From last time:
“You’ve done this before,” Talan said quietly.
“So have you,” he replied without looking up. He leaned over the building plans being weighted down on the table with loose pieces of debris. “We can trade war stories later. Right now, time’s working against us.”
“And with the building’s power shut off, it’s as cold in there as it is out here. The survivors will be more vulnerable to shock and the effects of exposure.”
“Then we’d better hope we get this right,” Clark replied, a hint of fatalism creeping into his unsteady voice. He drew in a deep breath. Even if he couldn’t find his own way out of the darkness, he was going to find those people. He was going to bring them back safely.
********
New Stuff:
‘It’s going to be all right.’
The words echoed in his head as he wondered what had possessed him to utter them in the first place. Nothing was all right. The words whispered to soothe a small boy held in his arms weren’t going to change anything. It was nothing but sympathetic noise, without meaning, murmured without conviction. The boy had survived, as had three others. Four people out of more than fifty. The boy was alive, but the world as he knew it didn’t exist any more. It was so very far from being ‘all right.’ He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his head propped up on his hands as he sat on the edge of the Chief Engineer’s desk. A Chief Engineer who was now dead, along with damn near everyone else in this godforsaken little outpost.
The door opened and Talan entered the office. Each of her fingers was ringed with bandaging tape and dressings covered the worst of the cuts on her arms. As always, she’d persevered heroically, working in constant danger, without a single thought for her own discomfort or exhaustion. But she’d come face to face with her own limits, just like he had. They popped up rudely—unwelcome and barely tolerated—no matter what planet he was on. Just like him, Talan had no power to give life back to the dead, to turn time back.
Briefly, he’d caught her eye as she discovered the bodies of more victims. Unguarded, stripped of her usual armor, there had been an emptiness there – deep and hollow and unending. The corners of her mouth had turned downward in the slightest frown as she shivered, her breath visible even in the unlit caverns of the building, the sadness in her expression all the more profound for how subtle it had been. She’d closed her eyes and turned away, looking for the first time as though perhaps she wasn’t larger than life. Perhaps life was just as big and looming and foreboding to her as it was to everyone else.
She stayed by the doorway on the opposite side of the room, folding her hands awkwardly in front of her. “Thank you for your help, sir,” she said quietly.
He gave her a faint, half smile that faded quickly. “They’re my people, too,” he replied. “I’ve done this hundreds of times. I’ve seen this kind of horror before. And it never gets any easier. You’re never any more prepared for it.”
“No we’re not,” she agreed. “But four people are still alive tonight because of what you did.”
“What we did,” he corrected her. “Is that enough? In the middle of all this death and destruction, we only saved a handful of people.”
“We did what we could. It isn’t enough, but what else can we ask of ourselves?”
He said nothing and looked away. Anger bubbled up inside him, threatening to spill over. What kind of human beings could do this? What sort of monsters masquerading as men could slaughter so many helpless people so methodically, so clinically? His body trembled with rage. He felt a muscle leap and twitch in his tense jaw and held tightly to the edges of the desk, his knuckles turning white as bone, as he fought to keep from leaping to his feet and shattering every breakable object in the room with his hands.
“It is getting late, sir,” she said, breaking the long silence. Actually, it wasn’t. The sun had set less than an hour ago. But he hadn’t slept in three days, so late was a somewhat relative term. “You should rest.”
“I don’t want to sleep,” he said through gritted teeth.
She nodded and turned toward the door. “A transport will be ready to take you back to the main colony tomorrow,” she said before leaving.
Alone again, he felt the anger turn back to grief. The emotions seemed to war with each other inside of him, each doing its best to destroy him faster. He buried his head in his hands, his eyes screwed shut, trying to blot out the images that had seared themselves into his mind.
He looked up, feeling his shoulders slump as he sighed. He just…he wished Lois were there. There to remind him that not everything good was eventually broken and dirtied. To remind him that not every day ended with regrets about what he hadn’t done and what he couldn’t do. To remind him what it was like to feel happy and content and complete. To make him feel like Clark Kent again.
