From last time:
He snapped bolt upright in the darkness and realized he’d been having another nightmare. He rubbed his bare wrists. He was still unable to wear the ceremonial wrist cuffs when he slept. Clark tried to shake the dream from his mind, to forget this latest iteration of the horrible scene that played itself out in his head every night.
There was a soft knock at his door. “Clark, are you all right?” came Zara’s concerned voice.
“I’m fine,” he replied curtly. He got up, limping slightly as he made his way to the washroom. He splashed cold water on his face and stared at his reflection. He hadn’t slept well in weeks and it showed. The dark circles looked as though they’d been permanently etched under his bloodshot eyes. He’d regained a good bit of the weight he’d lost, but he still looked gaunt and anxious – his cheeks drawn in a little too tightly, his skin pinched and sallow in color. Clark shook his head. He could stare at his reflection forever and never see in it the man he’d once been.
*******
New Stuff:
“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” Lois announced from the entryway of Jimmy’s apartment as he darted in and out of rooms, gathering lenses and film and whatever else he kept in his camera bag.
He bounded back into the hallway, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “I want to go,” he said firmly.
“All right, just stick close by and don’t wander off.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied.
“Jimmy, I’m serious. It’s extremely dangerous over there and the rebels have declared open season on journalists. They already hate me.”
Jimmy smiled but said nothing, to his credit. “Ready?” she asked. At his nod, she picked him up and darted out the window with him. Twenty minutes later, they were flying over the jungles and grasslands of Kinwara, on their way to the capital. Jimmy began taking pictures during their descent. By the time they were on terra firma again, he’d used up a roll of film.
In an alley, Lois changed out of the suit and rejoined her eager young colleague, who seemed overwhelmed by their surroundings. He turned from side to side, as though he was trying to figure out what to photograph first – the military checkpoint, the buildings pockmarked by bullet holes, the abandoned, burned out cars, or the looted homes. A jeep full of government soldiers drove by, ignoring them totally. Jimmy snapped a quick series of photos of them.
Lois was a bit less in awe of the scene before them. From Brazzaville to Sarajevo, bombed out capitals looked like bombed out capitals. They looked like death and fear and ruined dreams of a more prosperous future. They looked like the complete absence of hope.
“Where are we going first?” Jimmy asked.
“To meet with President Lancine,” she replied.
Lois watched his eyebrows disappear into his hairline. “Seriously?” he asked. She merely nodded and pointed at the once grand presidential compound at the end of the boulevard.
********
“Thank you for coming, Ms. Lane,” President Lancine said as he shook her hand. “And you must be Mr. Olsen.” Jimmy shook the older man’s hand eagerly. President Lancine gave them a tight lipped smile as he gestured to the old, slightly shabby couches in his office.
Jimmy lifted his camera, silently asking permission to take pictures. The president merely nodded. President Lancine sat down on one of the couches, folding his hands in his lap. He regarded Lois with a gentle, almost paternal expression. His shoulders were slightly stooped and his eyes were full of sadness.
Lois sat down across from the President and turned on her tape recorder. “Thank you for agreeing to talk with us,” she began as she took out a notepad and pen.
“I want the world to know what is happening here, and I trust you to tell our story truthfully.” He began to explain the complicated political situation that had spiraled out of control, dragging the country into an ever expanding conflagration.
“I cannot keep my country or my people safe, anymore,” he said with a sad shake of his head. “I have been pleading with my wife and my children and grandchildren to leave the country. What kind of president am I? What kind of father am I if I cannot even keep my home safe for my family?”
“President Lancine, what do you expect the international community to do in order to help stop this problem?”
“My country is poor and the army is small. We don’t have the resources to keep the militias or the guns out of the country, and the UN forces have not been able to do it either. We need help. I don’t want to run a police state, Ms. Lane, but with only enemies on my borders, I can’t keep my country safe, or keep the rebels out. We need help. We need an arms embargo and a stronger peacekeeping force. I want to provide protection to the aid workers, and I cannot.” He held his arms outstretched and his palms turned upward, as though beseeching anyone able to help.
Lois finished scribbling down her notes as the interview wrapped up. Jimmy took a few more pictures before they thanked the president for his time and departed.
