From last time:

“I will be right here,” he repeated. He gently touched his sleeping son’s head. With great hesitance, he stepped backward, the reluctance etched into his expression. In the darkness, she could still see the brightness in his eyes that told her that he struggled with their separation just as she did.

“Clark, don’t go. Don’t leave me,” she sobbed, shaking her head. “I’m not ready to let you go.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I know how much it hurts. How it feels like there’s this gaping hole in your chest, and you can’t breathe.”

“And every minute feels worse than the one before it,” she finished.

The corners of his mouth turned up in a slight, pained smile. “Yeah,” he breathed.

“Come home to me,” she murmured.

He winked. “I’m working on it.”

Lois woke with a start, her heart beating a rough tattoo in her chest. She looked down at the sleeping baby in her arms. Leaning back in the rocking chair, she brushed the tears from her face. With a sigh, she rose to her feet and gently placed her son in his crib. Closing her eyes, she tried to hold fast to the swiftly fading memory of the dream, of the sound of his voice, the feel of his arms around her. There was some comfort to be had in the fact that the dreams were still so vivid, she realized. She could still see him in her mind’s eye, she hadn’t forgotten.

She would never forget.

********

New stuff:


Clark paced anxiously in the conference room, empty except for Trey, sitting at the far end of the table. He clasped his hands behind his back, moving uneasily like a caged animal.

“Sir, I think it best you heed your advisors, and let this matter go,” Trey said, his voice calm and steady, though deferential.

Clark pivoted on the heel of his foot, turning to look Trey in the eye. “Do you think this is a waste of time?” he challenged.

“Sir, I understand your concern for Lieutenant Commander Ching, he has served you faithfully and ably, but you must be willing to entertain the possibility…”

“That he’s guilty?” Clark snapped. He’d truly lost his patience with his chief of staff. “I know Ching. I know that he’s innocent, and I will do everything in my power to clear him.”

“But sir, you must consider what will happen if Ching is found guilty. You have already tied yourself so strongly to his fate. Selecting Captain Enza to defend him was probably a step too far.”

“Ching knows Enza, they’ve worked together for a long time and he deserves to have counsel that he trusts,” Clark rebutted.

“But she was your personal counsel, you have divulged just how vested you are in the outcome of this trial and you must be prepared for what happens if it turns out badly. Ching is just one man, sir, and no matter the outcome of the trial, the consequences could be dire. If Ching is convicted, your credibility will be tarnished, if he is not, there will be war.”

“We are already at war,” Clark reminded him. He knew that what Trey was saying made sense, but he didn’t care. “I will not throw Ching to the mob as a sacrifice. I won’t be party to ritual slaughter.”

“There is more to it than that, sir,” Trey interjected, standing up at last. He approached his commander slowly. “The fate of your people, of this entire world, hangs in the balance. Ching is an officer; he knew the risks that came with his position.”

“He knew that he could be killed, cut down by the enemy,” Clark agreed. “But I don’t think he ever imagined it would be his friends plunging the knife into his back. I won’t do it. And how can you be so sure that once the people crying for Ching’s head have tasted blood they won’t want more?”

“Ching would be the first to tell you, sir, that if sacrificing his life could purchase you even the hope of peace, then it would be worth it,” Trey pleaded.

“That’s why I’m not asking Ching for his opinion, and now that I have yours, I think we’re done, Trey. Good night.” With that, Clark turned around abruptly and left the room.

********

With a wave of his hand that had become too familiar, too natural, Clark dismissed their advisors. With a polite smile and a ‘thank you’ he watched them proceed to the exit in a neat, orderly line. Zara stood beside him and together, once the room had emptied, they too left the conference chambers. She looped her arm through his in a way that was also less awkward and unnatural than it had once been. They walked silently through the corridors, flanked by two equally mute guards.

Clark felt the events of the day weighing on him far more heavily than the ponderous mantle or encumbering wrist cuffs he’d been jammed into so many months before. Long days and nights of bickering in the Council, clashes among their advisors, and grim reports from the outer lands left him oblivious to the physical discomforts of Kryptonian life. Tension slowly leeched from his muscles during the long, silent walk back to their chambers. The doors shut behind them, leaving behind the guards. Zara’s arm slipped from his and he shrugged off the heavy cloak draped over his shoulders. Clark rubbed wearily at his temples, moving his fingers in slow circles, trying to coax the dull throbbing pain to dissipate.

