New Krypton
The day had been long and tedious for Ching. He first attended meetings with the Council and then planning strategy sessions with Zara and Kal-El. Now Ching’s back twinged from standing and he felt the urgent need to loosen rigid muscles. He decided to meet with Dar-Ur at the Sapphire Guards training facilities for a fencing match.
Entering the sword training room, Ching looked around at the vast, noisy space filled with Guardians who were learning the ancient art of swordplay and sharpening their skills. The men also trained in modern ordnance as could be seen by the small laser devices at their waists. Although tiny, the gun could slice through a solid wall in seconds. Within these walls, the Sapphire Guardians proved that they truly understood the meaning of discipline and physical prowess.
Ching watched as the bouts took place. Opponents wearing lightweight articulated armor stood on brightly colored, well-worn strips on the floor. Some men fought with flashing, aggressive movements, while others used economy of motion to find their mark.
The clash of swords, the sight of former comrades, and the smells of sweat and healing ointments filled the air reminding Ching of an earlier, simpler time.
Memories hurtled him backwards in time to his first days at the facility. It had taken him a few months to get comfortable on the sword training strip, two years to feel confident in competition and another three to become an elite member of the Sapphire Guard. It was a worthwhile institution to devote his life to and one, despite his love for Zara and growing respect for Kal-El, which he deeply missed.
Several off-duty members of the Guard were watching the bouts as well, many of whom greeted him cordially. But then he saw a familiar face and a rare smile came to his lips.
A tall man, perhaps in his seventh decade, with sandy hair and a trimmed mustache approached him. Master Tre-Vil, direct descendant of Ret-Vil, the founder of the Sapphire Guard and something of a father figure to Ching, bowed in greeting The two men began discussing the many changes and events in the Guard that had occurred during Ching’s mission to Terra.
“It does my heart good to see so many recruits have joined the Guard. As such, we could certainly use your talents in their training. Is it possible you could squeeze in some time for a few practice sessions with the more promising candidates?”
“Speaking of recruits who show great promise, there is Mar-Ur’s son. I specifically came to have a match with him.”
Tre-Vil nodded respectfully, and said, “The young man shows much competence, not just as a fighter pilot, but also with a sword. In time and with considerable practice, he will one day be someone to give me a proper match when you are not around.”
“Impressive,” Ching said with another rare smile.
Rubbing his chin, Tre-Vil said, “He has even asked me if I could arrange a private match between himself and Lady Polara Lo.”
Ching’s eyes grew wide. “He is ambitious!”
The object of their conversation, Dar-Ur, a serious youth with a shock of black hair and skin tanned from hours spent outdoors, hurried over to them, holding a set of swords, points down in his gloved hands. “Ching! I have my blade!” He offered the second weapon to Ching. “This one, it has been waiting for you!”
Ching nodded and took the sword, which looked like a Terran epee. He tested the weight of the weapon, flicking it back and forth through the air. Speaking to the sword, he said, “Come old friend. Time to have some amusement while training this youngster!”
Dar-Ur gave him a crooked smile. “Between flight patrol assignments I have been practicing. Let us see if I cannot teach you a thing or two!”
Tre-Vil’s sharp gray eyes twinkled as he remembered another eager young man ready to show him the results of long hours of practice. He decided to remain and watch the bout. He was about to say as much when a loud, mocking voice aimed at Ching filled the air.
“The student becomes the master. Ha! Mayhap Commander Ching Hia can instruct us in Terran swordplay! As if that backwater world knows anything about combat with a civilized weapon!”
A tall, muscular man with strikingly handsome features of wavy blonde hair and blue eyes approached the trio. “Let me observe this bout and see what instruction can be gleaned from it.”
Ching ignored the barbed words of the interloper. He knew Arc-Tal from his early days at the academy. The man was a bully. He took pleasure in terrorizing newcomer Guards of a lesser
background. He and Ching had crossed swords once on the training strip, and after beating him soundly, the bully was cautious around him. Yet it did not stop him from making the occasional barbed comment.