“Wow,” Jimmy muttered as they left the presidential compound. “That was amazing, Lois. Thanks for letting me come along.”
She smiled at her young colleague’s eagerness. She hesitated for a moment, feeling a twinge of sadness and regret. Lois knew that his excitement would be dampened by what they would see on the rest of their trip and she wondered at the wisdom of doing something that would likely drag down his spirits. “Well, the real work starts now,” she replied. “I want you to come with me to a refugee camp.”
Jimmy nodded enthusiastically as he slung his camera bag over his shoulder. Retreating into another alley, Lois changed again into the suit. She looked at her passenger as she picked him up, marveling at how young Jimmy seemed. At his age, she’d been certain that she’d seen just about everything and that there was nothing in the world that could have fazed her. She knew he probably harbored the same unintentional hubris. Perhaps she’d be able to acclimate him gently to the realities of the conflict.
The sounds of cries for help made it clear that that was not to be. “Jimmy, hold on,” she said sternly as she changed direction. She really just wanted to give him a warning so he wouldn’t be startled by her abrupt turn, but she felt him tighten his grip significantly. She wanted to leave him somewhere safe, but in Kinwara, there was hardly any such thing. Between their destination and their current location, there was nothing but jungle, and there was no way to protect Jimmy there. “There’s trouble, when we get there, stay away from the shooting and just wait for me to get you.”
She put him down on the ground a fair distance from the zone of danger. An aid convoy had apparently arrived at a village at exactly the wrong time – during a rebel raid. She frantically pulled out her headset and contacted General Rapin, alerting him to the raid. An instant later, she was racing toward trouble.
********
Jimmy watched in stunned silence for a long moment. In the confusion, he could hear screams for help and the sounds of gunfire. Men were yelling things at each other in a language he couldn’t understand. Minutes passed in which he just watched dumbly from a distance. Finally, he reached for his camera bag and his telephoto lens. He began taking pictures of everything. He hadn’t been the photographer who developed the pictures Lois took on her previous trips. The photos she’d taken had never been of the rebels in action; obviously because she had been too busy stopping the bad guys to capture the events on film. Her photos of the aftermath had been good, but she wasn’t a photographer, and she had a lot more on her mind than lining up shots.
His hands shook and it took all of his effort just to steady them. The images he focused on through the sight terrified and disgusted him, but he knew that he had to take the photos. In that instant, he realized the world had to know what was happening here and he was going to do his part to make that happen. Methodically, he shot picture after picture, quickly focusing and refocusing, stopping only to change film rolls. He started to move forward, trying to get a better vantage point than his position outside the village allowed.
Lois was often moving too quickly for him to photograph her. She was merely a blur in soft pastels, but he took photos of the men she’d disarmed and the fleeing victims. He took pictures of those who couldn’t flee, even though it made him sick to do so. The remaining rebels began to run away and the beleaguered aid workers, just recently under siege, turned their attention to the many wounded. He loaded another roll of film.
Emboldened, he jogged toward the heart of the village. He took more pictures as he approached, finishing off the fifth roll of film. He was fumbling with his camera bag when man with a Red Cross armband, carrying an injured boy yelled over to him. “Friend, give us a hand!”
Jimmy nodded and put away his camera equipment before running over. He looked around quickly for Lois, but didn’t see her. Assuming that she was chasing the bad guys or helping other victims, he ran to join the rescue workers.
********
Lois glanced around anxiously, trying to assess the situation through the chaos. The remaining rebels had melted away again and there were many people who still needed help. A loud cry for help shattered the air, cutting through the din and confusion and she took off in a burst of speed.
Outside the village, one of the rebels remained, looming ominously over a figure cowering on the ground. The rebel began to tear at the woman’s clothes, pinning her to the ground with a knife to her throat. The man laughed, taking unknown amounts of sheer pleasure from the terror of his victim. Anger, white hot, burned through Lois. Without conscious thought, she seized him, pulling him back viciously and hoisting him easily into the air, her hand around his neck. Her eyes narrowed as she glared at him, struggling pathetically in her grasp.
She recognized him. His name was Johnny Moremba, but everyone called him Sergeant Johnny. He was one of the most feared of the rebel thugs, known for his particular brutality and penchant for sadism.
