Author's Notes: Special thanks to qenie and pigtailedgirl (Guest), both for taking the time to read this and actually commenting...I'm flattered and I appreciate your attention to a story I never expected to get much publicity at all. You rock. :)
"It should not be this HARD!" Khan bellowed, pacing from one side of the room to the other.
Marla's red hair was tied behind her head and tightly braided. She was grateful, as it kept it from smothering her steaming, sweating face and neck. She pushed her head back into the pillow, eyes closed, meditating. When her lips parted, her voice was very quiet. "It's coming, Khan. Be patient."
"But why didn't you tell me?!" he snapped, fingers working nervously as he slung an arm over the crude, metal bookshelf.
A tear of pain trickled out of the side of Marla's eyes, making a small, white line on her pale face. "I didn't want to disappoint you again."
"Ah, thank you! It makes me feel so much better when my wife collapses in my arms out of nowhere. Marla! You must tell me these things! I do not like to be surprised!"
"I know," Marla submitted meekly, just wishing her very worried, very upset, and very loud husband would just shut up.
Khan's face softened ever so slightly at her tired, exhausted tone. However, it was only because he noticed that the tension in her body was ten times his own, not because he saw the tear or heard the pain in her voice. He crouched by the bedside. Slowly, she turned her head on the pillow to face his.
Then, a small smile stretched her sweet lips. "You're very…ungrateful, you know that?"
Confusion creased Khan's brow as he frowned. "What?"
"I was too fragile for the first one…" there was just the tiniest hint of bitterness in her voice, "but I'm fighting for this one. Fighting as I've never fought before. It'd serve you right if it killed me!"
The words brought a chill to Khan, a chill he had felt before. He was far too tired of death to appreciate the dark, freezing lump in his stomach. He wanted it to go away. "Nonsense. You will not die from this…all women have done it, since the beginning of creation!"
Breathing heavily, her face shining with sweat, Marla rolled her eyes. "Thanks. Like I didn't know that."
"I thought we had made up about our firstborn," Khan said suddenly, still thinking about what she had said earlier, "I thought we had put it behind us!"
"You had, maybe," Marla sighed, "I never can." Suddenly, she gasped sharply, her hand grabbing at Khan's almost convulsively, snatching it from where it lay on the bed and squeezing hard with the pain. It was his gloved hand. Too surprised to cry out, Khan's eyes shut tightly as the raw nerves entwined around his ruined hand screamed like fire.
But then, to his surprise, Khan found he didn't mind. If it helped…he squeezed back ever so slightly as the agony in his wife's face subsided. Her eyes were glazed over, darting from side to side, unfocused. Her chest heaved up and down, starving for air she was too weak to pull in. Watching her, watching as her body convulsed and then went limp, always hurting…watching her eyes as they avoided him, searching as anyone would for sympathy, if not release…and he was not giving it to her. "I am sorry," he whispered suddenly, not knowing exactly where the words came from, only that they must be said, "I am sorry those words have hurt you so much…that you still carry them with you, after all this time."
Marla stared at him a moment, surprised. Then she shrugged it off, still unwilling to throw herself into what might be yet another sham of affection on his part. "I forgive you."
Khan's pride suddenly snarled at the remark like a demon rising from the fire of a sorcerer. But before he could react in any way, save jerking his hand away, Marla's brown eyes widened. She gasped, "it's coming, it's coming! Get M'dara! Get her!" Her voice ended in a scream.
Khan shouldn't have let it startle him, but it did. He jolted away from the bed, at the same time trying to wrestle back some calm. "M'dara! Marla has need of you!" he called, rushing his sister-Augment in with his hands as she raced past him.
There was a strange, hollow fear in his stomach now, where the lump of ice used to be. It was strange…terrifying, but somehow good. A good fear. But it was also a weakness that came crawling through his limbs, causing him to falter as he paced. Jaw tightening, he crossed his arms and threw back his head, determined to stay strong and not give in to the sudden shaking in his legs.
But he listened. And with each scream, the weakness grew stronger. Because Marla was in pain, and it bothered him. Because a baby was on the way, and that excited him. Because one or both might die, and that terrified him.
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Marla nearly killed herself, but she gave birth to a boy. Her screams, Khan was sure, he would remember until the day he died. They mingled with the wails of the ghosts that rose in his mind like a maelstrom of regret and loss and horror when the desert wall of silence closed around him at night, full of reproach and defeat.