Five years after becoming Guardians, they had both been selected in the final round of those competing for the position of personal bodyguard to Lady Zara. Ching was chosen and Arc-Tal’s resentment deepened, turning him into an implacable enemy.
Placing a fencing mask over his face, Ching said, “Come Dar-Ur! Let us begin before someone takes our place on the strip.
The two men took to the floor. After the first three minute period, it was obvious that Dar-Ur showed remarkable talent and energy, but that he still had much to learn about dueling. Ching had gotten five touches to Dar’s three. Each touch was worth one point. Typically each bout ran the length of nine minutes, divided into three periods of three minutes permitting a one-minute break in between. The winner of a session occurred with the first one to achieve fifteen touches.
The final score at the end of the bout was Ching: Fifteen and Dar-Ur: Twelve.
Afterward, they stood on the sidelines, drinking water as their bodies glistened with perspiration from the strenuous match and dissecting how Dar-Ur could improve his wrist action and stance.
Suddenly, they heard the sound of clapping and they turned to see Arc-Tal approach with five other men, all of them applauding. With a mocking tone, Arc-Tal said, “Ching! Your skill has improved. Perhaps you care to cross swords with someone who offers a greater challenge?” Arc-Tal was careful not to offend the younger man since he was the House Speaker’s son.
“No. My intention was to have a match with Dar-Ur. That task is complete. Now I must leave.” Ching began to remove his armor.
“Surely the bodyguard of Lady Zara and sword instructor to the new First Lord can spare the time for a mere nine-minute session with an old comrade?” The mocking tone in Arc-Tal’s voice could not be missed.
Ching sighed. As expected, the intimidation was starting with an old wound; the prestigious position of being Zara’s bodyguard. Throwing in the bit regarding Kal-El only added spice to a wound best left unopened. Everyone knew Lady Lo was teaching her grandson and that he was learning at fantastic speed. It was late, and Ching was tired of Arc-Tal’s insults. It was time for him to return home for a bath, meal, and then sleep on the thick cushions of his bed.
Quietly, Ching responded coldly. “I am sorry to disappoint. But as mentioned earlier, my objective is served. Good night.”
Arc-Tal turned to his companions. His cutting voice could be heard over the sounds of swordplay, “Why should we be surprised my fellows? Ching’s cushy new lifestyle has ruined him for the Sapphire Guardians! He was able to best young Dar-Ur, who although skilled, is still learning, but how shall he fare against one who has experienced combat with our enemies?”
As this exchange took place, men stopped their conversations and one by one fencing matches ceased until an unaccustomed quiet settled over the large training area.
Before Ching could respond, Master Tre-Vil’s gruff voice cut through the room. “Enough. Both of you have participated in strenuous bouts. Neither are fresh. Another time, another match.” He said decisively.
Arc-Tal’s voice dropped, his tone dark, ignoring sword master’s words. “In battle, the warrior’s vitality does not matter, only skill and the will to live. We fight until first blood is drawn. What say you …Commander?”
Surreptitiously, Ching observed acquaintances and foes eagerly waiting for his response. There was more to this demand to duel than merely Arc-Tal satisfying the fool’s ego. It was known that Ching stood firmly with the House of El. Did his former comrades in the Guard assume he could do nothing without the approval of Lady Lo, Kal-El or Zara? Was this why the men in the training room were watching them so carefully? It seemed that once again he would have to fight to prove his place among them.
“Very well Arc-Tal,” He said evenly.
With an expression that was more sneer than smile, Arc-Tal bowed.
Tre-Vil scowled, “This is not necessary!”
Ching looked at his mentor while taking the offered sword from an angry Dar-Ur.
“No, but it must be done. Please, will you function as Referee?”
“Of course.” The older man said reluctantly.
The two men approached a red training strip, inspected their weapons, bowed to Tre-Vil in respect to his position as referee, and then bowed to each other.
“Until first blood is drawn,” Master Tre-Vil said stoically. “Begin.”