“Have you spoken to Captain Enza today?” Zara asked, clearly trying to maintain a certain level of casualness in her tone as she shed her mantle.

“Briefly,” Clark replied. “She still has more than a dozen witnesses to call. Ching will testify last.”

“Did she give any indication as to how she thought the trial was proceeding?”

Clark frowned. He wasn’t certain if Zara’s eyes were simply telegraphing her fear and anxiety, or if he’d simply gotten better at reading her. It wasn’t too hard to imagine it was the latter. Having lived together for very close to a year now, he realized that he knew her quite well. Their relationship was an easy symbiosis – labor divided, burdens shared – a true partnership. “She’s not certain the jurists can be swayed, but the people are starting to doubt, they’re starting to see the holes in the prosecution’s case.”

Her eyes glistened with newly forming tears. Her lips seemed to tremble as she parted them to speak. “And if his fate lies in the hands of people who cannot be moved? If the jurists will not consider the evidence?”

Clark looked down. “I don’t know. I can’t even convince Trey that Ching’s innocent.” Pregnant silence hung between them, heavy and thick.

“I can’t lose him,” she confessed, her voice breaking on the words. She screwed her eyes shut, her breath escaped in a shuddering sob. Clark closed the distance between them in a heartbeat, and enfolded her small frame in his arms, hoping he could lend her a meager scrap of support and strength, because that was all he himself had. She cried awkwardly, her body trembling, her sobs strangled. He was certain it wasn’t something she allowed herself to do often, if at all. She was her people’s pillar of strength, unflinching and resolute, incapable of entertaining a moment of uncertainty or doubt.

It was an unrealistic ideal, inhuman even. Everyone was weak, everyone doubted, even if only in the cold dark of night. But he also knew that when so much was expected of you, when everyone acted as if the world was meant to reside upon your shoulders and yours alone, it was hard not to buy into that myth. You started to believe it, too. Suddenly, just as you couldn’t let other people see the frailty in you, you couldn’t stand to see it in yourself, either. You lost the ability to admit weakness and fallibility, and in that, you lost the right to just be a human being. It was Lois who had kept him from walking too far down that path. She’d seen him at his worst, at his lowest, and loved him just the same. She’d seen him when his world had threatened to collapse on itself. And on more than one occasion, she’d held it up for him, taking up the burden of being the strong one so that he didn’t have to, so that he might have a reprieve from the pressure and the expectations.

He closed his eyes, holding her tightly and stroking her hair absently. “I cannot watch him die,” she managed feebly between sobs, her voice a thin sliver of glass that threatened to break and crumble to dust. Clark wanted to tell her that he wouldn’t let it happen. He wanted to be able to fold his arms across his chest, cocking his head to one side, and with a look of confidence on his face, tell her that he would make sure everything was all right. But he wasn’t Superman anymore.

And he couldn’t bear to lie to her.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, sniffling and scrubbing away tears. She pulled away from him, her eyes turned downward. He could see the blush creeping up her face.

Clark felt a twist of pain pierce his chest. He reached forward and tilted her chin upward. “You shouldn’t be,” he said gently.

Her mouth was drawn in a stubborn frown. “I do not have the luxury of being ruled by my emotions,” she replied.

“No, you don’t,” he agreed. “But that doesn’t mean you pretend they don’t exist. There’s no weakness in having feelings. You can’t let them control you, but you shouldn’t ignore them, either.”

She looked at him with red rimmed eyes still brimming with tears. “How do you do it?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

********

“Are you certain, Sergeant?”

Lok Sim looked up from his seat at the conference table. Captain Enza paced anxiously, waiting for the answer to her question. Lok Sim cleared his throat, which felt suddenly dry. “I am,” he replied, hoping to convey a confidence he did not feel. He knew that the evidence he had found would be unwelcome by the many who expected the trial to swiftly condemn Ching.

Lok Sim had been raised with the same understandings of honor, responsibility, and justice as all children on New Krypton. His duty to his people, to his world, was the first thing he’d been taught, but he had no love for military life. In another life, perhaps he would have been a poet, artist, or musician. New Krypton presently had no use for students of the human condition, though. It needed engineers and soldiers, not philosophers and artists. Silent and strong, a tall, clear-eyed, taciturn man, Lok Sim looked the part of the soldier, but he had never had the disposition for it. He served because it was his duty; he never saw any potential for a career in it. He’d drifted somewhat unexpectedly into his post as a communications engineer, discovering a savant-like capacity for intricate and complex systems. His civilian responsibilities were as mundane as his aspirations had been lofty and idealistic. But in a society with no use for storytellers, he found simple contentment in knowing that his work ensured that people could share their stories, their good news and bad with each other.