But Marla was alive. The baby was alive, here and now. They were all alive. Khan took a deep breath as M'dara wiped the baby dry and handed it to him.
Khan was cautious. He could bend metal with his hands, but the child in his arms was as delicate as china, and as priceless as life itself. He felt it, soft and small and warm, with life itself so vibrant beneath the baby's smooth skin, so alive where it touched his bare arms.
This baby was his. He felt as if something inside him was on fire. Because this was his son.
The pink little hand, so ridiculously weak, lunged out suddenly and grabbed the black finger of Khan's glove, the glove that covered the hand that would never touch his child. A hand that was scarred beyond recognition, muscles and nerves laid bare to the pain of every change in pressure, every fluctuation in temperature. The glove did very little to protect it. It was the atrocious imitation of a human hand. But without fear, the baby pulled it into his mouth, making small gurgles of pleasure as he sucked on it.
Even as Khan smiled, the simple action brought back a memory, however unpleasant.
Grey eyes, rimmed by red, dilated with pain and confusion, met his. Burned lips, gargled voice, "Khan…"
Old friend.
"Joachim," he said the name aloud that had, for the last few months, only brought him hidden pain, a pain he could never show without destroying his pretense of being a strong, unbreakable man, a cold, ruthless man without a heart. The man he believed he had to be if he was to survive. "He will be called Joachim."
Marla pushed herself up on trembling arms. The fact that once again he didn't care what she had to say in the matter upset her. Sick and weak as she was, she wanted to tear herself out of the bed and scream at him. But she couldn't. She realized Khan needed this. That, even if he had been a nice, caring person, he would have needed this. "Joachim it is, then." She said aloud nevertheless, wanting to remind him of her presence.
Khan looked at her suddenly, as if he had just remembered that she was there. Then, as he and Marla stared at each other uncertainly, a smile mellowed his features. Marla lost her breath a little as she remembered that smile on the Enterprise. It was a smile that had pulled the rug out from under her as easily as it did now. It was powerful, charismatic, intoxicating…it seemed to transport her to Earth, to gleaming gold, hordes of dancers, singers, acrobats…to battles won and lost, victorious combat, riches, power…the glowing, starry sky hanging low over a palace garden, breathing in the scent of roses and lilacs…a hand running softly through her hair…
And it reminded her how stupid she'd been. She wondered just how much of it was real, whether there was any love hidden under that smile. She watched him almost warily as he came to sit on the bed beside her, his weight causing it to creak. "He is strong. Healthy. Congratulations, my dove."
The shallow sentiments irritated her. She reached forward and brushed a fingertip over the baby's soft scalp, smiling a little as the golden fuzz swayed away from her touch. "He's blonde."
"Really?" Khan raised his expressive eyebrows as he peered closer at the head. "Ah." He straightened thoughtfully. "My ancestry is pure Indian. Therefore I assume…?"
"My grandmother," Marla supplied, eyes growing dim with memory as she remembered the woman who had raised her and been the driving force that got Marla into the Historical University of Sol. The dear old woman she would never know again. Yet another reason to lament her stupid choice.
Khan held Joachim lengthwise, letting the tiny back rest on his leg as he held the baby secure in large, strong hands that seemed to dwarf the tiny form. There was something in his face…some look Marla couldn't quite place. His fingers kept brushing over the baby's face, touching lips, cheek…even the sensitive eyelids. He did it so delicately that the child barely even noticed. Then, as he wiped a grain of sand off the baby's nose, it sneezed, then blinked with confusion, as if startled by the sound. Khan grinned, amused, tickled even by the idea.
Khan stopped touching the child. His left arm swung out to wrap gently around Marla's shoulders. He did not pull her in. He waited until she lowered herself into his side, her own hand reaching out to brush the soft, golden hair back from the curved forehead.
It was electric, almost, her ear against Khan's chest, feeling how warm and firm he was under the shirt, hearing his heartbeat echo…and touching the warm, tiny, perfect, pulsating child, the love she had felt under her heart now come into being, her precious secret now shown to the world. And Khan was holding the baby from the other side. Marla felt like they were one body, full of love and life and the promise of safety and protection.
Fingers suddenly brushed through her hair. "If it had to be from your family…couldn't it be red?" Khan asked suddenly.
Marla burst out laughing. She couldn't help it. "Give me that!" she growled, taking the baby from him and leaning back into her now cool pillows. "I need to sleep."
Khan got up and put a hand on either side of her as he leaned over, breathing in the smell of her, of their baby, lathered down with the little soap they had left. "For how many years?" He smiled.