The first passage of arms told Arc-Tal everything he needed to know. He was careful to go at the first pass with a supple wrist instead of a strong wrist, and that was his saving grace. The force with which Ching blocked his blade snapped his wrist aside. If Arc-Tal had held his wrist stiffly, it would now already be sprained. He was surprised at Ching’s strength and restraint and that his blade wasn’t destroyed on impact. Arc-Tal immediately backed away. As he did Ching followed, but he remained beyond his reach.
Ching, for his part, hated Arc-Tal’s bullying of the younger, less experienced men at the academy. Thus he chose to play the charade out. Perhaps something would happen that would allow him to beat the bully again. He just hoped an opening would present itself.
Arc-Tal had backed halfway across the floor and started to circle to avoid being backed against a wall. That would limit his movements too much, make him too vulnerable. That thought triggered something in his mind, vulnerability … what were Ching’s vulnerabilities? He had been back on New Krypton scarcely more than a few weeks. Surely his body had not completely re-adapted to their gravity. As Arc-Tal circled he looked closely at Ching’s lightweight armor and a glimmer of hope sprang into being. If he was careful and accurate, this encounter could serve to show the Council of Elders and Lords that Ching was the wrong choice to be the Lady Zara’s bodyguard … perhaps leading to greater things for himself.
Ching, on his part, was looking for a way to end the conflict by wounding Arc-Tal without actually doing great harm.
Arc-Tal now had a plan of action, but implementing it was a problem. He continued circling away, looking for an opening. It came unexpectedly. As he had been looking at Ching, examining his armor, Ching had been looking around the training area as if unconcerned at Arc-Tal’s efforts to fight him. He carelessly wiped the sweat from his brow, apparently confident in his ability and his armor, perhaps a tad over-confident.
Seeing that his adversary was distracted, Arc-Tal took two quick steps back, increasing the distance between them.
Ching, seeing his move, and now having a plan himself, needed to move closer in order to put his plan into effect. He sprung towards his opponent, but someone stuck a foot out, tripping him like a first timer. Ching dropped to the floor, dazed.
“Le-Roj! Make another move like that again and you shall be dueling with me.” Tre-Vil roared at one of Arc-Tal’s comrades. He folded his arms and stood by grimily watching to make certain no other cheating interrupted the bout.
The young man named Le-Roj, paled, visibly gulped, and nodded in fear at the rebuke. Tre-Vil was known to have a vicious, efficient fighting style that became increasingly brutal once he was angered.
“Get up, Ching! Surely, the cheaters cannot beat you!” Dar-Ur shouted.
Ching heard the derisive laughter of Arc-Tal’s companions behind him. Though he had been stunned by the impact, even dazed, the sound made him angry. But now was not the time to give into emotion. He had to remain clear-headed and in complete control. His plan and the bout’s outcome depended upon it.
Arc-Tal saw Ching set up to spring at him and prepared to parry any thrust he might make and was taken by surprise when Ching’s spring turned into a leap. Arc-Tal was taken aback by the strength exhibited. Apparently Ching was stronger than he had anticipated.
Seeing Ching take to the air, Arc-Tal ducked and spun so that he would be facing his opponent when he landed. Again the Guardian was amazed at the attempt of the leap. But he was happily surprised when one of his acquaintances tripped him and Ching tumbled like a clumsily amateur. Ching lay sprawled on the floor, shaking his head as if to clear it and slowly trying to get to his feet while Arc-Tal’s companions looked on, taunting him over the others in the room who made comments of encouragement.
Before Ching could rise though, Arc-Tal saw an opening — literally — and sprang into action. He decided it was time to end this duel and took advantage of the only vulnerabilities Ching had. The literal gaps in his armor, his only weakness, was the articulation seams at the joints. Therefore when he sprang forward, Arc-Tal aimed the point of his sword at the gap behind Ching’s left knee.
His blade struck home and Ching screamed in agony as his sword pierced his thigh. Seeing Arc-Tal’s blade coming toward him in a wide arc, he yanked his sword free and sprang back, pleased with himself. He had struck home and scored first blood.
