Two points before we get to Part 2.
If you consider this Science-Fiction, please note that the fiction bit is going to be stronger than the science bit.
In other words, I don't have all the explanations - some, but not all. However, don't let that stop you asking questions and, if you want to, proposing answers. I'll probably learn a lot if you do.
Secondly ... there's another slightly gruesome bit in this part. Again, the threat is worse than the reality.
From Part 1 ...
Lois ate the remainder of the green stuff. She then looked at the stick. Was she supposed to eat it too?
The end she had used to slurp up the gunk was now stained a deeper green colour and had softened.
Tentatively, she bit off part of it. She chewed and it disintegrated into a sandy consistency. There was nowhere to spit it out, so Lois swallowed it.
It was a little gritty, but other than that ... not too bad at all.
Part 2
Kal-El lived by routines.
Every evening, between supper and bed, he dedicated two hours to the Disputes, then one hour to researching and considering solutions to the numerous problems faced by his people.
The Disputes came first – always. He would carefully read the submissions from all antagonists, think through the issue, consult Kryptonian Law if he deemed it necessary and then record his orders. On a good night, he could get through six Disputes.
Tonight was not a good night.
He had only thirteen minutes left, and he hadn’t even finished reading the first submission from the first Dispute.
It wasn’t a particularly long submission, nor particularly complex.
But he was finding it particularly difficult to stay focussed on his task.
His mind kept drifting away.
To the alien woman.
She was a woman.
That in itself was disconcerting.
That in itself had made him realise how little interaction he had with women. All his servants were male. All his soldiers were male. All his Cabinet were male. On the rare occasion when he felt he couldn’t settle a Dispute from the information given in the submissions and requested to see the antagonists, they were generally male. Even when the Dispute involved a woman, her father or husband or brother would accompany her and speak for her.
Kal’s Mistress of Concubines was female – though he saw her only rarely and his infrequent orders to her were mostly relayed via one of his servants. And she was old and worn ... if she’d ever had an aura of femininity, it had withered long ago.
Unlike the alien woman.
Kal’s wife was a woman.
Za, of the House of Ra, was a woman. He’d married her when he was sixteen – ten winters ago. It was his duty – as inescapable as his nightly obligation to the Disputes. Since the ceremony, he’d seen her once a year at the Nobility Convention.
He’d never spoken to her. He’d said his vows – but not to her – to the Officiator. He didn’t remember even looking at her that much.
Yet it had required conscious effort to tear his eyes from the alien woman.
Kal regarded the folder in his hand, uncomfortably aware of his lack of progress. The pile of Disputes awaiting his judgment seemed to grow exponentially every week.
Again, Kal forced his attention to the hand-written submission. Again, his mind had drifted before he reached the end of the first line.
Where was she from?
Was she alone?
Was she here by accident? Or intention?
Did she represent a threat to his people? His planet?
Kal glanced to the clock on the wall. Four minutes left. There was no way he could settle this Dispute tonight. He simply couldn’t do it justice in four minutes. He waited for the time to pass, then closed the folder and returned it to the top of the large pile.
The third hour of his evening was devoted to investigating possible solutions to the seemingly insurmountable problems faced by his people. Foremost, their ever-dwindling water supply.
Then the lack of fuel for heating. Full winter was still two months away and his people were cold already.
Kal didn’t know how he was going to provide heating for his people. He didn’t know where he was going to source water, so they could increase their crops and manage their stock. He didn’t know how he was going to feed his people.
He knew from past experience that those who were sick or weak or old – those past forty years - would almost certainly not survive the long, arduous winter.
How did her people do it?
Did they face similar problems?
Did they have solutions?
Suddenly an idea invaded his thoughts. An idea so unconventional, his mind whirled.
The idea took root and began to grow.
There would be opposition, Kal knew that. His Cabinet would not approve. Not without weeks of congested discussion.
But the idea was justifiable.
Radical.
But justifiable.
And they didn’t have weeks. It needed to be done now.
With firm resolve, Kal rose from the chair at his desk and pushed the button, summoning his servant. Seconds later, Tek rushed in. “Sir,” he said.
“Arrange for the Translator to be inserted in C4,” Kal ordered. “Tomorrow morning.”
“We have one remaining Translator,” Tek said. “And we do not have the capability to manufacture more.”
“Will it still function?” Kal asked.
