From Last Time:
Her brow furrowed as she regarded him carefully. "Clark?" she whispered his name as a question and his heart broke, shattering to shards in his chest. He placed his hand on top of hers and merely nodded, knowing his voice would fail him if he tried to speak. "There's something different about you," she murmured.
"There is," he admitted. "I'm not the same." He looked at her, really looked at her, and realized that she wasn't, either. There was such tremendous sadness in her eyes and something he'd never seen before.
Resignation.
She'd waited, but had she stopped hoping? What had he done to her? What had he put her through?
"I guess neither one of us is," she murmured. Clark realized that he had no idea what she'd gone through all these years he was away. She hadn't been sitting, frozen in time, just waiting for life to begin again once he'd returned. He didn't know what sorts of difficulties she'd seen as Ultrawoman. He didn't know what stories she'd been working on, or what she was doing to make their separation easier to bear. He watched as a single tear slipped down her cheek. There was no way he could stop himself from brushing it away. He let his hand linger against her skin a moment longer than necessary. She looked up at him tearfully and he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as he stroked her soft, silken hair. "I'm not sure we can go back, to who we were," she whispered against his chest.
He closed his eyes and swallowed around the lump in his throat. "I'm sorry for every minute of pain I've put you through," he said softly. "And if there's any way I can become the man you loved again, I'll find it."
Clark woke up with a terrible ache in his chest. He sat up, his eyes still closed, trying to remind himself that he needed to focus. There was still much he needed to do before he could go home, before he could start trying to make up to her all the hurt he'd caused.
********
New Stuff:
Enza adjusted the sleeves on her robe as she waited outside the courtroom. She looked up at the sound of footsteps. Mar Dov approached her, a solemn look on his face. A slight smile cracked his expression as his eyes met hers. "Excellent job yesterday, counselor," he said to her.
"Thank you," she replied softly.
His expression grew distant, as though he was remembering something fondly, but the slight smile on his lips died and was replaced by a more somber expression. "You know, you are a lot like me in one respect. You need to be in control of your courtroom. You hate to sit back and feel helpless. But the only thing you can do today is protect your client so that he can do what he must."
Enza nodded silently. "I'm sorry that I did not finish the cross examination with Kal El," she said.
"Not at all," he replied. "Kal El is your client; he needs to trust you and depend on you. He needs to know that you will zealously defend his interests no matter what. It's much harder for him to realize that if he equates you with the unpleasant experience of cross examination. Me, on the other hand, he doesn't need to like. You've prepared him well, you will protect him today if he needs it, and he will do just fine." He nodded toward the courtroom doors and she followed him inside.
********
He swallowed roughly, his throat was so dry he wondered if he'd actually be able to keep answering the questions. Nor's attorney stood behind his podium, casually taking his time as he methodically went through his cross examination. It had already been three hours, but it might as well have been three years as far as Clark was concerned. It certainly wasn't the first time he wished that Lois was there with him. He could almost hear her voice, gently encouraging him, promising him that he could do this.
"You testified yesterday that the defendant told you that you had taken his rightful place as First Minister, is that correct?" Nor's lawyer had a voice that carried easily. Without speaking up, he could project across the entire courtroom. And when he chose to speak loudly, his tone was stentorian – commanding and deep.
Clark leaned forward in his chair. "Yes," he replied succinctly, remembering what Mar Dov and Enza had told him: volunteer nothing, answer only the question that was asked.
"And is that true?"
"No," was his terse response.
"But you were not properly trained for this responsibility. How can you claim that it is rightfully yours?" Nor's attorney demanded, his voice dripping with condescension.
"I was elected First Minister by the High Council of Elders, in accordance with the Charter of New Krypton," Clark replied stonily.
"Though before your arrival, Nor was widely considered to be the most appropriate candidate for this responsibility, wasn't he?"
Clark shook his head. "I can't speak with any certainty about what the people on New Krypton thought before I arrived."
"Growing up, did you receive any of the necessary training to accede to your position?"
"No," Clark admitted.