Ching felt the searing pain in his left thigh and lashed out, swinging wildly just to force him back. The pain had cleared the fuzziness that falling had created. Stiffly, he climbed back to his feet, but when he did his left leg was almost useless.
“First blood has been drawn. The match belongs to Arc-Tal!” Tre-Vil cried out. “Put up your weapons!”
Arc-Tal acted as though he didn’t hear Tre-Vil. He wanted to humiliate Ching thoroughly. He smiled when he saw that his opponent would be stiff-legged as a result of his strike. Ching might have the strength, possibly the skill, but Arc-Tal was determined to make him suffer.
He continued to follow his strategy of backing away and circling. Now he circled to Ching’s injured left side, trying to take advantage of that additional weakness.
Ching stood still as well as he could with an injured knee. He was utterly shocked that Arc-Tal was ignoring Tre-Vil’s command. It looked like he must defend himself.
Just as Arc-Tal’s sword was about to strike, a flash of gleaming flat metal cut across its path, shattering the slender blade and knocking the hilt free from Arc-Tal’s hand. One splinter cut across the side of his right cheek. Leaving the belligerent Guardian bleeding and in shock. A familiar voice demanded, “Guardian Arc-Tal! Stop!”
Kal-El’s sharp voice bounced off the walls of the training area, his tone so rich and authoritative that froze the combatants in place. Swiftly, he sheathed the sword and said, “Ching, what is the meaning of this?”
Polara’s outworlder grandson – the First Lord - had hurried into the room and taken matters into his own hands. All in the training area had stopped. Arc-Tal was breathing heavily, the blood pounded in his ears. He glared threateningly at first Ching, and then at Kal-El. Arc-Tal stepped towards them as blood spilled from his cheek. But was halted by the figure of a coldly controlled Tre-Vil standing before him. “Stand down,” the older man said with a voice of ice and iron. They glared at each other for seconds before Arc-Tal halfheartedly backed away.
Across the room in the doorway stood Polara, the Sword of Lo clutched tightly in her hand. When Dar-Ur raced to tell the leaders of the House of El what was happening, she and Kal-El had raced from their private training session to watch Ching and if necessary, come to his aid. But as they witnessed the deadly slash and attack of Arc-Tal’s swordplay, Polara wanted to end the bout, yet decided to allow Kal-El to take charge as was his right.
“We … we were … merely sparing my lord,” Ching said between breaths.
Kal-El cocked an eyebrow and said, “Sparing? Your leg is covered in blood!”
Master Tre-Vil turned and faced Kal-El, bowed and spoke, “The match itself was fairly fought my lord. Both participants agreed to fight until Guardian Arc-Tal drew the first blood. Unfortunately, he then failed to retreat. Disciplinary action will be taken against him immediately.”
Arc-Tal, holding a bloody cheek, was about to speak when Kal-El said, “Not a word, Guardian. Be grateful I am not the one deciding on the form of discipline.” He turned to Tre-Vil and said, “Pardon my intrusion. All that takes place here is under your purview, please continue.” With a bow Kal-El turned. He looked at Ching and said in a gentle voice, “Please come with us and we will have a healer see to that … scratch.”
Ching’s face slipped into an expressionless mask and with the greatest of dignity, removed his gloves, handed the sword to Dar-Ur and, in stoic silence, followed Kal-El and a approving Lady Polara from the training area.
***
Later that evening, Kal-El visited Ching in his chambers. It saddened him to see this proud warrior’s left leg wrapped in bandages. The bandages changed colors as they gradually healed the blade’s entry wound, but the color was still dark to indicate the recent injury.
“Are you well Ching?”
The reply came through clenched teeth, “Thank you for the concern, my lord, but I did not ask nor require assistance. Now members of the Sapphire Guard, some of whom are good friends, shall think I can no longer fight my own battles.”