********
Lois looked up at the night’s sky, scattered with countless gleaming points of light. What might well have been the last warm breeze of a lingering summer rustled the drapes. She closed her eyes, still seeing in her mind the constellations that pointed to his star. Her breath caught in her throat, a shiver running through her, as she felt a pair of arms slip around her waist. Anxious to relinquish the burdens she’d carried for so long, she allowed herself to collapse into his embrace, her body limp. She knew he’d catch her. He would hold her for as long as she asked. He would hold her forever. His strength was enough for both of them.
She leaned back, letting her head rest on his solid chest, listening to the reassuring ‘thump’ of his heart. A sigh shuddered through her as his lips brushed against her neck in a soft kiss. She felt the tingle of gooseflesh appearing on her arms. “I wish this were real,” she murmured quietly, her voice small and thin.
“This feels pretty real to me,” he whispered close to her ear, his breath warm against her skin. He turned her around in his arms and touched her cheek. He hooked a finger under her chin, tilting her head up slightly as he bent down to kiss her. Her arms slipped around his neck, her hands tangling themselves in his thick, dark hair. Her lips parted under the gentle, insistent pressure of his.
She knew this. She knew him. In every sense of the word. The gentle strength of his hands, the smell of his skin – like sandalwood and soap, the soft sigh she could elicit by running her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. These were touchstones to her – the things she used to define reality. She moaned against his mouth and felt his arms around her tighten. Her heart tripped and stumbled out of rhythm and she wondered at how something so remarkably familiar could still thrill her so completely.
She found comfort in him – in the strength of his embrace, in the depth of his desire, in the million overwhelming sensations only he could evoke. But mostly, she took comfort in the way he held her. For as long as she needed him to, he’d keep her fears at bay, make the world disappear. He would protect her from the bone chilling cold of doubt and despair and the emptiness of bearing a burden that was too big for her.
A sigh of protest escaped her lips as he broke off the kiss to pick her up effortlessly. He laid her down on the bed before stretching out beside her and pulling her back into his arms. He undressed her with deft hands, his warm, dark eyes never straying from hers. His clothes joined hers in discarded piles and relief washed over her as he drew her back into his arms. Those few moments in which she wasn’t touching him left her bereft. Feeling his skin against hers, she felt right. Complete. Like she was home at last.
He trailed kisses along her jawline and up to the sensitive spot behind her ear before gently capturing her earlobe with his lips. She drew in a sharp breath, momentarily stilling her hands, which wandered the smoothly muscled planes of his body. “I love you,” she murmured.
“I love you,” he whispered against her skin, causing a pleasant shiver to run through her. His hands began their unhurried exploration as his lips found hers. Her heart thundered in her chest, its pounding pulse echoing in her ears. Her blood ran hot and swift through her body and her skin tingled with electricity everywhere he touched her. Her breath hitched in her throat, his name escaping her lips in a strangled cry.
“Clark!”
She sat upright in bed in the darkened room; her skin still flushed, her heart still hammering against her ribcage. Lois exhaled slowly and closed her eyes. It had been a long time since she’d had a dream that intense. It had felt so real. He had been so real. Tears pricked her eyes. How could it feel like she was losing him all over again?
The sound of footsteps in the hall startled her out of her maudlin thoughts. A gentle, hesitant knock on the door followed. “Lois? Are you okay?” her mother-in-law asked in a soft whisper.
“I’m fine. It was just…just a dream,” she replied, shivering from a sudden cold. She lay back against the pillows, wondering where he was. What he was doing. Was he as afraid as she was? Was he as overwhelmed as she was? Did he think about her as often as she thought of him?
********
Clark sat up on the cot and stretched out his legs in front of him. He rubbed his stiff knee. The scar tissue was oddly numb and yet overly sensitive at the same time. It prickled and tingled and didn’t feel quite right, like it was foreign, alien to his body. He remembered the splitting pain the fractured patella had caused. He remembered what it was like to have Nor strike that knee – the baton he used might as well have been dynamite for the explosive force of agony it created.