"Were you even aware that you were a candidate to become the First Minister?" Nor's lawyer's tone became louder and more forceful.
"No," he repeated evenly.
"Then why in the world did you believe that you were qualified for this responsibility? Was it arrogance? Lust for power? Or were you simply taken by the thought of playing savior to a world you couldn't understand and in which you did not belong?" the attorney was practically shouting by this point. Glancing at the prosecutors' table, Clark could see Mar Dov begin to rise, but Enza quickly and quietly caught his arm, pulling him back down into his seat. Her eyes met Clark's and he knew exactly what she was trying to say to him. 'You can do this.'
He took a deep breath, reminding himself he couldn't get angry; he couldn't lash out at the snake asking the questions. "I came here because I was asked. Because this world was on the brink of war and good people like First Minister Zara and Commander Ching were determined to do everything in their power to prevent that." As he said their names, he looked at Zara and Ching in the gallery. They sat beside one another, but after years of pretending they weren't in love, they managed a practiced casualness, hiding their feelings from everyone.
"But your coming here didn't prevent war did it?"
He set his jaw grimly. "I didn't start this war, your client did. And his arrest certainly seemed to end it."
A commotion rose up in the courtroom. At the prosecutors' table, Enza gave Mar Dov a knowing look. "Move to strike the witness's statement as non-responsive," Nor's attorney demanded loudly over the din.
The head of the jurist's panel pounded his gavel on the dais, bringing the proceedings back to order. "Overruled," he said calmly. "Counselor, please continue with your cross examination."
The lawyer looked down at his podium, frowning dourly. He paused as he seemed to collect his thoughts. Clark looked again at his lawyer and the tiny, almost imperceptible nod that she gave him. 'You have him on the defensive,' her eyes said. 'You've broken his rhythm.' Clark concentrated on keeping his features fixed in a studious frown. It wouldn't do for him to give in to the desire to let that self-satisfied grin turn up the corners of his mouth. But in the audience, Zara and Ching were smiling at him and Lok Sim wore an expression of utter relief. Tao Scion's bright blue eyes sparkled as he looked at Clark with a father's pride. Talan continued to stare straight forward, her mouth set in a thin, straight line, but there was warmth in her gray eyes. The one person he truly needed wasn't there, but he wasn't alone. The friends who had supported him for years were still there, still standing beside him. Together, they had ended a war and with their help, he would certainly get through this.
********
Jimmy raked a hand through his hair as he handed her the gift wrapped box with its delicate bow. "Merry Christmas, Lois," he said and perched himself on the corner of her desk.
She grinned as she accepted the proffered box. "You didn't wrap this yourself, did you?"
"Nah, they've got this spot at the mall where they'll wrap pretty much anything," he admitted.
"Should I open it now?" she asked.
"Well, you could always just…" He tapped a finger next to his eye as a signal for her x-ray vision.
"There's no fun in that," she replied. She delicately removed the wrapping paper and lifted the lid off the box. A photo album lay inside. "Thanks, Jimmy," she said warmly as she lifted the album.
"Well, open it up," he said impatiently.
She opened the album, and felt her heart stop. Tears formed in her eyes, threatening to spill over. She turned the pages slowly, her vision slightly blurred. "They're beautiful," she whispered reverently. The black and white photos of her son – picking blueberries with his grandparents, staring enchanted at a water strider in the creek behind the fields, chasing a butterfly in the tall summer grass–took her breath away. Jimmy had taken the photos this past June while he was visiting the Kent farm. It was for an assignment, he'd explained at the time. His professor had simply stated that they were supposed to photograph life. And he had. He'd captured everything good and pure and innocent about childhood and warm summer days and discovering open fields and the things that grew in the earth for the very first time. "Jimmy, these are absolutely amazing; I love them," she said as she finally looked up from the pages.
"Yeah, Professor Martin liked them a lot, too," he said with a slightly bashful smile. "She thought the soft focus lens worked really well in these," he said as he pointed to a couple of the photos. "But I won't bore you with the technical stuff."