Momentarily stunned by Ching’s angry response, Kal-El took a mental step backward. What he said was true. Ching had worked up the ranks of Krypton’s elite fighting unit and became the bodyguard of royalty. Such a journey was a source of pride in itself. His interference might have diminished Ching in their eyes. He pondered how to fix it?
As if reading his mind, Ching said, “I don’t need you to correct the situation for me. Just release me from my current duties and reassign me to the Sapphire Guard.”
A tense silence hung over the room as Kal-El considered Ching’s words.
“It’s that important to you?” he finally asked.
He sighed and said, “The Hia family, of which I am the oldest son, are extremely skilled workers on the Zorn Collective. My mother is a weaver; her looms have produced some of the most prized fabrics in Munde Province. My father’s bridge designs have allowed structures to be built over raging rivers for safe transport. My brother Henil has bio-engineered a material to imitate leather, making it indistinguishable from the original. This will allow us to end slaughtering helpless animals for their hides. My family’s talents and devices have been praised by the Council of Lords and Elders. Yet despite all their accomplishments, and my personal loyalty to the house of El, the nobility considers me of lesser birth.”
Kal-El was surprised to hear such private information about Ching’s life before coming to Kandor. Again, he was reminded that he was still a stranger to this brave man who guarded Zara. Kal-El considered all that he had done to keep her safe, including going to an alien world to fetch her bond mate, even though he was in love with her himself.
Ching managed all of this with great dignity, while concealing the pain of watching that same woman being treated as a prize by Nor and others. Commander Ching, as well as the rest of the Hia family, did indeed deserve to be treated with respect by all the nobility.
In many ways, New Krypton reminded him of Regency England’s ruling class with its propensity of a few hundred families to look down upon the rest of the country’s population. The Regency’s tonne especially hated tradesmen, perhaps because they secretly understood that someday they would be the true voices of the nation and the nobility with its antiquated ways would be left behind.
“I understand, Ching. But think you’ve met my Terran parents. They are also farmers, each very skillful. Do you consider them persons of ‘lesser birth’?
Ching reflected upon the evening when he, Zara and Trey had dinner with the Kents in their modest home. The couple was gracious to all of them, even though their only child was about to leave them for an unknown period of time.
“No. They are not. Your …parents did not embarrass us with overt displays of emotion. I sensed no artifice in their behavior. Such people should be treated with respect.”
“Ching, even though we have grown up on different worlds, we may have more in common than you believe.”
Again, there was silence. The expressions running across Ching’s face showed he was thinking it through. With a sigh had concluded the First Lord was correct.
“True. Your adoptive parents’ kindness and courage are traits that those of the nobility such as Arc-Tal would benefit from emulating. The results are evident … in their son.”
“Thank you.” Kal-El said quietly. “Still, if returning to the Sapphire Guard is what you want, it will be as you say, starting tomorrow.”
Ching brows puckered, as if in deep thought. “Over the past few weeks, my observations during your sessions with the Council of Lords and Elders have been instructive. When you were first aboard the BlackWind, it seemed as if there was little promise in the son of Jor-El, but I have since learned otherwise. By being the adopted son of farmers, and by learning what it is to be of the House of El, you have successfully brought the two halves of your life together to serve my… our people. To convince Mar-Ur, the Council’s Speaker, of your determination to help was no mean feat. Still there are other things …”
“Such as interfering with a fencing match between two long-standing rivals.” Kal-El said flatly.
Ching, stunned said, “How did you..?”
The First Lord shrugged, “My grandmother has her ear in many interesting places. She was aware that Arc-Tal desperately wanted to be Zara’s bodyguard, simply for the prominence it would have given him. You got in the way of his advancement. Apparently, the man, although an excellent swordsman, has been a thorn in Tre-Vil’s side for years.”
Ching shook his head in amazement, “And now the fool has given him the perfect excuse to rid the barracks of his influence.”
“’Fool’ seems the appropriate word to describe someone who thought he could be promoted to be Zara’s guard by wounding you in the leg.”
“But he did accomplish one thing. Even under rejuvenation, my recovery will take a prolonged period. Arc-Tal has effectively ended my time … of guarding Zara rather abruptly.” At this last, Ching winced in pain, thought Kal-El suspected it wasn’t all physical.