He remembered being forced to kneel, thinking the pain shooting up his leg and surging throughout his body was enough to kill him. It had crashed over him, making it almost impossible to recognize the gun barrel pressed against the base of his skull, or Nor’s voice, mocking him in what he promised would be the last few moments of his life. But death had a funny way of overriding pain. The physical agony of pain may have been without limits, but death invaded all the senses. It had a taste, bitter and acidic in the back of the throat. Its acrid stench was palpable and stung the eyes. It settled cold and hard in the gut and gnawed away at everything from the inside out. Sometimes, it echoed loudly in the ears. Other times, it whispered seductively. Soothing and calm, it coaxed him to simply let go. To float gently into oblivion. It promised an end to the pain, to the harsh, hard, rudeness of reality.
He knew death, making its acquaintance over weeks spent so close he felt like he could reach out and curl his fingers around it. It was no abstraction to him; He could give the concept form and weight and substance. Even with all the death he’d seen as Superman, it had always remained a specter. It was a shadow – darkness incorporeal – that he had to fight without ever seeing it or touching it. Now, it seemed to whisper in his ear, taunting him, tallying his failures. It was deep inside him, burrowed deep in the darkened void it had carved into him, and he couldn’t purge his soul of it.
Standing up, he crossed the mostly bare, nondescript room to the adjacent washroom. There was one more task he had to complete before leaving this place.
********
Zara met him in the hallway outside the room where he’d spent the night. She was dressed just as severely in heavy, dark robes as he was. She took his proffered arm as they walked out into the central compound of the outpost. A group of soldiers and engineers stood in a small cluster around the communications equipment. A weary Lieutenant Parth approached them as they walked toward the group.
“Ma’am, sir, the High Council is ready for you,” he explained, his tone somber and subdued.
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Zara replied. She let her arm slip from Clark’s as they stood in front of the communications equipment, preparing to address the Council and the entire world.
She looked straight ahead, her green eyes unblinking, her chin jutting forward with the tiniest hint of defiance. In the background behind her lay the evidence of ruin and destruction. “Esteemed Councilors, friends, citizens of New Krypton,” she began. “It is with great sadness that we address you today from the settlement at Silban. We are a people who have not known easy days. Our lives are fraught with difficulties and peril in the best of circumstances, which these certainly are not. But even in the depths of despair, we have demonstrated time and again courage, compassion, and an unfailing commitment to our beliefs…” With poise, grace, and eloquence she exhorted her people to not lose hope.
Clark listened intently, wondering how her words were being received by the Council and by the people. She finished speaking and turned back toward him. He stepped forward, his hands clasped in front of him. “This world has seen too much death, too much destruction,” he said. “It has been attacked by an enemy that kills the unarmed and the defenseless, that destroys indiscriminately. Nor peddles nothing but death and fear. He intends to continue to terrorize this world and its people. I won’t tell you that there are easier days ahead. But we will defeat Nor. It will require even greater sacrifices than the people of this world have already made, but I believe those sacrifices will be worthwhile. I know that you are afraid. I am, too,” he admitted earnestly. “Yet we will over come that fear. I know that it will be difficult, but our way of life is worth saving. This world is worth saving. I’m asking each of you to stand with one another, and to stand with us,” he said, turning back toward Zara. “Because we will not rest until the threat posed by Nor has been eliminated. This I promise you.”
********
“General Command has begun the process of calling the reserves to active duty,” Zara explained as she stepped into the Chief Engineer’s office. Clark didn’t bother to turn around or look up from the image of the outpost’s schematics projected on the drafting table.
“We just asked this world to lay its sons and daughters on a sacrificial altar,” he said, his back still toward her. “Thirty years ago, almost every Kryptonian man, woman, and child was killed. Now the survivors of that holocaust are busy killing each other. Because being almost driven to extinction wasn’t enough.” He gripped the edges of the table to keep his hands from trembling. He exhaled a shaky breath and blinked back the tears that stung his eyes. “Your people should be figuring out how to build a life in this world. They should be raising crops and children. Instead, they turn their sanctuary into a charnel house. And I exalt them for doing it.”
“You are no warmonger,” she replied resolutely. “This blood is not on your hands.”