She turned the page again, and her breath caught in her throat. Fresh tears pricked at her eyes. On the page was one photograph, larger than the others, and centered. It was her, sitting on the porch swing, her eyes closed, holding her sleeping toddler in her arms. His cheek was pillowed on her shoulder, her hand cradling the back of his head. Jimmy had taken it at dusk that day. The fading light cast long shadows over the porch. Despite her sensitive hearing, she hadn't noticed him approach until she heard the camera's shutter. She'd smiled at him, but in truth, she'd been a little annoyed at the time, worried that Jimmy's picture taking would wake Jon up. Now, she couldn't have been more thankful that he'd been there that day to capture those moments.
"That one's my favorite," he said.
"Mine, too," she whispered through tears. She laid the album gently down on her desk and hugged her young friend. "Thank you so much. This is the best present you could have given me."
"I'm glad you like it," he said as he hugged her tightly.
"Tell me you got an 'A'," she said with a smile.
"I did," he replied. She was so proud of him. Jimmy had started at the Planet as a part timer while he was studying photography at Metropolis City College, but he'd dropped out after his third semester. He was too impatient, too restless for all the classroom learning. After that photograph that propelled him to fame and his promotion to full photographer, Jimmy had started taking his profession and its development very seriously. With the Planet's blessings, he'd gone back to school. He'd gotten into Metropolis University's journalism school—the best photojournalism program in the country—and cut back on his hours at the paper. He'd claimed that his admission was aided in large part by the letters of recommendation he'd received from a Pulitzer Prize winner and the most respected newspaper editor in America, but Lois knew that he'd done this all by himself. He hadn't taken the traditional route, but he'd found his way. "This time next year, I'll be done with classes," he said.
"Really?" she asked.
"Yeah, the last year is graded entirely on portfolio. Professor Martin has agreed to be my advisor and she's going to let me use work stuff to make up the portfolio."
"Well maybe this will come in handy," she said as she removed a box from her bottom desk drawer. "Merry Christmas."
"Thanks." He grinned as he took the box from her hands. He unwrapped it enthusiastically. "Man, Lois, this is awesome!" he exclaimed as he examined the new camera she'd gotten him.
"Well, you're a professional now, so you need professional quality equipment," she demurred.
He hugged her again. "This is so great," he said. "Thank you."
"Merry Christmas," she repeated.
********
Nor's attorney drummed his knuckles agitatedly on his podium as he frowned, apparently deep in thought. "Sir, you appear to be quite fit and healthy today," he said.
Clark said nothing. The opposing lawyer looked at him expectantly. "I'm sorry, was that a question?" Clark asked, trying to keep the disingenuous tone out of his voice. He didn't doubt that he could win a battle of sarcasm with Nor's counsel – he had, after all, learned a thing or two from Lois – but proving he had a more biting sense of humor than the lawyer was not going to do anything to help win this trial.
The other man's brow furrowed as the frown on his face carved itself even deeper into his expression. He seemed to fight to keep his exasperation in check. "Are you in good health today, sir?"
"I am," Clark replied.
"Then your injuries left no permanent damage, did they?"
Clark leaned forward in his seat as he stared unblinking at the defense attorney. "There are plenty of scars," he bit out tersely. "I think you've already seen the pictures." In his mind, the images that had haunted him for ages started to flash in rapid bursts. The dank, dismal basements; the windowless cells; Nor with a baton in hand, poised to strike; a bloodstain streaked across a cold, hard wall; the sight of his captor's boots as he descended into the pit of hell to torment his prisoner; the collection of wounds, bruises, and broken bones masquerading as his body; the spot of nothing he'd stared at on the gray floor while a rain of blows from a braided whip fell across his back. He felt a muscle in his clenched jaw jump and twitch. 'Deep breaths, Kent,' he told himself.
"But have these injuries limited your ability to perform your responsibilities as First Minister, yes or no?" Clark knew exactly where the defense attorney was going with this – if he said no, it would look like what he'd been through couldn't possibly have been that bad. If he said yes, he might as well take a stroll through a minefield.
