The year that they had spend on Ceti Alpha V had not been kind to them. With the destruction of their neighbouring planet and the fallout that came after, Khan had watched as his people died around him, including his own wife. One by one they fell, to the harsh environment, starvation, and to the parasites that attacked even the strongest of them. In the end he was left with but a handful of people.
Anyone else might have broken but he was not anyone. He was Khan. Born to greatness and power, ruler of men. He had commanded armies and ruled nations. He would not bow, not to the merciless winds or the burning sun, not to death itself. He would claw his way through if he had to.
So when a ship came through the endless blowing sand, he steeled himself for battle. If there was a way off the planet, it would be his. When the stranger spoke, he listened with cold calm, barely stifling his sneer. His tone and demeanor grated at him. Salt in the wound of a man pushed to the edge.
“My name is Khan.” He said. A simple statement that carried the weight of a threat. “This is Ceti Alpha V.”
“And I am Garth,” he returned coolly.
He knew he was speaking to the leader and he even knew the name and the history behind the relic of a man. In his less lucid moments, he actually imagined being Khan Noonien Singh in the late twentieth century.
But none of that mattered now. He was no longer the trapped visionary; he was free and more than willing to share that freedom with a man he found himself admiring rather than loathing as the Federation would have him feel.
“It is surprising that you did not rename this wasteland and claim it as your own. Why is it, that you do not go out there and force this planet into submission?”