Kal-El refrained from commenting, to Ching that pain was a part of carrying out his duties. Due to the recovery time of his injury, there was one more pressing subject which had to be broached.
“Your re-assignment comes at a good time,” Kal-El said. “Zara and I discussed her rejoining the Squadron. Guarding her there may prove to be difficult, especially since you are not a pilot.”
“If she wishes it, so shall it be. After all, it is part of your ‘adjustment period’.” He said this while staring at the bracelet Zara had presented to Kal-El.
Side stepping that comment, Kal-El said, “Dar-El is a pilot in her squadron. He could keep an eye on Lady Zara. Master Tre-Vil says although young and inexperienced, he is an excellent swordsman.
Ching quirked an eyebrow, “Young? Yes. Inexperienced? Definitely. Nonetheless, I trust him to watch over her. This will be an adjustment period for me as well.” This last sentence was muttered under his breath.
“Why? Because you are returning to the guard?”
Ching drew in a shuddering breath. “Because someday, should we survive this benighted ‘Splinter War’ you will return to Terra and Lois. The honor of … protecting Lady Zara will go to another. The Council will find someone from a noble house for her to wed, and I will watch from a distance as she rules with an unworthy stranger by her side.”
Kal-El touched the ring around his neck, stood up and said firmly, “You love her, don’t deny it. Lois told me how Zara feels about you. The only reason she remains silent is because if Nor wins, your life would be in danger.”
Ching laughed bitterly, “As if I care about that!”
The First Lord’s voice became gentle, and he said, “Listen, it’s okay. We will win and I promise to find a way to bring you two together.”
There was a brief silence and then Ching looked at Kal-El for the first time as more than just an outworlder, but perhaps as a friend. “Break with tradition? Impossible.”
Kal-El gave the Guardian a fierce smile. “My friend, we have only begun to break traditions and do the impossible! Rest now.”
With those words, Kal-El exited the room and walked toward his own chambers. It had been a long day, and his muscles ached from the punishing workout Polara had put him through. But for now, he looked forward to an excellent dinner cooked by Dever’s wife, Miranel, and time to himself.
*****
Some hours later, in the First Lord’s residence, Kal-El awoke from a restless, haunted sleep. He knew when he laid down that he had much racing his mind. As he slept, he had twisted and tossed in the sleep silks, drenching them with sweat, finally crying out frantically, “Lois, be careful!”
At the sound of Kal-El’s distress, Dever, came bursting into the bed chamber. “My Lord, are you well?” he asked, while attempting to straighten a heavy green robe around his slight frame.
Clumsily, Kal-El had managed to disentangle himself from the large bed’s damp sleeping silks and threw his own dark purple robe over his strong muscular figure, which was covered in fine sheen of sweat. His long black hair was a mess and stuck close to the clammy skin on his face and neck.
Strong fingers trembled ever so slightly as they moved through the tangle of damp hair and he said wearily, “No. Things are most definitely not all right, my friend. Matters of state … and other things weigh on my mind.” His hand reached for Lois’ wedding ring and touched it with tender care.
The servant nodded and asked anxiously, “Whom shall I summon? Ah … perhaps Lady Zara? Commander Ching could be made available.”
A deep sigh escaped Kal-El’s lips. “No. Ching is recuperating from his injury and is in desperate need of rest. Lady Zara and her flight crew departed this evening on patrol near the city of Orlo in the Qar Province. The last thing she needs to hear is that her bondmate is suffering from nightmares. If word of that got out, the people in general and the Council, in particular, might not be happy to hear that the Terran First Lord was vulnerable to such things. I’m sorry to have disturbed you. I should grab some water and then get back to sleep.”
“Please, my lord, allow me.” Dever tightened his robe, bowed, and turned to perform his duty, he hesitated, turned back, and said. “Kal-El?”
It was highly unusual for the tradition bound Dever to break protocol by not using his title. He looked into the old man’s soft gray eyes and said, “Yes?”