Her body seized up with tension, her blood thundering in her ears. The whole world seemed to go quiet first, and then disappear entirely, reduced to nothing other than herself and the man dangling from her grasp like a bug. He clawed ineffectually at her hand, trying to pry her fingers away from his neck.
“Do you enjoy terrorizing women?” she demanded. He trembled and began sputtering lame apologies and begging for his life. In the dizzied haze in her mind, she recognized how easily she could kill the man. There were dozens of ways she could end his terrible existence. A simple flick of his wrist would do it. Given the way he was coughing and sputtering, she might not have needed to do any more than she was doing now in order to kill him. And didn’t he deserve it? She grew even angrier and her fingers began to tremble.
She looked at the sheer terror in his eyes and suddenly released her grip, letting him fall to the ground. Lois stepped back, horrified at what she’d almost done, at what she’d considered, at what she was becoming. Moremba rubbed at his neck, curled up on the ground. Lois quickly X-rayed him. He wasn’t injured; no broken bones, no crushed windpipe. Several feet away, his victim looked up at her silently with eyes wide.
Lois said nothing. What comfort could she provide to the woman? She’d just contemplated killing a man. She’d almost crossed a line she was not prepared to cross. Lois realized she was shaking. With unsteady hands, she bound Moremba’s hands before picking him up and dropping him among the other prisoners. She sought out a rescue worker to tend to the man’s victim, knowing that she herself was in no condition to be of help.
She could hear the UN forces approaching from miles away. They would be here soon and the aid workers already had the situation under control. If she left, there would be no questions. Everyone would simply assume that she was needed elsewhere.
*******
Lois entered the farmhouse silently through Clark’s window. On every other occasion, she went directly to the nursery to see Jon, but tonight she headed straight for the bathroom. She peeled off the suit, letting it fall to the ground as she turned on the shower. She let the steaming hot water cascade over her for long moments before finally giving in to the tears that had been threatening to overwhelm her ever since she and Jimmy left the village. She sobbed uncontrollably as she sank down into the tub. Burying her head in her hands, she wept.
********
“How are you feeling, young man?” Tao Scion asked as he entered the examining room.
“Better,” Clark replied. Physically, at least, it was true.
Tao Scion mused over the lab reports. “Everything looks fine and your leg is mending well. But it is not only your physical condition that I’m concerned about. I want you to speak with someone.”
Clark frowned darkly. “I’d rather not.”
“Kal El, it is important to your recovery,” the old doctor explained gently as he approached the examining table. “It will help you deal with what you experienced.”
“I don’t see how telling someone else about it will make the nightmares stop,” Clark replied acerbically.
“How often do you have the nightmares?” Tao Scion’s piercing blue eyes seemed to bore right into him, making him squirm involuntarily.
Clark looked away. “Most nights,” he admitted.
“They won’t stop, you know,” Tao Scion warned him. “The nightmares will continue. You will get angry and short tempered for no reason. You won’t feel like yourself and you’ll withdraw from everyone around you.”
Clark sat in silence, unsure what to say. His physician had described everything he’d been thinking and feeling for weeks. All of the things that had been troubling his thoughts, but which he hadn’t wanted to admit, even to himself. “How do I make it stop?” he asked quietly.
“Talk to someone, my friend.”
Clark raked a hand through his hair. It was the answer he was expecting, but he still didn’t want to deal with it. “Maybe,” he said noncommittally.
********
”This is amazing,” Perry murmured. Lois let out a slight sigh of relief. It had been so difficult to write she hadn’t been certain it was coherent. Most of it was strung together with trembling fingers, typing into the wee hours of the night, fueled by pots of burned coffee and total insomnia. “I read it last night and couldn’t sleep afterward,” he continued.
“Welcome to my world,” she replied, sinking deeper into the couch in the editor’s office.
“There’s more, isn’t there? There’s more to the story than you what you’ve written here.” She’d been anticipating the question. Perry had known her too long to not notice when she was holding something back. He stood up and walked out from behind his desk over toward the couch. “Lois, what happened out there?”