Eyes twinkling mischievously, she grabbed his shirtfront. "Just a few thousand centuries. Have dinner ready." And then she pulled him into a kiss.
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Children were being born now, more than several. Boys and girls, new Augments…the pride of their generation, what Khan had once nicknamed the 'hope for the future' in those silly, sad days, those days of hope and promise that were nothing but a dream, before he woke up and realized he was ruling in Hell.
And what were these little ones being born to? His own son, Joachim…Khan would give him anything, would suffer anything if only to raise his child's prospects for a future worth living. But there was nothing to give. No inheritance but Ceti Alpha…the dusty, wailing world of the dead. Someday, when his son was old enough…he too would hear the ghosts.
Khan's stomach clenched on itself with more pain than nausea as he railed at his own helplessness, his inability to at least save the children, to shoot them back into the stars where they could try again, try to find the happiness and supremacy he had failed to give their parents.
Failure. That horrible, revolting word that could never be said…must never be admitted. To fail was to be as weak as the humans that had once served him. To fail was to fall forever, to betray himself and all the gifts the Eugenics program had given him. What good were his strength, intellect, charisma…if he couldn't defeat the obstacles placed before him? He was supposed to be perfect…and perfection could not fail.
And here he was, Khan Noonien Singh, the greatest, the most perfect of the Augments …drowning in his own failure. Saturated in it. Everyday was a failure, and everyone knew it. They whispered behind his back. Khan did not fear their whispers; he deserved their scorn. He brought them here. He trusted Kirk. He chose to go down to the planet instead of facing a fair fight and execution in the Federation. He gambled with the lives of his people…and lost.
He trudged on through the desert, his heavy boots scuffing against scattered sheets of metal that were being used to build a water purifier. They were scarred and stained by the elements, rusty and weak, but there was nothing else. The cargo bays that were in the best condition had to be saved. Those that were falling apart were used for scrap.
He shifted the beam he was carrying, ignoring the slight ache as the heavy pole rolled across his hard, brown shoulder. It was less than a fly bite to him…he had felt much worse in the last few months alone. Casting careful glances to the side to make sure he didn't hit anything, he propped it against a wall.
Christopher came towards him with a measuring stick in his hands. They did not speak; Joachim was the only man Khan had ever felt like talking to during work periods. Now, it was easier to throw himself into the toil of the day, to concentrate on that and forget there were living beings around him, forget that there were potential ghosts floating through the camp.
He turned and moved off in the direction of one of the cargo bays that had a collapsing wall…he would see if he could force it up and reattach it himself. If he couldn't, then the job could wait until some of the other Augments were free from the more necessary tasks. They could always double bunk or head back to the caves.
Before he got there, however, he saw a familiar red head struggling, leaning against the cargo bay for support as she tottered under the weight of a huge bundle of twisted pipes, a handful of the iron skeleton torn from the Botany Bay to support the water purifier. Every piece taken away felt like breaking an extension of a ladder to safety…a ladder that, Khan often fought to remind himself, would never work.
He narrowed his brown eyes at Marla, frowning at her trembling legs and shaky hands as she wiped the dust from her face. Her sand mask had fallen off and was in the sand at her feet, but she was obviously afraid of being crushed by the weight of her burden if she dared to bend over and retrieve it.
Khan strode forward, weariness almost forgotten as it withdrew into his extremities and murmured quietly there. He had other things to think about, such as his strange little wife who insisted on taking heavier burdens than her weakness could bear, again.
She saw him coming; a rebellious light flashed in her blue eyes. They had had this argument several times before, and it always ended the same way.
Khan reached for her bundle wordlessly, tugging it away from her. Stubbornly, she tightened her grip and pulled back for a few short minutes, until her already exhausted strength folded up and collapsed. Even at the best of times, she would never win a tug of war with Khan. He hefted it up on his back and stood for a minute, repositioning it.
Then, together, they started walking. "You were taking this where?" Khan asked.
She gazed straight ahead at the sand horizon. "Helena's scraping pit…" she pointed where a woman was standing in a knee-deep ditch, sleeves rolled up all the way to expose brawny muscle as she used a small laser to slice off rusty sections of metal.
"You realize this is too heavy for you?" He asked again, somehow feeling as if he had already lost the argument. This woman's tongue was so stubborn! Sometimes he wondered if he gave her too many liberties.
"I was doing fine until you showed up," she replied, her tone as inviting as acid.