War had forced him to put on a uniform, but most of his day to day tasks remained much the same. He had no stomach for violence and the senseless brutality of the war that ravaged his home left him despondent and pessimistic. In the stillness of solitude, he’d clung to the thread of a hope without reason, a deep and fervent wish that the inherent goodness of human beings would one day obliterate the dark and seeping cancer that had infected his world, nurturing the growth of monsters in the grotesque and mocking form of men. He had seen little but the pain people were capable of causing each other, and typical of a soul too sensitive for a harsh world, he’d internalized it.

It had been in a fit of uncharacteristic behavior that he’d attacked Captain Enza. He was a physically large and intimidating man, but his demeanor, the soft tone of his voice, and the pensive, hesitant look often etched in his features revealed the gentleness that a life on New Krypton had failed to scour away. His hands had shaken throughout the incident and it was a wonder that he hadn’t accidentally killed her with the sharp blade grasped by trembling fingers and nervously twitching and jerking muscles.

The event had left him more than just embarrassed at having learned that the Captain was not an enemy, but an ally; he was mortified. It was perhaps with a quiet, unspoken arrogance that he’d believed himself incapable of barbaric violence, of using his size and strength to frighten and bully another person. But he’d done just that, he’d threatened the woman standing but a few feet away from him, held her in a near stranglehold, the blade of a knife pressed against vulnerable flesh. Leaning over her much smaller frame, he’d been able to see the trip hammer beating of her pulse just under the skin of her throat. Her breath had escaped in short, sharp gasps. She’d tried to pry his arm away; grasping frantically for leverage, her fingers digging harmlessly into the muscles of his forearm.

He was now meek and remorseful in her presence, cowed by something ugly within him that he did not want to acknowledge, that stooped his shoulders and bowed his head, casting his eyes guiltily downward. She, on the other hand, had seemingly moved beyond the encounter entirely, having forgiven him by casually brushing aside the incident as though he’d done no worse than bump into her in the hallway. She was constantly cloaked in a professional air—gravitas she wore well—but her polite detachment had a certain warmth to it. She was no older than he was, but she toiled under a responsibility that would have crushed most people. There was nothing disingenuous about her, no hint of treachery or deceit, though both could have been useful tools for a person entrusted with so dangerous and weighty a task.

He admired her, a bit too much, he admitted silently to himself. Lok Sim stood up, trying to draw himself to full height, to straighten his back and square his shoulders, to become someone he wasn’t. He wanted to stride with purpose head high, instead of shuffling quietly, hands in pockets, his focus set on something beyond any distant horizon visible to the human eye.

A lead weight attached itself to his soul, pulling it downward and anchoring him to the floor. He grimaced derisively, it wasn’t he who was on trial, his life hanging precariously on justice’s rigged scales. In a way, though, he was on trial. Lok Sim, quiet and timid, found himself in a crucible, uncertain what would remain when the impurities, the fear and the distrust were burned away. The fall of his foot upon the cold, hard metal of the floor reverberated loudly, seeming to ring and echo in his skull. He looked down, almost shocked; he’d taken the first step forward. There was no turning back.

********

“What’s up?” Her father-in-law’s cheerful tone interrupted her thoughts. She removed the pencil from between her teeth and looked up from the scattered pages of her first chapter. He stood leaning against the door frame to the den, dressed in jeans and a thick flannel shirt.

“What are you doing up this late?” she asked, puzzled. Lois glanced at her watch and realized it was past six in the morning. “Oh geez,” she muttered. “I’ve been at this all night.”

“So I noticed,” he said with a smile. “How’s it going?”

“Eh,” she replied noncommittally. “Could be better.”

“I’ve got to go out and feed the cows, but maybe if you’d like another perspective…”

“Would you mind?” Lois replied, grateful for the offer of another pair of eyes.

“I’d love to,” he said. “I like reading your column so much; I figure it’ll be interesting to see how you work.”

“Thanks so much,” she said, smiling.

“If you want to head up to bed, you can just leave what you’ve got here and I’ll read over it when I get back.”