"Not after the two weeks I spent in a coma, and the following weeks of bed rest and physical rehabilitation." He tried to slow down his pounding heart and relax, without going completely catatonic. He couldn't afford to make his testimony seem unnatural and coached, but he wasn't sure how much more of this he could take without wanting to leap out of his chair.
"What about your mental health?"
"I was pronounced fit for duty by the best doctors and surgeons on the planet. Since then, I've done my job to the best of my ability."
Nor's lawyer stared down at his podium for a moment. "Were you aware that several members of the High Council of Elders were considering the introduction of a no confidence vote against you shortly after your return?"
"Yes," Clark replied with a slight, grim nod.
"And you arranged for a general election, even though one had been held only two years prior, in response, didn't you?"
Nor's attorney certainly had a selective memory of events, Clark thought darkly. "The First Ministers don't call general elections; that's the responsibility of the Speaker of the Council," he replied, knowing a note of condescension had crept into his voice as he explained basic Kryptonian civics to Nor's lawyer. "Councilor Shai decided to call the general elections. After the announcement, several councilors who subsequently lost their seats, began the process of a no confidence vote. It went nowhere."
"But you were angry about it, weren't you?"
Clark shook his head. "Frustrated, not angry," he replied honestly.
"You blamed Nor for the waning faith in your ability to lead, didn't you? The support that had started to ebb long before your alleged abduction." At the defense table, Nor nodded in obvious agreement, ready to play the role of aggrieved political dissident that his attorney was casting him in.
The words 'alleged abduction,' grated on raw nerves. "I blamed Nor for starting a war that killed tens of thousands of innocent people," he shot back, his heart pounding in his chest, his body preparing instinctually for a fight. "And I blamed him for kidnapping and torturing me."
Nor's attorney smiled. "Yes, you did. You blamed Nor for these things because he threatened your power, didn't you?"
"I blamed Nor because he caused these things and I hold him responsible for his own actions." Clark could feel his blood run hot. At the prosecutors' table, Mar Dov and Enza were giving him sympathetic looks, silently reminding him to remain calm and not let the opposing lawyer destroy his concentration.
"You had every reason to twist my client's political opposition to your leadership into these scurrilous charges, didn't you?"
"No," Clark replied, trying desperately to keep his voice steady. He closed his eyes. It was almost over. He just needed to get through this. Then he could go home. He could be with Lois again. He needed to do this so he could finally keep his promise to her. "Your client's opposition to my leadership was hardly limited to the political. He had me shot, thrown in chains, and nearly starved to death. He personally beat me unconscious so many times I can't remember them all. And he threatened to kill me. Over and over again." By the time he finished, his voice was barely above a whisper, but it didn't matter. The entire courtroom was silent. Every pair of eyes was focused on him.
********
He lay on his narrow bed, looking up at the ring he held between his thumb and forefinger. "Merry Christmas, sweetheart," he whispered quietly. This was their fourth Christmas apart, after four summers, and four autumns, and now four winters separated from one another. He'd missed four of her birthdays, and even if he left immediately after the verdict in Nor's trial, he'd still miss their fourth anniversary, too.
He couldn't have been more relieved to be done with his testimony. Mar Dov had just begun putting on witnesses to testify about Silban. It was excruciating to have to listen to the stories of horror and desperation retold. He understood what it was like to feel forsaken, to believe that the world didn't care about your suffering, or that it had forgotten about you entirely. That empathy only made the testimony harder to bear. And it was all the more difficult still because he could no longer be proactive in this trial. As much as he'd hated testifying, at least he was *doing* something. Now, he had to step aside and let Mar Dov and his team do their job. The lead attorney was a brilliant strategist and could command his courtroom better than any lawyer Clark had seen on Earth or Krypton. He guided his witnesses expertly and his personal arrogance somehow didn't seem to translate into courtroom hubris. He was exacting and meticulous. But it still frustrated Clark to have to play so passive a role in the remainder of the trial.