“Many of the eldest nobility might not have the best opinion of you. That is most regrettably their loss. But I can say with confidence that the people of New Krypton in general hold you in high esteem. Leaving your home and all you love to fight for an unknown people takes courage and humility. Such is the mark of true aristocracy. We … we appreciate such a sacrifice.” With those words the older man departed swiftly to procure a chilled carafe of water.
Dever’s words gave him hope and encouragement, more so than any speech heard in the Council chambers. It meant that the work he was doing, from taking part in military patrols to supervising food and shelter distribution for those displaced by Nor’s rebel forces was benefiting the people of New Krypton. He was helping to ease the suffering of those stuck in the middle of this conflict.
Still, no matter how long he resided on this planet, having a personal servant and living in luxurious surroundings were things he could not adjust to. At his time of life, Dever should be retired, he and his wife Miranel living with their children and grandchildren on their modest holding in the Qar province. Definitely not fetching water in the middle of the night for a man half his age.
Yet those few words uttered by the kind-hearted, old servant, made a tremendous difference. He in his own way was here to help his former master’s son, in both the traditional way and in his own way. Kal-El had to respect that.
He decided to wait for Dever in his study. Getting up, he took a quick shower and dressed. Since sleep was going to be elusive, he might as well go over some of the reports his adjutant had provided earlier that day.
Minutes later Dever had returned carrying a gleaming crystal carafe of chilled water flavored with redfruit and some tasty round cakes that his wife, Miranel had baked the previous day.
Once the table beside the desk was set, Dever said, “Please, my lord, eat a little something.”
With a twinkle in his eye, Kal-El said, “All right, but only if you’ll share this light midnight snack with me.”
Dever became flustered in a manner completely unlike his usually unflappable self and said, “Midnight snack? Pardon sir… but … but that is most irregular!”
The younger man gave Dever a tiny smile and said. “Where I come from, sharing food, especially something as delicious as these cakes, is a sign of friendship. Are we not friends? After all, you did call me Kal-El.”
Dever sighed, “True.”
Gesturing towards the chair across the desk, Kal-El said, “Then please, have a seat and make yourself comfortable.”
The older man took the carafe and poured the water, the ice cracked as the chilled redfruit tumbled into the goblets making a tinkling sound. Dever than poured a glass for himself and sat, a little uncomfortable with this arrangement.
While Dever served himself, Kal-El took the goblet and drank deeply, the liquid refreshing his parched throat. Before he could set the glass down Der-Ver spoke, “My L … uh Kal-El, is Commander Ching badly injured?”
Kal-El’s eyebrow went up in silent inquiry. The news of the swordfight certainly made the rounds swiftly among the servants. “His thigh muscles were seriously injured during the bout, currently he is in a rejuvenation chamber.”
Shaking his head in sadness, Dever said, “Nothing good seems to come out of the Dakor Province.”
“What makes you say that?”
“It is the location of the Nor and Tal Collective. Young Arc-Tal’s family has been close to Nor’s for generations. On Old Krypton, if one started an argument with someone from either family, both of them went after you.”
Kal-El sighed, “We have that problem on Terra as well. The Ur family is also close to Nor’s family?”
“Not as much as in the past. Oh, he and Nor sided on a few Council matters, but the Council Speaker has his own mind. He publicly stated that if the long lost son of Jor-El and Lara Lo came to New Krypton he would swing all of his support to the House of El.”
Impressed, Kal-El asked, “Why would he do that after my arrival? My grandmother and the Convoca could have used his support before then.”
“A servant and does not have access to all the machinations of the nobility. Perhaps Mar-Ur understood, Nor long-range policies will not help our provinces to thrive and thought it was best to renew his alliance to your family.”
“So the Convoca speaker likes playing against the middle. That’s something I have to remember for the future.”
“My l …Kal-El the future is at stake. More so than the Splinter War and Old World traditions vs. the new ways.”
“The future….?” Clark asked.
