If Khan had any idea he was anywhere near a Vulcan's mind, he would have been even more confused. The room was spinning in a horrible violent blur and everything was pins and needles and broken memories and voices saying so many strange things. There were some numbers, nearby. Maybe if he could read them he could understand? Some were on the wall, some were on a screen, some were on the ID dangling off someone's coat. Were they related?

One, two. Seventy two. Thirty seven point three... twelve. Not twelve.

It was some sort of code? Broken code, like the broken bone. Leave it to a Vulcan to take a lyrical metaphor and interpret it literally.