"You are not fit for heavy loads, Marla. You are a mere human and a woman at that."
She rolled her eyes. His jaw stiffened. By the gods, he was just trying to help her! What, was she trying to prove herself? Or just infuriate him? He did not like ordering her around, but he would if he had to. "I do not want you carrying anything heavier than yourself, woman."
"I don't want you to call me woman. Stop that, and I'll stop."
He was tired. He was depressed. And now he was angry. His eyes flashed fire. He almost forgot the load he was carrying when he wheeled on her. "You do not make bargains with me! You are my wife and you will do as I say!"
"Why?!" She snarled back, hands clenched. She was shaking badly, but there was no fear in her eyes. They were glowing almost, utterly free from the chains of human terror, on fire with her own determination to attempt anything, no matter what. It was beautiful.
So beautiful, in fact, that Khan almost lost the argument. He paused, watching as the glow of combat crept into her face and set her eyes sparkling with rage. Even her red hair seemed to rise up on her head and flow in the wind. Marla was on fire. It was as if he had taken a phoenix from the cold, freezing spaceship, where everything was ordered and safe and predictable…and here, on this planet of animal rage and suffering and death…she had burst into flames.
"Why should I do as you say?! I came with you because I wanted to…and I'll only do what you say if I want to!" Marla repeated, her voice reverberating off all the metal sheets around them, creating a miniature echo of her cries.
Khan blinked, his own anger rising again. "You did indeed. You wanted to be my wife, and now you are. Now you shall obey me!"
Marla gave a small, hysterical laugh. Her white teeth flashed in a dazzling grin. "This is going to be such a short marriage!" she turned around and stomped off. Then, as if forgetting something, she faced him again and shook a finger at him, red strands of hair whipping around her head, her face a strange mixture of rage and tears, vexed to the core of her being. "If I'm lucky!"
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Marla shuffled further back on the metal crate, easing the pressure off her tailbone as she flipped the rags over, snipping loose threads from that side and pulling out the small pebbles and sticks that somehow always managed to get embedded in their clothes. No material was safe from it.
The doorway to the cargo bay was open, letting sunlight spill in thickly, sprinkled with golden dust motes that whirled inside. It was useless trying to keep sand out of anything. So useless that Marla simply decided not to care, choosing rather to keep the door open on this sunny, pleasant day when the wind was quiet and the temperature wasn't burning hot…as the atmosphere died, such days were getting fewer and farther between. Marla would enjoy them while they lasted.
There were two large crates to her right, stacked in a column. Three on the left, and the one in the middle, which she sat upon. No one who came in could have seen her without looking straight at her. She felt safe between those two walls, like a bird in a nest, her ever-watchful eye constantly glancing at her little boy, Joachim.
Joachim's bare legs were chubby, but not nearly as fat as she remembered other toddlers' being. He was strong and healthy, but he didn't get nearly as much rich food as he needed to pamper his growing body. She worried about him. Little nagging fears that kept her awake at night, silly nightmares. What if he was always hungry, but didn't cry because his father was teaching him to be strong? Just a baby, not even three years old…but Marla often wondered whether Khan had forgotten that Joachim wasn't a product of the Eugenics program.
He was born to a human mother and (perhaps human) father…he was part of a family, entitled to all the love and nutriment they could give him. There were no scientists to impress, no tests to pass…no strange, self-worshipping ideals being taught. Here, even when death threatened at every turn, he was simply a little boy growing up. And he needed protection, education, and most of all…love.
Even if Khan didn't give him that, Marla was determined that she would. Because Joachi, (wa-kee) as she called him outside of Khan's hearing…was her baby, first and foremost.
She smiled, not even noticing as a stray shard of glass stuck in the fabric sliced through her finger. Sucking the blood absentmindedly, she watched as Joachim tottered over to the beam of light and sat down heavily. With a smile, he banged a metal spoon on the floor, gurgling happily as the sound vibrated slightly through the durasteel floor. The surface was hot, and his face suddenly crumpled up in pain as his legs began to feel it. Still clutching the spoon, he shifted onto all fours and quickly began to crawl out of the light pouring in from the door.
Suddenly, a large shadow dwarfed him. Marla looked towards the door at the same time as Joachim did and she saw Khan standing there. His sand mask was hanging by a strap from his wrist, and his face was forbidding, a dark gloom clouding it. He was exhausted. She could see it by the lines in his face, the unnaturally stiff way in which he carried himself.
