It was ironic that the science fiction writers of the last century had gotten it right. It had always struck Lucy as idiotic that everyone in the future always seemed to wear the same thing; she hadn’t been able to imagine that people of the future would be less imaginative, less interested in fashion than the people of the present.
She scowled down at the black form fitting suit she wore with the symbol of the House of El. Once that symbol had meant something, something more than just the subjugation of the human race. It had been a symbol of hope, the symbol of a bright tomorrow.
Closing her eyes for a moment, she wished Lois was here. Perhaps if she had been, everything might have been different. Lucy couldn’t blame Clark for accepting the rulership after the New Kryptonians had already taken over the planet.
In reality, he’d done as much as he could to make the yoke of rulership as light as possible.
Under his rule famine and poverty were things of the past. THE ecology of the earth was finally being repaired, with the help of New Kryptonian scientific advances. Diseases were being cured at a dizzying rate.
War was a thing of the past.
Yet the takeover had deprived Earth of the one thing it most valued; liberty.
The one world costume was one of the most egregious signs of bondage. Th ruling council had convinced Clark that part of what had made humanity so contentious was that people saw themselves as different from each other.
Burkas, business suits, t-shirts and jeans. Each outfit was a means to express one’s individuality, or worse, one’s allegiance to one group or another.
In a way they’d been right. Stripped of his robes and beard, and forced into the costume of the oppressor, Jew and Arab, Irish Catholic and Protestant, American and Russian had all found a common enemy. They’d become bonded together, transferring their irrational hatred onto the people oppressing them.
The Outfitting Codes were enforced by force, and the sight of black robed enforcers floating in the sky became common as they burned dresses and jeans and left behind cleaned and pressed mass fabricated futuristic outfits.
The fashion police were universally hated.
Around the world people hid clothing in the bottom of wells, buried in backyards, and covered in lead. All were awaiting the day when they could finally throw off the bonds of the oppressor. Despite all the good that had been done, humanity wasn’t ready to live in a gilded cage.
Yet the moment the bells of freedom rang, when clothes were pulled from mothballs and pulled out for all to see, Lucy knew that the other things would come with it.
War would start with one man shoving another, and it would spread. Within a year the world would forget everything it knew about unity.
In the end it wouldn’t matter.
Lucy pushed a button and watched as the floor opened underneath her. The one red dress from beneath was as beautiful as it had been the day her sister had worn it. If Lucy couldn’t remind Clark of the truth, it wouldn’t matter.
**************
In a sea of black clad forms, the one dash of red was glaringly obvious. The old woman walking down the street was amused as the crowd parted before her, with fearful glances at the sky.
She was heading for the Imperial Palace, built out of the ruins of the Daily Planet building and the buildings beside it.
When the flying figures appeared, but did not immediately pull her away, people began to follow her, cautiously at first, but then with greater enthusiasm.
At the gates, the two New Kryptonian guardsmen stood aside for her, but did not let the crowd through.
She was ushered into the throne room.
Clark still looked as young as he ever had, and there was a pained look on his face.
“Do you have to do this every year?” His voice was weary.
It was the anniversary of Lois’s death.
“I do what I must,” Lucy said. “And I will continue as long as I can.”
Sighing, Clark said, “You know why we can’t change things.”
“I know why you don’t want to.”
He didn’t bother to point out the wonderful things he’d done for the world; the children they’d saved, the famine they’d averted. It was an old argument, and although he wasn’t physically old, Lucy could tell he was tired.
“Your fashion police won’t be around forever,” she said.
“They only have to be around long enough for people to forget,” he said.
She didn’t bother to tell him that people never would. They’d pass the stories down to their children and their childrens children, and even the Kryptonians wouldn’t live forever.
One day, Earth would be free.