“Yes it is!” he snapped angrily as he turned around. “It doesn’t matter if I spilled it or if I just wasn’t there to stop it. Do you have any idea how many dead bodies I carried out of the rubble here?” he demanded.
Clark looked at her through a film of tears. He closed his eyes and turned his head heavenward, his jaw clenched to keep the sob from escaping his lips. He drew in a deep, slow breath, trying desperately to hang on to that last thread of control. But as he exhaled, a tremor ran through him. He buried his head in his hands, his chin touching his chest. His body shook as he fought the tears. He felt Zara wrap her arms around him. He wanted to push her away, but he couldn’t. He stood awkward and rigid and still in her embrace.
“I’m sorry,” he said over and over, hoping to buy the absolution he couldn’t earn.
“There is no weakness in this,” she whispered. “There is only the strength of your compassion.”
He’d been told so many times that it was his gift to feel the pain of others. That it made him more human. But how could something so brutal, so damaging, be a gift?
********
Out of the corner of her eye, Enza glanced at Lok Sim as he stared at the communications screen. His square jaw was firmly set, a slight frown turning down the corners of his lips. She looked up at the screen, where Kal El, clear-eyed but exhausted, addressed the world. His voice wasn’t loud, but his tone was firm and insistent. Enza listened as he encouraged his people to keep fighting, through all the difficulties, despite their fears, which he shared.
The address ended and Lok Sim turned off the communications screen. “I can’t believe what happened there,” he murmured.
“Neither can I,” she whispered.
“I’ve seen this three times now since it broadcasted this morning,” he explained quietly. “And it still doesn’t seem real.”
“How do I explain this to Thia?” she wondered aloud.
Lok Sim gave her a sympathetic look. “Tell her it’s all right to be afraid, but that you will protect her.”
She shook her head. “How can I protect her from this?” she asked, the agitation causing her voice to creep up in pitch. Dimly in the back of her mind, she knew that having such a conversation about personal doubt and despair with an enlisted man, in her office, belied the expectation on all officers to demonstrate leadership.
“By doing what you’ve done every day of her life,” he replied with gentle insistence as he placed a hand on her elbow. “By putting her above everything else.”
She looked down at where his large hand rested on her arm. He withdrew it slowly, almost reluctantly, she thought. “Th…thank you, Sergeant,” she stammered, vaguely unsettled, not by the way his hand had felt on her arm, but by the strange sensation she felt when he removed it. His presence was so calming, so disarming.
“I should go,” he said with a ghost of a smile. “I hope you do not mind, but I told Thia we would read another story together.”
“Of course I don’t mind,” she replied. “You are always welcome in our home.”
********
Ambassador Murray stood up as Lois entered her office. “Thank you for coming, Ultrawoman,” she said.
Lois shook the ambassador’s proffered hand. “Of course,” she replied, gathering the folds of her cape before sitting in the chair on the other side of the ambassador’s desk.
Dr. Murray retook her seat and folded her hands in front of her. “I have what I believe is welcome news,” she began. “President Young’s envoy has concluded that war crimes have been committed in Kinwara. He’s recommended that a tribunal be convened to address the situation.”
“Like the ad hoc courts at the Hague?” Lois asked.
The ambassador nodded. “Precisely. We’re considering recommending that the international prosecutor investigate the situation.”
Lois leaned forward. The talk was exactly what she wanted to hear, but was it going to be backed up with action? “Are you going to introduce a resolution to the Security Council?”
“It’s still in discussions,” Murray admitted.
“Any chance Ambassador Lin won’t veto it?”
“That’s what concerns us. So long as this remains a domestic issue, China’s unlikely to change its position.”
Lois frowned, her brow furrowed. “A domestic issue? The Togoran president is personally financing and backing the rebellion in Kinwara. What about that is domestic?”
“The Chinese will deny it up and down. Without casus belli, we’ll have a heck of a time getting traction with the Chinese ambassador.”
Casus belli.
An excuse for war.
It might have been a war of diplomacy that they were planning to wage, but it was a war nonetheless. They weren’t going to win unless they relentlessly backed the Chinese ambassador into a corner. And they couldn’t do that unless Lin had a way of surrendering without losing face.