“I wanted to kill a man, Chief,” she replied quietly. “He was one of UNPROFIK’s most wanted criminals and I found him attacking a woman. I pulled him off her and grabbed him by the throat and I almost snapped. What am I turning into?” she asked plaintively. “What should I do?”
“War brings out the worst in everything. Believe me, Lois, most people in your position would have done a lot worse.”
“That doesn’t make it okay.”
“Darlin’, you need to take a break, slow down a bit. What you’re seeing out there would snap anyone.”
“I can’t, Perry,” she replied stubbornly.
He placed a gentle hand on hers. “You can’t do everything…”
“But I have to do something!” She stood up and walked away from the couch. Her arms folded across her chest, she stared out at the almost vacant newsroom. “I know that I’m burning myself out and I know that I’m not doing enough, or doing it right, or I don’t know…” she rambled in frustration.
“Lois, go home. Spend some time with your son, and your family,” Perry said gently.
“Don’t you get it?” she asked. “I know how awful it is that I’m never home and I miss him so much, but I have to do this for him.” She wiped savagely at her stinging eyes. “I still believe that Clark is coming home, but every so often, I have to ask myself, what if he doesn’t? What then? Jon will need me to set the example. He’s most likely going to develop these powers and he’s going to need me to show him how to deal with them, how to walk in this world, how to be a good person.”
“That doesn’t mean you need to destroy yourself fighting something this big,” Perry countered. “You may be the strongest person in the world, but even you can’t stop a war.”
She turned around to face her old mentor and friend, a man she regarded like a father. “I know that. But how can I raise him in a world that’s this awful? That allows things like this to happen? How can I teach him that it’s the responsibility of the strong to protect the weak from the wicked, if I don’t?”
“Jon needs a mother, not just a superhero.”
“I’m trying to be both.”
********
Clark pushed open the door and entered the First Ministers’ quarters. The guards saluted him but he didn’t bother to look up. He walked as quickly as he could through the hallways; he no longer need the cane, but he continued to limp. Zara was still in meetings, which suited him just fine. He had no interest in discussing politics or his thoroughly bleak day. His meeting with the empath had been nothing less than a spectacular failure.
Bren Mos had been a soothing, calm figure and it had irritated Clark to no end. When the Kryptonian version of a shrink had tried to encourage him to explore the causes of his dark and troubled moods, Clark snapped back angrily. “What shall we talk about?” he’d demanded. “The beatings? The starvation? The mock executions?” He’d left abruptly, knowing there was no more to be gained from the session. He hadn’t meant to be so rude, but he didn’t need a sympathetic ear, or an opportunity to talk about what had happened to him. Talking about it made the memories more vivid. The images would fill his head, leaving him cold and lost in the dark, incapable of separating reality from memory. He’d already done his time in hell; he had no desire to go back.
He closed the door to his bedroom and sat down on the bed, not bothering to turn the lights on. Pulling the chain out from under his uniform, he clutched the ring tightly in his hand. “I can’t do this anymore,” he murmured softly in the dark. He wanted to go home. The desire to get out of there, to go back home, was all consuming. He couldn’t stand it any longer. The separation from his family, the danger, the fear, the knowledge that he didn’t have a place here, they all tore at him. He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the beginnings of a headache forming behind his eyes. He sunk down on the bed, as though he was being pushed down, buckling under an immense load. Closing his eyes, he lay perfectly still, aware only of the terrible pain in his chest, clawing at him, never giving him a moment’s peace to forget about how beaten and broken he was. Under his breath, he repeated the same mantra he had in captivity, with every bit as much desperation.
“I am Clark Kent. I have a mother and a father and a wife who love me dearly. I will not die because they need me.”
********
Lois stood up as the large, dark wood doors opened by the distinguished looking white haired gentleman in a three piece suit. “Welcome, Ultrawoman,” Sir Walter Hugh, the British ambassador to the UN, said warmly as he ushered her into the large library in the British permanent mission. Already in the room were the French, American, Russian, and Chinese ambassadors and their aides. She knew that if she was going to get the UN to do anything, she’d have to win over all five of the diplomats present. Any one of them would be able to torpedo her attempts.
“Thank you,” she replied. She took a seat in a large, wingbacked leather chair.