“Nah, I won’t be able to go to sleep, but Jon’ll be up soon. I’ll put on a pot of coffee and then go look in on him.”

“Then we can talk about it over coffee,” Jonathan concurred.’

“That would be great.”

********

She paced in their shared quarters, physically restless despite a series of long, tiring days. “I have spoken to Shai,” Zara began. “He believes that the threat of war with the Belaar is real, though he is convinced that most of the Council will remain loyal.”

“What about the rumors that Rae Et is behind the secessionist movement?” Clark asked. He leaned forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees. He stared at a spot on the floor a few feet in front of him, his gaze intent as though he expected the carpet to do something interesting.

“He thinks we’d be foolish to discount them, even though there is no hard proof.” She busied herself shuffling papers on a desk, her movements fidgety. “Have you spoken to Trey?”

“Yes,” Clark replied. “He seems to think that defending Ching shouldn’t be a priority.”

Zara sighed. “He’s just trying to do what’s best for New Krypton. You know that he respects Ching,” she said unconvincingly.

“Zara,” he began, looking up at last.

She held a sheaf of papers in her hands, crumpling them inadvertently. “How is he?” she asked, her voice beginning to waver. The papers rustled in trembling hands.

“Why haven’t you gone to see him yet?” Clark asked gently.

He could see her swallow roughly. “He asked me not to.”

“Why?” he asked, standing up.

She put the papers back down on the table’s surface, smoothing out the wrinkles she’d created in them. “He thinks it is not safe,” she replied. “Besides, he does not want me to see him like that, and I must honor his wishes.”

“Whatever he said, you know that he needs you,” Clark said as he walked toward his dear friend.

“Clark, you must understand that we have different ways of expressing that need. I know how Ching feels and I hope that he knows that I will always love him, even if I cannot literally stand beside him.”

“And I also know that you need to be there for him,” Clark replied.

“Circumstances have often prevented me from considering what I need, that is simply the way that life is.” Resignation and sadness shone in her eyes. “Enza shall be here shortly, the most I can do for Ching is to provide any aid I can to his defender.”

Enza’s arrival at the First Ministers’ compound had been long anticipated. While mindful not to distract the young captain from the daunting tasks set out before her, both Clark and Zara were anxious for news from the only person who could stand between Ching and certain death.

With a chime, the door to their quarters slid open. Enza stood across the threshold, her head slightly bowed. Behind her loomed a tall, grim looking sergeant Clark did not recognize. The young man’s eyes were turned downward, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. Enza looked up, at last making eye contact with her commanders. Her bloodshot eyes were haunted by untold sleepless nights, but the determination etched in her expression was unmistakable.

“First Ministers, I bring cause to hope,” she said simply.

********

“Sergeant, are you certain?” Zara asked, a note of hope creeping into her voice. She paced restlessly beside the table around which the others sat.

“Aye, ma’am,” Lok Sim replied quietly. “Since the downing of ships heading toward Terian, the communications command has begun ensuring that all ships’ communications are not only sent to General Command, but to secondary points to be recorded and stored. This information is on a strictly need to know basis. The ships Ching commanded on the mission to rescue you, their positions, their flight plans, they were all recorded at back up installations.”

Clark frowned. “Why weren’t we told this earlier?”

“I have only now just learned this, sir,” the young sergeant responded. “I began to investigate when I discovered that the data recorders of the ships had been erased.”

“The information on those recorders will prove conclusively that Ching’s forces were nowhere near Breksin when the village was attacked. Once they are proved innocent, the opportunity to commit the crime evaporates. Further, their testimony will be far more credible in rehabilitating the Lieutenant Commander.” Enza explained.

“Will it be enough to convince the jurists?”

“I believe that Pelmon has aligned himself against you, ma’am,” Enza confessed. “But it is not to him that I will appeal. I will take the Lieutenant Commander’s case straight to the Chief Jurist.”

“You risk making a powerful enemy in Pelmon,” Zara cautioned.

“If we are cowed by evil simply because it has power, then there is no hope for any of us.”

Zara shook her head. “Would that I could simply remove Pelmon from his position.”

“It is not possible, ma’am, not without splintering the fractured coalition you must continue to lead,” Enza replied.

Clark looked at Enza and Lok Sim, sting across the table from him. “Ching’s fate rests entirely upon the two of you being able to prove what you’ve told us tonight.”

“We are aware of that, sir,” Lok Sim replied. “And I will do everything in my power to accomplish that aim.”