********
“As best we can reconstruct the original attack, the settlement’s power and communications link were initially disabled. The rebels then struck the settlement’s artillery defenses,” Talan explained. Her enlarged image on the screen that dominated a full wall of the conference room exaggerated the dark circles under her bloodshot eyes. “At that point, the outpost was defenseless. According to survivors, the governor attempted to surrender the settlement, but her offer was ignored. The outpost’s supplies were looted. The population was slaughtered.” Talan’s usually even voice faltered on the last few words. With its civilian government almost totally wiped out and the remainder of its population—with the exception of a few key engineers—relocated, the outpost of Silban was completely under the general commander’s authority. The mines at the site and the remaining equipment and structures were too important to lose to the rebels. Among all her other unpleasant duties was the reconstruction of the events that had razed the settlement.
“Your forces were the first to arrive?” Clark asked, though he already knew the answer. He stood behind the conference table, his hands gripping the chair in front of him as he looked up at the monitor. He didn’t much want to hear this story in all its details. He knew the outline well enough and it made him ill.
She nodded curtly. “Approximately two hours after the initial attack, we engaged the enemy. We faced fierce resistance and suffered substantial casualties. Fighting degenerated to a building to building combat situation. The rebels exhibited no compunction about either killing civilians or using them as human shields.”
“Anything else?” Clark asked grimly.
“Aye, sir,” she replied without enthusiasm. “This attack wasn’t just about military or strategic objectives. They did this for amusement. They took pleasure in what they did to Silban.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Clark could see Ching swallow roughly, a look of disgust on his face. The other man stood silently in the room, his hands clasped in front of him as they listened to the briefing.
“Did the fact that we were going on the offensive have anything to do with this?” Clark asked.
She shook her head. “No, sir. There were minor troop redeployments around Silban, but even if there had been no change in our positions, the rebels still would have taken the settlement easily.”
Clark tried to let that sink in. She was exonerating him for at least one part of this debacle. Their decision to go after Nor hadn’t made the outpost more vulnerable. Apparently that hadn’t been necessary.
“Sir, there is still much to be done here. If I might take my leave…” she ventured, a note of weariness creeping into her voice. Clark knew she didn’t look forward to the tasks that remained in front of her, but she would soldier on, nonetheless.
“Of course,” Clark replied.
“Thank you, sir,” she said with a slight bow of her head.
The screen blanked out and Clark sighed heavily. He stepped away from the table and absently began to pace back and forth in the conference room, feeling confined, caged in. “How did this happen?” he asked acidly.
“I have attempted to determine what our intelligence services knew and when, but none of it makes sense. The staff was transferred, projects were mishandled, the chain of command was muddied.”
Clark stopped and turned on his heel, his eyes narrowed. “Are you saying someone undermined our intelligence on purpose?”
“I don’t know,” Ching confessed.
“Find out,” Clark replied simply. “I’ll let everyone within the intelligence divisions know that if anyone tries to stonewall you, if anyone refuses to cooperate, there will be hell to pay.”
“Of course, sir,” Ching said. He bowed his head and withdrew from the room.
********
“Tell me that those communications had nothing to do with the massacre at Silban,” Daros demanded as he stalked the halls outside his office.
“Sir, we still don’t know,” Nen Fas replied apologetically, following his typical pace behind.
“Find out!” Daros closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, his head feeling like it was going to split open. His heart thundered in his chest, his mouth completely dry. He had not allowed the worst massacre in memory. He wouldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe it.
“Aye, sir,” Nen Fas said with a vigorous nod. He saluted before beating a hasty retreat.
Daros swallowed roughly, his throat scratchy and raw. His gut roiled violently. He needed to know what was in those communications. He would never get a moment’s rest until he knew. Daros was an experienced commander, a trusted leader. His advice and counsel were respected. But none of that mattered. His career would be ruined. His accomplishments eclipsed completely by shame. Everything he’d worked for, everything he’d done, would be forgotten. He would be remembered as a catastrophic failure – the deaths of hundreds of civilians on his head.