“Ultrawoman, we all respect what you are trying to do,” Shannon Murray, the American ambassador began pleasantly. The elder stateswoman gave her a distant and detached smile. “But the situation is not as simple as it may seem.”
Lois frowned. “I say this with all due respect,” she started cautiously. “But this isn’t a great moral dilemma. There are foreign militias in Kinwara, killing innocent civilians. There aren’t two sides to this story. If we can’t react strongly when the issue is so cut and dry, how do you plan to resolve the really difficult problems?”
The Chinese ambassador, Lin Wei, set down his cup of tea and saucer. He folded his hands in his lap, his expression stern. “We disagree with your assessment, Ultrawoman. The People’s Republic considers this a struggle of national determination. To intervene would be an act of oppression and would smack of colonialism,” he said through his interpreter.
The tall, well dressed ambassador of Russia leaned forward and began to speak. He scratched at his beard as he tried to explain. The statuesque blonde woman beside him translated as he spoke. “The peacekeepers are coming dangerously close to exceeding the limitations of their mandate. We enforce these limits to ensure neutrality and the legitimacy of the mission.”
“And if the peacekeepers were enforcing a cease fire, the rules would make perfect sense,” Lois countered. “But we’re talking about innocent civilians being rounded up and raped, tortured, and killed by brutal, foreign militias who are after the country’s diamond mines.”
“France agrees with Ultrawoman,” Dominque de Saint Antoine said in accented English. “We would support a fact finding mission being sent to the region.”
“I appreciate that, but it isn’t enough,” Lois replied.
“And what do you think we ought to do?” Ambassador Hugh asked.
“Increase the food and medical aid for a start.”
“The United States has been most generous,” Dr. Murray replied.
“And it has been appreciated,” Lois said. “But it isn’t enough.”
“The additional costs associated with transporting the aid – planes, pilots,” the American Ambassador began.
“Won’t be a problem. If you make the aid available, I’ll move it myself. You don’t have to worry about cargo planes or fuel costs. Just focus on food and medicine.”
Dr. Murray nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll speak with the President about it,” she said somewhat noncommittally.
“I’d also like you to change the peacekeepers’ mandate,” Lois ventured boldly.
“Absolutely not,” Mr. Lin replied. “It is out of the question.”
“They cannot do their job with this mandate,” Lois replied.
“Ultrawoman, you must understand that our countries will not tolerate the deaths of our peacekeepers, or the embarrassment and anxiety of seeing them taken hostage. After the mission in Somalia, these possibilities are unacceptable,” Dr. Karamov explained.
“General Rapin has asked you to untie his hands,” Lois replied.
“General Rapin works for the Council, not the other way around,” Ambassador Lin replied testily. “We must respect the sovereignty of all member states. That means not using the peacekeepers as your own personal army.”
“I take exception to your suggestion that I’m doing this for personal reasons,” Lois said slowly, using diplomat-speak when she really wanted to yell at the impertinent man giving her a steely gaze. “My only interest is in protecting the people of Kinwara.”
“At what expense? You are meddling in the affairs of states. You are not a sovereign nation, Ultrawoman, you cannot do as you please.”
“And President Sangara can?” She heard her voice grow louder and begin to waver slightly with anger. She tried to bring her tone under control. Now wasn’t the time to be emotional. Lois took a deep breath. “He can order the butchering of children, the selling of little boys into mercenary squadrons and little girls into slavery?”
“You are putting in jeopardy your status as a friend of the Chinese people, and as someone who is welcome in our great country,” Ambassador Lin replied coldly.
“So next time the Yangtze River floods, do you want me to just stand by and do nothing?” Lois called his bluff.
“Ultrawoman, Ambassador Lin, please, we are all attempting to solve the same problem here. Let us not say things we will regret and do not mean,” the French ambassador interjected.
“You have nothing but our admiration for your courageous work,” Ambassador Hugh said as he turned to Lois. “You must understand, though, there are proper channels we must work through. Britain will pledge greater food aid and will support France’s proposal for a fact finding mission, but for now, that is all. I can offer you no more.”
Lois nodded, her jaw set. “Thank you all for your time,” she said as she stood up and strode out of the room.