Probably digging out another cave in…that usually took the starch out of most of the Augments, especially after going at it for several hours. Khan had been gone since early that morning.
Something in her stomach clenched, seeing her boy so tiny and frail, so small that Khan could easily step on him and kill him if he was so inclined. Indeed, who knew? Khan was sometimes…unpredictable, yelling at her one moment, kissing her the next. She was not his toy. And neither was Joachim. She should pick him up out of harm's way.
But she had barely moved her hands to do so when Khan startled her; as he gazed down at his son, he smiled. Marla felt ashamed at her paranoid thoughts. The creases in Khan's face became laughter lines around his eyes as he unwrapped his mask and tossed it carelessly aside with a clatter.
Crouching down, he picked Joachim up under the arms and swooped him into the air so quickly that the boy could only give a squeal of surprise and drop his spoon before he was suspended between heaven and earth, his feet kicking aimlessly. However, as he recognized who had uprooted him, he managed a breathless greeting, "Fada!"
Khan grinned, a playful, almost mischievous look that Marla could not remember seeing before. "Indeed, it is I, my son. You may touch the roof, if you wish," he said, as he stretched his arms still higher.
Dwarfed by his father's large hands in a seemingly perilous position but feeling absolutely safe, Joachim reached up eagerly and grabbed at the metal rafters, patting them solemnly, running his fingers along nuts and bolts with the rough yet effective curiosity of a toddler.
Khan waited until he was done; then, in a fluid, effortless motion, he tucked Joachim under one arm and bent down to pick up the spoon with the other. Still holding both, he went towards the bed and dropped him there.
Bouncing up and down a little from the fall, Joachim struggled to sit up again, flashing his father an exuberant baby smile that still lacked a few teeth. "Fada pick'm Wa-kee up an' up?"
"It was high, was it not?" Khan began stripping off the heavy coat that acted as protection against the ever-invasive sands and winds. Layer after layer came off, shedding curtains of sand on the floor. Without warning, Khan began tossing them carelessly on top of Joachim, who resurfaced every time, laughing. And every time Joachim laughed, Khan would grin.
When he finished, Joachim struggled to a stand and then plopped himself onto the pile on the bed, like a baby bird in a nest. Brushing his blonde hair out of his face, he began to speak excitedly to Khan, mixing baby words with the half-formed English he already knew.
Sitting down heavily beside the pile, Khan shushed him. "Slower, slower Joachim. Where is your mother?"
For a split second, Marla's heart flew to her throat in the fear that Joachim would point in her direction. Instead, he seemed not to understand. He reached forward, his eyes wide and questioning as he pressed a small, starfish hand against Khan's cheek. "Face."
Khan's smile became more solemn and proud, the look of a teacher. He nodded, "mmhhmm, face. And these?" He pointed at his brown eyes.
Joachim leaned forward and poked his finger into them. Luckily, he was clumsy and slow enough that Khan could see it coming. He closed his eyelids and let the boy's fingers rest heavily there, slightly uncomfortable. "Eye!" Joachim exclaimed. Without waiting for confirmation, he grabbed at Khan's long nose. "Nowse."
Khan smiled, but he kept his eyes closed, as if he was trying to enjoy this moment as much as he could. "Mmmhmmm."
Joachim grabbed at his father's lips, pulling them awkwardly out of position. Marla stifled a giggle. "Mout!" Joachim declared.
"Thaf is cowheffct," Khan spoke on purpose, allowing Joachim's fingers to mangle his words.
Joachim broke into a loud squeal of triumphant laughter. Then he threw himself back onto the rag pile, sliding until he almost hit his head on the wall. With a shout of alarm, Khan quickly caught him and dragged him back across the bed, depositing him on the pillow. Then, slowly, he bent down and nuzzled…actually nuzzled…Joachim's forehead and stomach.
Marla barely believed it.
Joachim suddenly burrowed under the pillow, his short attention span lost. Khan patted the boy's back thoughtfully, completely unaware of his dumbstruck wife hidden behind him. Then he stood up, fetched a book from the cabinet, and strode outside. He too, it seemed, intended to take advantage of the beautiful day before it was lost to them. He wasn't even going to stop for water.
Marla sighed, stretching out her legs. She must go and see to that, just to ensure that her husband would not be suffering any needless thirst. She was also disappointed that the show had ended. To see Khan so close to Joachim touched and warmed her heart. He must only do it when she was not there, which would explain why Joachim wasn't absolutely terrified of his seemingly stern, distant father.