********
“It’s too early for the mandate change we were hoping the Security Council would consider. We still have a few diplomatic options we can try before raising the military issue again. Unfortunately, the Russians and Chinese are pretty much ignoring the call for an arms embargo,” Dalton said as he stuck his hands in his pockets. He stared out his large picture window out onto the garden behind the embassy. Lois had to admit, his azaleas were remarkable, and he seemed to take great pride in them. “But I understand the American Congress has passed a sanctions bill against Togoro. It looks like you’re finally making progress.”
“Actually, I think Congressman Pennybaker is responsible for that,” Lois demurred. She looked up at the oil paintings of Ambassador Dalton’s storied predecessors that adorned the walls.
Dalton turned back to face her, his expression settling into a pensive frown. “The truth of the matter is, you’re going to have to start playing their game if you want to make any headway with the Russians or the Chinese.”
Lois regarded him thoughtfully. “What do you mean?”
“When you’re not in Kinwara, you do most of your patrols in Metropolis, don’t you?”
“This city is my home,” she replied.
“But you’re too closely associated with it. Make rescues in Shanghai, be a presence in Moscow. You cannot allow them to keep ignoring you. Don’t be too obvious about it, but take the public relations battle to their turf.”
“You really think that’ll help?”
Dalton nodded curtly. “I believe it will.”
********
“That was quite an operation,” Alon said, trying to look suitably impressed. It had been an act of barbarism beyond the standard behavior of her forces, but it had been years since he’d been surprised by the lengths Rae Et would go to in order to get what she wanted.
Rae Et stared down at him from the communications screen in his office. “The brutality of it was theatrical,” she replied, her tone suggesting the topic bored her. “What’s important is the fact that the population knows that Zara cannot keep them safe. Moreover, we accomplished a vital re-supply. The ore and fuel we seized will keep my forces operational for quite some time.”
“It will only be a matter of time before Kal El and Zara realize that their intelligence divisions utterly failed to put together the pieces before this attack,” Alon informed her.
“It’s of no concern to me,” Rae Et replied. “So long as the incompetent commanders responsible don’t try to blame you for it, it should be of no concern to you, either.” She arched a brow as she smirked at him.
“Of course, ma’am.” Alon was confident that wouldn’t happen. He hadn’t guided or directed Daros. The general commander was acting entirely on his own accord. Trying to pin the blame on a highly respected senior member of the Council was going to do him no good.
“Good. Then we’re done here.” Without waiting for him to respond, she cut off the communications link.
********
Ching opened the door for her, a very old, very familiar book still in his hand: “Four Years Among the Stars.” It was the journal of Tyrus, who, hundreds of years ago, had commanded the first interstellar voyage. It was one of the few bound volumes Ching owned and he treated it with such care, always mindful of its dry, delicate pages and ancient binding. Their society had saved their important works of art and literature, but in digital media. In a world without trees and where synthetic paper was still difficult and costly to create, most of the bound volumes in existence were those precious texts that people brought with them. She gave him a faint smile. “How can you reread the same book over and over again?”
He closed the door behind her and looked down at the book he was holding. “I find it comforting,” he replied unguardedly. “He was as alone, as lost in the universe, as we are. Yet, he found his way.”
She followed him silently into his quarters. There was so much she wanted to say, but she didn’t know where to begin. “Your mother gave me that book the day I left for the Academy,” he said.
“I remember,” she replied quietly. Her mother had pressed the volume into Ching’s hands. It was her mother’s very favorite book. And it was Ching’s, too. She’d lent it to him when he was just a boy.
“It was one of the best presents I’ve ever received,” he said. He placed the book on the table and turned around to draw her into his arms. “Are you all right?” he asked, the concern evident in his voice.
“It was so awful,” she whispered against his chest. He ran a soothing hand up and down her back. “It’s been days and I still cannot get the images out of my mind.”
He kissed the crown of her hair and cradled the back of her head with his hand as he held her close. She tucked her head under his chin. “How could this have happened?”
“I don’t know. But I will find out,” he responded.
“I just wish I could forget all this,” she murmured.
“I know,” he whispered hoarsely.
