see who had come to his rescue and his shoulders
sagged in relief when he saw who had saved his life. "Tom!" he
cried out joyfully but his elation was short-lived when Tom's eyes
narrowed suspiciously at him.
"Wrong guy," was the terse reply.
Wrong guy? It was only then that Harry took stock of Tom‹s
battle-grey fatigues and realized belatedly that Tom, still firmly
entrenched in the Hirogen's World War II holoprogram, would have a
different identity and wouldn't recognize anyone outside of the program.
"You speak English?" Tom asked, his voice guarded.
Harry nodded. "Yes, I speak English," he answered, smiling
nervously as he noted the upraised gun in Tom‹s hands. The same gun
that had efficiently dispatched the Nazi soldier was now aimed unerringly
at him. Carefully he raised his own hands to reassure Tom that he was
unarmed.
"American?"
Sweat-streaked hair flopped annoyingly into his eyes as Harry nodded
again, hoping that Tom, even if he didn‹t actually recognize him,
would not perceive him as a threat. "You saved my life. I didn‹t
see him coming," he said gratefully.
To his chagrin, the comment only seemed to make Tom more apprehensive.
"Where‹s your uniform? What company are you with?"
he asked almost belligerently.
"I'm. . . I'm a civilian." Harry winced inwardly at
how lame that sounded. Tom, of course, didn't buy it.
"In the middle of the battle zone? The hell you are!"
Tom, the other soldier and Harry flinched as gunfire echoed frighteningly
close to their location. "Go on ahead, I'm right behind
you," Tom ordered the other soldier who nodded and disappeared
around the corner.
"Look, I don't have time for 20 questions," Tom snapped
out, advancing towards Harry. "You say you're an
American?"
Harry nodded silently, dark eyes trying not to focus on the gun trained
unwaveringly at him.
"All right then -- if Betty Grable came walking around that corner,
what part of her would you be staring at?"
Harry frowned stupidly at Tom. Betty who? What the hell was Tom talking
about? And why would he be staring at Betty? Why was it important now?
Unless. . . then it clicked. Dressed in Starfleet uniform, Harry WOULD
look out of place and Tom would naturally be suspicious and think that he
might be a spy or something. The Betty Grable question was Tom's way
of determining whether Harry was friend or foe. Oh gods, what would happen
if he couldn't come up with the right answer? His mind raced,
frantically trying to sift through all those vague memories of faces that
starred in those early 20th century vids that Tom had insisted they watch
a long time ago. Damn! Those movies had bored him out of his skull and he
had learned to tune them out early on. All those faces were now morphing
into one unrecognizable blur. Who the hell was Betty Grable???
An ominous metallic click snapped him back to the present and Harry gaped
in shocked horror as Tom aimed unmistakably at his chest. Gods, this
couldn‹t be happening!
"What would you be staring at?" Tom demanded again.
"Her chest! I‹d be staring at her chest!" Harry cried out,
blurting out the one obvious answer that he could think of. After all,
when Seven first came on board Voyager, it was her chest that got gawked
at most often. Tom stared at him for one second and Harry tried to swallow
back the lump that seemed to have lodged heavily in his throat. Could it
be that, maybe, just maybe he got the answer right after all? But the
reprieve was false.
Harry felt himself grow cold when Tom shook his head sadly and cocked his
pistol. "Sorry, wrong answer."
The toolbox glinted dully from Harry's fingers, catching his eyes.
Thinking quickly, Harry shoved the toolbox at Tom but the lieutenant had
anticipated it and ducked. And then it was too late. With a discordant
crack, the weapon fired, wrenching an agonized groan from Harry as the
bullet ripped through him, slamming him hard unto the wall behind.
He sank down to the floor, leaving streaks of red on the paneling. Blood
bubbled up in his mouth and he coughed, immediately regretting it as the
slight action wracked him with pain. Tears of pain threatened to spill
out. Harry blinked them back and it was in that moment that the memory
crystallized to the answer he should have given. Damn his memory! He gave
a small sad laugh.
"What‹s so funny?" Tom asked harshly, bending over him.
"I remember now," Harry gasped, feeling warm liquid trickling
from the corner of his mouth. "I remember." He coughed again
and fought for breath to speak. He swallowed. It was strange, the pain was
receding now and everything was going dark. "Her legs. . . I‹d
be staring at her legs," he said softly.
The last thing Harry saw were anguished blue eyes.
---
End
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