But it also hurt, horribly, because she wondered why Khan couldn't show love to Joachim when others were around…and why he couldn't show love to her at all.
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"Push!" Khan barked sharply, listening with one ear to the painful creaking of metal as it trembled beneath his touch, pulled to the breaking point and even farther than was safe as they tried to make the opening large enough to stick another blade in. The pump engine was proving to be the most difficult item. But Khan wanted to be able to take water up from underneath the sand. He didn't want to tax the stores in the cave, the water that had pooled there over the course of many centuries and was being used up in a matter of decades.
They had one of their own, a professionally built water recycling system from the Enterprise…but it had been destroyed by the sand. It gave less and less water everyday, water that was cloudy and brown and almost undrinkable.
"Push!" He ordered again, calling on the strength of his fellow Augments, the strength that never failed him. Bodies tensed, muscles bunching as they threw themselves forward, panting evenly, utterly silent, like the quiet before a lightning bolt punches the earth.
There were two men in the cistern beside Khan, their fingers white as they pressed against the razor-sharp edge of the propeller, their only protection being thick leather pads tied onto their palms. Behind them, one more was bending over the hole, holding an entire detached blade in his hands as he tried to connect it to the crude, homemade gears within the cylinder.
Then, a sharp, high-pitched squeal vibrated out of the cylinder. A shuddering from the engine.
Too far. Khan's mind screamed, too far!
With a mind-grating snap, the blade broke off short.
"DUCK!" Khan roared. The men beside him obeyed instantly, almost before he finished the word. They released the piece they were holding and dropped on all fours, below the reach of the blades. Khan could not duck; there was no room. He slammed his back against the wall even as a huge roar shook the entire cylinder. Clouds of dust poured in as leftover water splashed wickedly at his ankles.
And the blades spun to life with a simultaneous, deafening hum…and a human scream. It wasn't a scream of pain; it was a scream of terror. The third Augment, the one right next to the cylinder, was already crouched to reach the engine, where the ground was a foot higher than everywhere else. There was no room to duck. The blade came, and with a wet, cracking sound as blade whistled against bone, the head fell to the ground in a spray of blood.
Khan's hands dug convulsively into the wall as the blade swung round again and sliced towards him. "TURN IT OFF!" He roared, the word breaking off into a scream of surprised agony as it sliced through his abdomen, slitting open skin and breaking rib bones. He slumped downwards in too much pain to care that, in his position, the blade would slice his throat open when it came again.
Heat and light flared brightly against his closed eyelid. He couldn't hear the laser blast over the engine humming, but he knew it had taken out the main power coupling when the rumbling stopped and the earth stood still.
Hands grabbing at the wall, he slid to a sitting position, throwing his head back against the rocks with an audible crack. Raw voice was bubbling up in his throat, begging to be released, just begging him to scream away all the agony. The pain…not in front of them…hold it…
A hand grabbed his shoulder. He threw it off, latched onto the wall again and heaved as if his arms were separate entities, unaffected by the bleeding, draining, burning in his stomach…it was so hard to breathe. He forced his eyes open, feeling his fingers go cold. He stared without focus at the head where it lay before his feet, face downwards. Blood pooled on his boots. "I will return…see to him." He said. Or he hoped he said that, clearly and without any loss of control.
He grabbed the edge of the pit to pull himself out, but that was where he lost it. Black spots swum before his eyes as the burning pain flared up through his body, along with the swelling ache as his blood dripped out on the sand. Oh gods…hurts like the poisoned fangs of Balksah…
He staggered, face pressing into the cold, sandy stones, scraping his skin. Fresh blood trickled from his cheek onto his lips.
More hands grabbed him and hauled him up. He could not fight them this time. They hauled him forward, leaving his feet on the ground so he could try and walk, something he was grateful for. He heard voices again, low, grudging mutters, a high-pitched voice rising in concern, soft hands wiping the sweat and grime and blood away from his face…Khan recognized the voice. It made him feel safe, because no matter how much he argued with it, no matter how much he angered it, it would never stab him in the back.
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There was no soft, gradual transition from warm slumber to wakefulness for Khan. His eyes snapped open, pupils shrinking even as the brown orbs flitted rapidly from side to side, searching for potential threat.
Even as his mind pulled out of the web of shadows that had held him for what seemed like years, he instantly recalled what had happened, with every gory, colorful detail. His hand grabbed at his stomach, ripping aside sheets as he felt experimentally for the wound. His fingers brushed a thick, upraised ridge where the slice had been. It was hard and dry.
