Star Trek: The Botanist

The year is 1996.  In Los Angeles a tech mogul named Henry Starling is unveiling his latest miracle.  Halfway around the world, a man named Khan observes the ceremony.  He's disgusted, of course.  Khan is the epitome of genetic perfection, the culmination of eugenics theories that began at the turn of the century.  To him, Starling represents the decadence of a country steeped in materialism, an artificial world in which the human will someday be eclipsed.  Khan is a superman.  Both are products of the Age of Science, but at diametrically opposed ends. 

Khan is watching because he has eyes and ears everywhere.  He rules a radical network with agents throughout the Middle East.  He was created by Russians too caught up in the Cold War to comprehend the secrets they'd stolen from Nazis, whom they had fought so bitterly against.  Sent into India at the dawn of the schism, where no one thought to look for him, Khan found himself alone, but not for long.  He used his remarkable intellect to create others like him.  That much was easy.  But his life of exile prevented Khan from accessing the fruits of the developed world.  Which made him angry.  Which made him jealous.

And so he watches men like Starling.  Of course he knows of the government contracts that fund the weapons used against him in the incessant wars, wars few observers comprehend for what they are.  That would hardly be a reason to hate Henry Starling.  On the contrary, it's a reason to celebrate him.  It gives Khan the chance to show his strength.  He is not so proud as to deny such arrogance.  He is a superman, after all.  A superman needs a worthy opponent, even if they're merely human.

And have no idea he exists.  That's what Khan likes most about this situation, not just that Starling has no idea he's being watched by his enemy, but that he doesn't know there's anyone who should be watching.  That is arrogance, too, and another reason Khan values his rival even as he hates him. 

He's considering inviting Starling to visit him.  He need never know who Khan is, not really, only that he's meeting someone of importance.  For men like Starling, that's often more than enough.  Khan can pass himself off as common wealth, from some rich family.  No further explanation needed.  He can offer to fund Starling in-person, and savor the moment the fool accepts the offer, ignorant of the ties that already bind them. 

Just maybe, he can indulge himself further.  He can share his secret fascination with Starling.  His obsession with Botany Bay.  The idea of exile has always interested him.  After all, he has lived in exile all his life, and his agents have made exile the standard of their lands, again, the way it once was with nomads.  He is a nomad, too, but exile makes it sound cruel, and he wants to be reminded that the world has wounded him, that it owes him a great debt.  The exiles of Botany Bay were criminals.  Eventually they founded a country.  They were recognized, finally, as something other than exiles.  As masters of their own fate.  Childish, in some ways.  He doesn't care.

He watches Starling indulge himself at the silly ceremony, and he wonders. 

What would he say, I wonder, if he knew where Starling got his tech from?  What would he say, I wonder, if he knew Starling's fate, just a little later?  What would he say, I wonder, if he knew his own fate, his last ignoble exile?  Would he be humbled?  Is that even possible for such a man? 

In this moment, he is lord and master of the whole world, at least in his own mind.  In his own mind, this will always be true.  This is how he was conditioned, you understand.  Does this make him the villain?  In his own mind, he is the hero.  In his own mind, Khan is the botanist.  He is destiny.  He is a vision of the future.  Never mind that his existence was refuted before he was even born. 

Some people will persist in error regardless of how obvious it is.  Such is the genius of Khan.  Such is his perfection.  Such is the fate of arrogance, which if prized above all usually masks a perfect imperfection.  And so he was right all along, after a fashion.  Such is Khan.