Turning Lois's wedding ring between his fingers, the little gold band caught the dim light overhead and gleamed beautifully. He regarded its surface critically, making silent note of the tiny nicks and scratches it had collected of the last three and a half years. The soft metal was permanently scarred from its time on New Krypton and from his losing it when he was taken by Nor. It had fallen to the ground, to the hard rock and the harsh winds, and had remained exposed there until Talan had found it.
Clark wasn't sure Talan could understand how much it meant to him to have the ring returned. It was the tangible symbol of his love for his wife, and his promise to go back to her. Losing it had crushed him just as badly as all the abuse Nor had heaped upon him. Getting it back was like getting saved again.
How could something so small be so powerful? He wondered idly to himself. How did this little gold band come to represent everything he hoped for and everything that mattered to him? It wasn't just a symbol of his love for Lois, he realized. It was a symbol of her faith in him, too. He'd given it to her to represent his complete and total devotion to her, and she'd asked him to keep it safe because she knew he was going to come back.
He turned the ring again to look at its inner surface. Its inscription – 'I have loved you from the beginning' – was still clear despite the slightly weathered condition of the metal. He hoped Lois would forgive him for not keeping it safer, for bringing it back to her scarred and bruised. But though its surface was imperfect, and it wore its hard years and its troubles prominently, it was still strong; it was still solid and complete.
********
Lois dropped her muddy uniform in the hamper before turning on the shower. She floated over the tiles to keep from tracking excess dirt on the bathroom floor. Stepping under the spray of water, she stretched her muscles. She'd spent the morning in Kinwara, shoring up retaining walls around villages and clearing the roads that had become choked with mud during the hard rains. The little country seemed to get all of its precipitation, all at once, in a furious torrential downpour each winter. But she'd done good. Aid convoys would get where they were going today. A school with a leaky roof had been patched up so the classroom wouldn't get flooded, and a mudslide had been diverted away from a brand new clinic.
She pulled on her bathrobe and silently made her way back to Clark's room – she'd been living in it for well over three years, but it would always be Clark's room to her. It was still the middle of the night in Kansas and the rest of the household was fast asleep. She pulled on a pair of sweatpants and his old football jersey and took her laptop down to the kitchen. Settling down at the kitchen table with a hot cup of tea, she booted up the computer.
Without conscious thought, she started to write. And write. And write. She didn't edit herself or try to turn the sentences and paragraphs into the 750 words she needed to pull together for her next column. She just wrote. It began as little more than a catalogue of what she'd done and who she'd met over the last few days. She wrote about the inherent difficulties in trying to manage mud – in trying to get it to go where you wanted it to go and not where you didn't. She wrote about the looks of relief on the faces of the nurses at the clinic when she'd been able to tell them that the building was safe. Soon, she was writing about all of the efforts she'd seen people making to reclaim their lives. The stubbornness of hope. The power of compassion. The triumph of optimism.
She wrote about heartache and despair. Of the incomparable loss and suffering of the people of Kinwara and the remarkable way they continued their lives – like Faria Kalidiatou, the schoolteacher. She had since returned to Kinwara as Lois Lane, reporter, to interview the young woman and share her story with the Daily Planet's readers. And from there, she'd started to hear more stories about the extraordinary things that ordinary people were doing.
Her tea had gone cold before she'd even touched it, forcing her to reheat it several times, but each time she did, she set it back down and ignored it without taking a sip, too consumed with the words filling up her screen to notice anything else. Soon, she was writing about her own pain and confusion, filling up page after page with her sense of frustration and impotence to make things better. She wrote about the confounding slowness of the international community to respond and her anger at how easily the situation had been dismissed. And how she felt like a broken record, constantly harping on a problem no one seemed too interested in hearing about. She recounted how it was almost worse to put up with the patronizing politeness of the people who made a show of listening, but had no intention of taking any action. Who threw up their hands and apologized for being bound by other commitments and priorities.