He quickly pulled himself to a sitting position, ignoring the throbs of pain that rushed up his torso. He paused to breathe methodically, in and out, in and out, fighting off the brief wave of nausea.
"You're alright," Marla said suddenly, from somewhere by his side.
He glanced at her, strands of black hair falling over his face as he blinked, disorientated. "How long was I asleep?"
She raised her finely penciled eyebrows at his urgent question. "A week or so…but is that really important? Wouldn't you rather know how you're alive?"
He sighed wearily, settling his back against the warm, metal walls of the cargo bay. "I am an Augment. That is why. But you may tell me the details if you wish."
Marla's mouth worked, but she kept talking. "Part of your intestine was hanging out. I shoved it back in and stitched you up. Got your blood all over my best working outfit. Scared Joachim out of his wits. Vomited twice as I was stitching you. Don't worry, I aimed well and hit the floor instead of the gaping hole in your belly. You were hit by a monstrous infection that kept you in a coma, and for twelve days I didn't know whether you'd survive or not, didn't know whether I cared or not either. Also kept nosy, less than hospitable Augments from breaking in here. Details complete."
He stared at her for a moment, silent. For once, he did not know quite what to say. He was hardly surprised at waking up alive…what really surprised him was that all this had happened and she had never asked for help from the others. Crippled by sickness, burdened with Joachim, she had done it all alone.
Why? Was it her love for him? Was it really that strong?
Human beings, he knew, were capable of love…but even he had to admit he had never given her a reason to love him. Augments were all passion and desire, admiring physical beauties above spiritual ones. Human 'love' transcended this, loving another more than oneself. Khan had never experienced it. He had never understood it. To him, love should at least be a give and take…give some love, get some love. But even by those standards, his marriage with Marla had begun to falter. He didn't want it to falter…he wanted to keep Marla with him. Sometimes, he even wanted to love her as she expected. But he knew that, above all, he wanted Marla with him.
The clear, high wail of a child broke through his thoughts. The cargo bay door swung open ever so slowly as Joachim, now four years old, pushed through it. A child of only four years should not have been able to use the doors…but he was an Augment boy. The fond smile that usually graced Khan's features when his son appeared, however, was exchanged for a frown.
Joachim's hand was bleeding, and he was rushing to Marla for comfort. But that was not why Khan was frowning.
He frowned because Joachim was crying.
Marla caught her darling instantly, smoothing back his wild blonde hair and cooing at him, already wiping the wound with a fabric she snatched off the bed.
Khan's voice interrupted the scene, cold and harsh. "Do not."
Joachim knew his father's tone and instantly, almost violently, sniffed up the tears. He quickly wiped his face with his bloody sleeve, leaving red streaks across it. Marla's face crumpled up with pity. Khan's didn't change. He gestured with his hand, "Come here."
Joachim came, standing straight before Khan like a little soldier. His eyes were like Marla's; almond shaped, blue and expressive. His lips were well shaped like hers. His skin was not quite as pale as his mother's, but his hair was golden blonde, like Marla's grandmother. He was, in all respects, his mother's child. But Khan didn't care. This was his son, and as such, was entitled to all Khan could give him.
Including discipline.
"Your hand is cut, is it?" He asked softly, his voice low and dangerous like the tiger's, lurking in the shadows behind a man, glowing eyes centered on his unprotected back. Joachim swallowed and nodded, hiding the guilty, shameful hand behind him.
Khan reached for the bed sheets and pulled them away from his stomach once more, exposing the long, red ridge that ran diagonally across his torso. Joachim's eyes widened.
Khan watched his face carefully, judging the strength of the reaction. "Do you see me crying?"
Joachim blinked, his eyes flying to his father's. "No. I sorry, fatha."
Marla stood up, eyes on fire, mouth clenched tightly. "What…" she hissed, "do you mean by that?!"
Khan answered without looking away from Joachim; he wished Marla would not choose now of all times to have a discussion about strength and weaknesses. "Joachim must be strong if he is to survive here."
"How is coming to me, his mother, for help, a weakness?!"
Joachim was startled by his mother's tone…mother never yelled. His little hands grabbed the bed sheets tightly, but he made no other reaction. His father had taught him well.
Khan finally met Marla's gaze. "Crying is a weakness. It is one of the greatest weaknesses there is. By crying, you show a lack of control, a sensitivity of heart that can not bear true suffering."