“What about proving the guilt of those who actually attacked Breksin?” Clark asked. “People won’t be satisfied just knowing that Ching didn’t do it, they’ll want those responsible to be brought to justice.”

Enza frowned. “We cannot hope to do that without having a better understanding of what happened at Breksin, sir.”

Zara stopped pacing. “That would require having someone on the ground, deep within the Belaar. Someone we can trust.”

“Talan?” Clark offered.

Zara shook her head. “Talan is likely the greatest officer New Krypton has ever known, but she is too conspicuous.”

Clark nodded in agreement. The commander of the Expeditionary Forces, though she avoided public appearance and all trappings of a high profile could not have blended in anywhere. Standing over six feet tall, she quite literally commanded attention wherever she went. “You’re right.”

“We will consider the matter further,” Zara concluded. “But for now, it is enough that we have a plan. Captain, Sergeant, you have brought us hope, something that is too often in short supply.”

********

“Have you any more witnesses?” Pelmon demanded, the usual dour look on his face.

“No sir, the prosecution rests.” The prosecutor smoothed his robes as he sat down.

“And the defense, counselor, your first witness.”

Enza stood up, the silvery folds of her robe rustling as she did. “The defense calls Sergeant Lok Sim.” Lok Sim was escorted to the stand.

“Sergeant, please state for the record your occupation,” Enza began.

“I…I am a sergeant in the Kryptonian air forces, assigned to the communications division,” he stammered slightly as he spoke.

“Could you describe your responsibilities?”

The tall sergeant squared his broad shoulders nervously, his hands fidgeting in his lap. “I am responsible for monitoring communications with the ships of Air Command.”

“And did you monitor and record the communications with the ships of the Expeditionary Forces on the date in question?”

“I did,” he replied. “But the primary recordings were destroyed.”

“Completely?” she asked.

“Aye, ma’am,” he said with a nod.

“So you cannot testify to the ship’s recordings?”

“Yes ma’am, I can,” he corrected. He saw Enza give him a slight smile and he tried his best not to react. He looked at Lieutenant Commander Ching, sitting beside his counselor, looking gaunt and colorless, the hollows of his cheeks shadowed, his eyes weary.

“This is inadmissible,” the prosecutor declared loudly as he stood. “The sergeant cannot testify to the contents of tapes that have been destroyed.”

Pelmon raised an eyebrow. “Counselor?”

“The defense wishes to introduce physical evidence into the record,” Enza said. She picked up the tapes from her table.

“What are these?” Pelmon asked, gesturing for Enza to approach.

“Back up tapes, sir,” she replied crisply as she handed him the tapes.

“There is no foundation for this evidence,” the prosecutor barked.

Pelmon frowned at Enza, his beady eyes narrowing. “Can you substantiate these?”

Enza turned and walked back to counsel’s table. “That is the reason for the line of questioning, sir.” Lok Sim watched her intently, knowing that a legal battle was unfolding quietly before his eyes. He did not understand the nuances of the struggle, but knew it was essential to enter the tapes into evidence. Enza turned toward him again.

“Sergeant, were the destroyed recordings the only recordings made of the ships’ communications?”

“No ma’am,” he replied.

“But was it not protocol to record Air Command’s communications only within General Command?”

“It was, ma’am, but the protocol was changed. After the sabotage that brought down the ships carrying troops to Terian, Air Command has instituted a policy of making instantaneous backups of all recordings at secured locations.”

Enza frowned slightly. “Who has access to these tapes?”

“Generally, no one,” he said, shaking his head. “They are secured and not reviewed unless they are needed.”

“Did you take possession of the tapes?”

“Aye, ma’am,” he replied. “With an order of the jurists’ review board, I obtained the tapes, and reviewed them. They are recordings of the communications and flight data of all of the ships of the Expeditionary Forces sent to rescue the First Minister’s downed ship.”

He watched as Enza chewed her lip thoughtfully. “Are all of the ships accounted for in these recordings?”

Lok Sim nodded curtly. “Aye, ma’am.”

He felt the flutter of nervousness abate. A thrill rushed through his body, they were going to succeed. They were going to win. “Did any of them stray from their stated flight paths?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Did any of them go anywhere near the village of Breksin?”

“No, ma’am,” he replied with a smile.

He watched as the slightest twitch of a smile played at the corners of her mouth. “Nothing further,” Enza said.