With a candor she couldn't muster in conversation, Lois tapped out on the keyboard every detail about the very worst of her experiences as well as the brutal, crushing fear that she was going to fail colossally in every respect – as a superhero, a reporter, an activist, and most especially, as a mother. It was impossible to deny the fact that she'd made compromises – she'd sacrificed time with her son to try to fight a war on the other side of the planet. Trying to keep the ugliness and death she dealt with from poisoning her relationship with her family had exhausted her and she wasn't certain she'd succeeded. War had changed her. It changed the way she thought and it challenged so many things that she believed.
She confessed to the temptation to use her powers to force action and become a belligerent in the fight. There was so much a godlike superhero could do to neutralize the rebel threat. That the exercising of that kind of power always came at a terrible price didn't stop her from considering it on occasion.
She wrote about the little boy who'd been a stranger to the entire world until his death in her arms had brought the attention of the entire planet to Kinwara. Finally, she wrote about Ingrid. She'd written columns about Ingrid's life and her work and the tragedy of her all too premature death, but she'd always shied away from the terrible details, the memories that were still, a year and a half later, too raw and too savage to contemplate. The words on the screen blurred by tears, she wrote every detail she could remember about that terrible day. Her fingers flying over the keys, tapping out letters in rapid bursts, she described the oppressive heat on the grasslands that morning. The harsh edge of irritation she'd initially felt at how damn difficult it was to keep the rebels away from those two doctors. She wrote about the rising sense of panic in her gut when she'd heard that faint, fluttering heartbeat and weak breathing and the sight of Dr. Heller lying in the grass, the parched earth greedily soaking up the dark blood. The crimson stain blossomed on Ingrid's chest and Lois had futilely held her hands against the wound, helpless to defeat the handiwork of one small, stupid bullet. Then there was the look in Ingrid's eyes when Lois had told her that Luc was all right. She was dying and she knew it, but her expression was one of pure relief. How it was that Dr. Heller didn't hate Ultrawoman for not saving her, Lois didn't know. Instead, the last words to ever cross the other woman's lips were ones of pure gratitude.
She took a moment to brush away a few tears that had spilled over unnoticed before proceeding. In truth, she didn't think her conscious mind was really part of the process. Her fingers typed and thoughts and memories and fears appeared on the screen, where she seemed to become aware of them for the first time as she read what she'd written. Screwing up her courage to keep going, she wrote about taking Ingrid to Luc and watching the worst sort of pain in the world, helpless to assuage it. She suffered her darkest nightmare by proxy and she'd hated herself for the feeling of relief that suffused her, knowing that she wasn't the one who'd lost the person they loved most in the world.
Exhausted, she stifled a yawn as she scrolled through the more than thirty pages she'd typed out. She went to save the file, having no idea what she intended to do with it just yet. It certainly wasn't material for an article, it was infused with the personal: the first faux pas of investigative journalism, and there wasn't a column here, either. It wasn't even a pure recollection of Lois Lane's experiences in Kinwara, there was too much from Ultrawoman's perspective. She saved it anyway, before pushing the laptop away from her. She leaned forward, her head cradled on her arms, folded on the table's surface, and closed her eyes.
She sat upright with a start. "Goodness, I didn't mean to wake you, sweetheart," Martha said gently.
"It's all right," Lois replied. She looked around the kitchen – it was still dark out, but the cows needed milking and the chickens feeding and she doubted either group cared about how late day broke in the middle of winter.
"Up late working?" her mother-in-law asked casually with a glance toward the laptop on the kitchen table. The screensaver must have turned on long ago as little Daily Planet logos flew across the screen.
"Not exactly," Lois said. "I was just writing about a lot the stuff that happened in Kinwara." She stood up and carried her mug to the sink to rinse it out.
"Well, it makes a lot of sense to keep a journal," Martha said as she filled the tea kettle. "I know Clark always says that some things are easier to write down than say aloud."
"It's not a journal, either," Lois replied, a sense of realization finally dawning on her. "I don't think I wrote this down for me." She took a seat at the table again, running her finger over the touchpad to wake the computer up. "There are a lot of things I've kept from you and Jonathan, things you've asked about, that I wasn't ready to talk about it. That I might still not be ready to talk about. But this is all of it. So, um…if there's anything either of you ever wanted to know about what happened during the war, it's here."