Marla blinked, her face looking almost stupefied, "Are you talking about compassion? Are you seriously saying compassion is a weakness?! Compassion makes you strong enough to help others."
Khan fought to control his rising temper. "Compassion does not fill bellies, or heal wounds…or ward off the burning sky."
Marla threw up her hands angrily. "It will bring hope, and faith!"…she paused a moment, as if uncertain whether she should continue. Her blue eyes bent searchingly upon Khan as she spoke again, "Joachim believed in that."
The response was instantaneous. The black-gloved hand clenched violently onto the metal frame lining the bed. It squeaked in agony as sparks flamed in the brown eyes. "Joachim…" Khan stressed, his syllables trembling from the furious force that pushed them out, "…is dead."
"He died with hope, and faith, and…love. That is our strength." Marla replied, no longer on fire. She looked more like a soldier digging down for a long night in the trenches. Because she knew her words would be like mortar, setting off a storm of destruction she could not attack, only shield from.
"And THIS!" Khan roared, causing Joachim to drop down on all fours and scoot under the bed, "is MINE!" His arm bunched up as, with terrifying strength, he snapped a metal pole off the cot. Catching it in both hands in one violent motion, he snapped it in two and threw it towards Marla's feet. "CAN YOU NOT UNDERSTAND THAT?!"
It clattered against the floor loudly, rattling, barely missing her toes as it bounced on behind her.
Marla flinched, but her body never moved. She stood for one moment, staring at her angry husband, just staring to prove she was not afraid or even impressed. Then, she left. Without slamming the door, without a final word.
Khan lay back in the bed, stiff, hard, angry. He counted his breaths, in, out, in, out, feeling his body cool and relax. Images of Marla's defiant face, echoes of her painful words, kept inflaming his temper. It was ridiculous that she, so weak, so fragile…could make him so angry! It took many minutes. But gradually, he calmed down again.
Then, with his heightened senses fueled by adrenaline, he heard the quiet breathing under his bed. Joachim.
In a singular instance, Khan the Conqueror groaned aloud in frustration, hand running over his face and through his black hair, which was getting far too long. Then, quietly, he pulled himself up to a sitting position. "Joachim. Come out."
There was a second of frozen silence. Then a shuffling, scratching sound as the little boy crawled out and once more stood before his father. He showed no fear, except for a certain wariness in his eyes as he glanced around the room; it was a look he seemed to share with his mother. Unafraid, but eternally vigilant. Were they so surrounded by threat, even within the safety of their home?
"Did you know, Joachim, that all men have demons to fight?"
Joachim cocked his head, already curious. "Like da ones in da stories from Indya? Da ones you tell me abowt?"
Khan's mouth curled up slightly on one side in a smile. "From India, you mean. But no, a different kind of demon. A vice. A weakness. I have a weakness."
At this sacrilege, Joachim's eyes widened even farther than Khan had thought possible. "You have a weakness? Dat's impotibal!"
At this corruption of a word the boy had no doubt heard fairly often from his father's lips, Khan grinned. "It is not impossible. Come, up child." He tapped the bed. Without further instruction, Joachim clambered up beside him, carefully avoiding the torso as he curled up beside his father.
Khan was not one for verbal affection. He rarely said anything affectionate to Joachim, but the boy knew that, while tenderness did not come often, when it did come, it came freely. He waited expectantly for his father to say more.
"I have a temper, Joachim. A terrible temper that has ridden upon my shoulders for many, many long years. I have fought it, but never hard enough, and it often bests me. When you lose your temper, it is then that mistakes are made and friendships…" he paused, thinking of Marla, "are broken."
"Which is why," he continued, "Your mother and I argued. It is why I would apologize to you if you were disturbed."
"I wasn't afwaid!" Joachim supplied quickly, pushing himself up on his hands for a minute to meet his father's gaze earnestly.
Khan smiled, his eyes twinkling with a paternal look that, while he rarely wore it, suited him well. "I know. Promise me, Joachim, that you will never surrender to your temper."
"I pwomise, father. I'll be stwong and always loyal to you and Motha."
The last words were unexpected. In a world where everyone, even his own wife, seemed to be turning against him, they touched Khan deeply. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he reached out and gently placed one large hand on his son's tiny head.
Joachim stiffened, but only out of surprise. He quickly relaxed, barely daring to breath lest the moment end. He pushed his face against his father's chest, separated only by thin sheets as he moved with the rise and fall of Khan's breathing.
In this way, they fell asleep together.