“Kryptonians have lived here for over seventy Terran years. Unfortunately, we only live on one of the four continents. This planet is land rich but oddly mineral poor in comparison to our old world.”
“I’ve heard this before.”
“In time our population will increase. Most of the metal used to build our crystal cities have come from the ships that brought us here. According to my oldest son that metal will someday soon be gone. What happens than? It is a fact that Nor and many others tend to ignore.”
Kal-El sighed, “This is something which needs to be discussed with my councilors.”
Understanding that the matter was not going to be talked about further, the two men drank quietly. Kal-El suspected there was much more to Dever than met the eye and this conversation supported those suspicions. He decided to ask a few questions.
“With all that has occurred since I arrived, we have never had a chance to learn more about your life. How long did you serve my family on Krypton?”
Dever brightened. “Since I was a young man! Your great-grandfather, Yon-El, was the head of house at that time. He was a skillful chief engineer who created the Twelve Crystal bridges that connected the original city of Kandor to the mainland. Oh, what a beautiful construct that was! Originally my main task was to carry plastex plans from his drafting boards to the assistant engineers on the different projects. Yon-El hated sending such carefully crafted projects to others via the omni-surge.”
A puzzled expression crossed Kal-El’s face. “Omni-surge?”
Chuckling Dever replied, “Yes, at the time the omni-surge was the fastest form of communication for designers. The surge went from the drafting board, directly to the computer. Yon-El thought it was fine for others to use it, but he rather preferred that his plans be given to the engineering unit by hand.”
He did that for the first five moon rounds of my service. But in time his grandson, your father Jor-El convinced him otherwise.”
“Oh, how?”
“By spilling a jar of ruby crystals over the drafting table, thereby ruining two days’ work! Yon-El labored through the night to restore the original designs. Poor young Prince Jor-El was banned from his grandfather’s study for some time. Afterward my lord Yon-El used the Omni-surge like everyone else!”
Shaking his head in wonder, Kal-El said, “How could he have made such a mistake?”
Dever shook his head, took a sip, and continued, “Even as a youngster your father was brilliant. Unfortunately, when his mind was engrossed on a project, he completely ignored everything else. He actually thought he was working at his own table, not his esteemed grandfather’s!”
It was hard to imagine the determined man Kal-El had seen in the globe’s message as absent-minded. He leaned forward, eager to hear more.
“Years later, that absent-mindedness was one of the reasons Lady Lo and her bondmate were against their daughter Lara marrying him.”
Astounded, Kal-El asked, “My grandmother didn’t want my parents to marry?”
Dever’s face flushed pink with embarrassment. Realizing he had said too much, Dever backtracked and said. “Ah yes, those were the rumors…”
This was the first time that Kal-El had heard anything so unforeseen. He needed to ask his grandmother about this. Better still, he would put the question to Zor-El and Alura the next time he was at Abondar-El. After all, they had been at his parent’s wedding.
He noticed that Dever was tiring and decided to put an end to their discussion.
“I appreciate this glimpse into my father’s early days. It meant a lot to me, but right now it’s time for me to rest.”
“Of course, my lo…uh Kal-El. Thank you for listening to me.” With those words the old servant collected the dishes and moved as quickly as he could out of the room.
Kal-El, now alone, walked across the room and opened the twin doors that led to the large balcony. He stepped outside and took in a soothing breath of the cool night air. Above, the twin moons, Lyssa and Demo were in their accustomed stations. Odd that he had gotten used to seeing twin moons. Somehow, they always reminded him of Lois and that those silvery satellites were perfect for a romantic evening.
He took another deep breath and tried to remember the nightmare about Lois that pierced his rest. Somehow across the incalculable distance of blackest space, he sensed that she was heading towards dire straits. His heart swelled with pride, at his Lois, jumping in without checking the water level! Still, frustration overwhelmed him. What could he do so far away to help her?
He needed to record something for the courier. Since he was dressed and sleep seemed unobtainable, now was as good a time as any. Later in the day he would pay a visit to his uncle at Abondar-El. …