********
Tao Scion looked up at the communication monitor and the grim visage of his colleague. “He is not well, is he?” Tao Scion asked, already knowing the answer.
“He is full of anger and fear. I can tell that he has suffered things that would destroy most people. Not only physically, but psychologically. He wasn’t simply beaten; he endured unspeakable mental torture.”
“How can you be so certain?” Tao Scion asked. Bren Mos was an extremely well respected empath, but Tao Scion remained skeptical of how the man could be so certain of something Kal El obviously hadn’t shared.
“Because his pain radiated off him,” the empath replied. “I’ve spent decades learning how to read people’s posture, body language, and reactions. What I do is as scientific as what you do.”
“What happened to him?”
Bren Mos smiled sadly. “I am not a mind reader, I’m afraid. I cannot tell you the specifics. But from the little he told him and from his behavior and mood, Nor took every opportunity to destroy Kal El’s sense of self. To isolate him and make him feel forgotten, weak, and insignificant. That Kal El did not succumb speaks a tremendous amount to his resilience and strength.”
“So he will get better?” Tao Scion asked hopefully.
“It is largely up to him. The same independence and strength that saved him from Nor are likely making it difficult for him to seek help. He is not used to being weak or helpless.”
Tao Scion shook his head. “But he never had a problem talking to others, seeking their advice, or their help.”
“He never had to do so from a position of weakness before. And now, after having spent so long existing at the whim of a madman, the thought of losing control again must be terrifying him,” Bren Mos explained.
“What can we do for him?” The old doctor ran a weary hand through his hair.
“Be supportive and patient, and continue to encourage him to seek help.” It was overly simplified advice from a well meaning friend, and the physician had no idea how to implement it. Saying his goodbyes, he ended the transmission.
Tao Scion sighed heavily as he paced in his quarters. What was it that caused the men of the House of El to be so stubborn? His heart ached when he thought about how Jor El would have felt if he’d known about the unspeakable horrors endured by his only son. The beloved child he’d sacrificed everything for. Tao Scion collapsed in the large chair in the corner of the room, his body and spirit both weary. “Old friend, I do not wish to let you down,” he murmured to a man who’d been dead for decades.
Months before the destruction of Krypton, before Kal El’s birth, he’d found his dear friend in his office, late one night, his posture and expression radiating sheer despondency. He was a disheveled mess, dark circles rimmed his eyes. Tao Scion recalled his concern when his friend failed to notice his presence. He’d had to call his name several times before the other man even looked up from his desk.
Tao Scion had placed a hand on Jor El’s shoulder, and had seen a look of desperation on his friend’s face that he had not seen since his daughter’s death. “Are you all right?” Tao Scion had asked quietly.
“I’m fine,” Jor El replied somewhat irritably before turning away. His tone and mannerism had seemed odd. Like he wasn’t quite himself. Tao Scion had been taken aback by an unfamiliar odor.
“It smells like Lara’s laboratory in here,” he’d mused. “Have you been distilling an alcohol?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jor El had said, slurring his words.
“You’re inebriated,” Tao Scion had countered.
Jor El had scrubbed a hand through his hair. “So what if I am?”
“Come now, you should get to bed. You have to make a presentation to the Council in the morning.” Tao Scion had tried to help Jor El to his feet.
Jor El had stumbled as he rose, pushing Tao Scion away. “Damn the Council! Damn the fates! And damn this forsaken world!” Jor El had shoved a stack of papers off his desk, sending them scattering to the floor.
“Jor El, you need to rest,” Tao Scion had said gently.
“I cannot rest. I have work to do,” his friend had replied stubbornly.
“Drunk?”
Jor El had slumped back into his chair and stared up at the ceiling. “I won’t do it, my friend. I won’t let this wretched beast of a world devour another one of my children.” He had slammed his fist into the surface of his desk. “I defy you, fates. You cannot have my son!”
Tao Scion had seen the tears in his friend’s eyes. The tears of a desperate man, a man who had lost almost everything, who had clawed and scraped and fought his way back to life after the death of his beloved daughter, only to see the world literally crumble around him. Jor El had defied the fates, and he’d saved his son. And now Tao Scion was failing that son and betraying the legacy of his greatest friend.
********