"Lois, honey, we want to know," Martha replied. She put a reassuring hand on Lois's shoulder. "We want to understand what you've gone through, and we want to talk to you about it, if you think it'll help. But if right now, you think it'll be easier for us to read about it instead, that's fine, too."
********
Mar Dov placed his hands on his podium as he looked at the witness. "When did your forces arrive at Silban, Commander?" he asked.
"It was just after ten o'clock that evening, several hours after we first received the distress call," Talan replied.
"Were there other friendly forces in the area at the time?" Enza watched as the direct examination proceeded exactly as planned.
The commander shook her head. "There were only rebel forces in the region."
"Did you engage them?"
"Yes," she responded. "We engaged the enemy forces outside the settlement and drew fire away from the civilian areas. After several hours of close combat, the rebels retreated and my forces re-secured the area." Her answers were precise and perfectly delivered, exactly what would be expected of the planet's most respected military commander. Enza watched studiously, knowing there was much she could learn from Mar Dov's courtroom tactics. The commander and the attorney worked together to draw a grim portrait for the jurists, focusing their attention on the details the prosecution needed to prove. The exchange between lawyer and witness demonstrated the respect the two hyper-competent professionals had for one another. Mar Dov knew when to treat a witness gently and when to simply let his witness tell their story.
Mar Dov took a single step away from the podium. It was a symbolic gesture to let his witness know that he had full confidence in her testimony and was content to stand back and let her do what was necessary. It was a mainstay in his trial techniques, like the way he leaned forward against the podium when he wanted to tightly control his witness and the broad, sweeping gestures of his hands when he wanted to draw the attention of his audience. "Could you explain for us what happened next?" he asked his witness solicitously.
"We commenced with rescue operations and triage and evacuation of the wounded," the commander began. She continued to explain, in gripping detail, what the Expeditionary Forces were tasked with at Silban. As she listened to the testimony, Enza scanned the courtroom, scrutinizing the judges, opposing counsel, and the audience in the gallery, to gauge their reactions. Jurists and spectators alike were focused on the commander in rapt attention.
"Objection," Nor's attorney said at last as he stood up. "This is all very fascinating, but what, if anything does it have to do with my client?"
"If I might have the Court's indulgence?" Mar Dov asked graciously.
"You have very little leeway. Make your point, Counselor," the head jurist cautioned sternly.
"Commander, what other responsibilities did the Expeditionary Forces execute during this operation?" Mar Dov asked.
"We detained and processed prisoners of war captured during the battle, including Karzen and Son Mai, known associates of the defendant."
"Objection," Nor's attorney declared again loudly. "Where is the foundation for this claim?"
"Permission to approach?" Mar Dov asked, lifting a globe from the podium.
"Proceed, Counselor," the head judge said.
Mar Dov walked toward the witness stand, activating the globe. The images of two men, both scowling and gaunt-faced appeared from the globe. "Can you identify these men, Commander?"
"The first is Karzen, the second Son Mai," Talan confirmed. "These images were captured shortly after they were detained."
He switched the picture to a grainy, black and white still. "And this image here? Can you describe it?"
"This is a satellite image captured by my team while we were conducting reconnaissance in the Belaar Valley. The individual furthest to the right is Karzen. The one at the extreme left is Son Mai. In between them is the defendant." Mar Dov continued with image after image linking the slaughterers of Silban to Nor.
"I object to this entire line of questioning," Nor's attorney announced indignantly. "The acts of these two other men are not at issue in this case. The defendant is not responsible for the actions of every single person with whom he has ever met."
"On the contrary," Mar Dov countered. "A commander is responsible for the actions of his subordinates and we will prove that these men acted at the direction of the defendant."
The head jurist turned toward Nor's attorney. "The prosecution has the opportunity to prove its case. Counselor, you will have every chance to rebut that case."
Enza felt a small smile turn up the corners of her mouth as she nodded. The commander was going to link Nor to every unspeakable act of evil perpetrated in his name at Silban.