“It’s uncertain after this length of time.”
“I want it done tomorrow,” Kal said. “Inform the Surgeon he is to begin immediately following breakfast.”
“There will be opposition,” Tek said.
“Yes,” Kal agreed. “But once it is done, it is done.”
“As you order.”
Tek left Kal’s chambers and immediately Kal’s thoughts returned to the alien woman.
If the Translator was still viable, he would be able to communicate with her.
If he could communicate with her, he could access any knowledge she may have - knowledge which may be significant in their battles against the harsh environment.
Knowledge which may mean the difference between survival and extinction.
That was his justification.
That was why he was ordering it without consulting his Cabinet.
It was for the good of all Kryptonians.
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The next morning, Lois was woken by the bland woman. She walked from the room and gestured for Lois to follow. As she did, Lois looked to the little table. It was bare. Apparently, she was to have no breakfast ... unless she was being taken somewhere else for breakfast.
To Mr Top Banana maybe?
Unlikely, she realised.
He was important. She could tell that by the way others brown-nosed him. And if the guards outside his building were anything to go by, his safety was a high priority.
Either that, or they really didn’t want him to escape.
Lois doubted he would dine with foreign prisoners.
Two soldiers – unarmed – met them in the courtyard and each took one of Lois’s arms.
She was marched to an unfamiliar section of Mr Top Banana’s building and into a bare, cold room containing a large table. Two other men entered, their eyes peering out from above the masks covering their lower faces. The soldiers lifted Lois bodily and placed her on the table, then forced her to turn onto her right side.
There was something unyielding in their actions; something sombre in the atmosphere. Lois wasn’t scared ... exactly ... but her heart was pounding. “What are you doing to me?” she asked, knowing it was pointless, but unable to stop herself.
They held her while three belts were tightened across her - one at her shoulders, one at her waist and one at her knees – securing her to the table. Lois began to struggle, but the belts had no give. She reached for the belt across her shoulder and tried to push it away. One of the soldiers captured her hands and held them securely in the pit of her stomach.
Lois couldn’t move.
She was trapped.
Like an animal.
There were four of them and one of her.
“I am a citizen of the United -,” she began.
One of the masked men came into her vision, holding a razor blade and a sponge. Someone from behind Lois clamped her head against the table. The masked man dampened the hair above her left ear and then proceeded to shave her. The moist strands fell onto her nose and cheeks. Lois fought against the rising need to lash out. She must not move – not with the razor blade so close to her head.
What were they going to do to her?
Then she saw him - the second of the masked men. He was holding a drill.
Icy panic scythed through her veins. They were going to drill into her head.
Lois screamed. Drew breath and screamed again, her control shattered.
Then above her screams, she heard a bellow.
The masked man with the drill backed away and Lois saw Mr Top Banana. He barked something. He seemed displeased, although there was nothing indicating anger on his still-dispassionate face. The masked men looked at the floor.
Mr Top Banana waited ... maybe for an answer ... but none was forthcoming. With another growl, he turned and left the room.
“Come back,” Lois screeched. “Please! Come back. Don’t leave me with these monsters.”
The men continued staring at the floor. Lois waited, her breath ragged, her heart hurtling around her ribcage.
Finally, after what seemed like a long, long time – but was probably less than a minute - Mr Top Banana returned, holding a half-sphere attached by a tube to a bulging balloon of clear plastic. He approached the table without so much as a glance to the four men and placed the half-sphere over Lois’s nose and mouth.
His brown eyes looked down on her. And then she saw no more.
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Lois gradually became aware of her consciousness. The bed beneath her was soft. She was warm.
What a dream! The spaceship crash, the strange country, the remote people, the weird food, the language of grunts, Mr Top Banana, being branded, being shaved, being threatened with a drill to her head. Whoa!
Lane, she admonished herself, you needta eat less Rocky Road ice-cream just before going to bed.
Lois opened her eyes and gasped. She was not in the comforting familiarity of her bedroom in her apartment in Metropolis.
Instead she was in an unknown room. The decor – brown mud on concrete walls – reminded her of the room where she had seen Mr Top Banana.
But this was a different room. And she was on ... actually *in* ... a bed.
Lois slid tentative fingertips across the back of her right hand. She traced the slight undulations of the pentagon and the ‘S’ inside it.
So, it wasn’t a dream.
She really had crashed in a foreign country. They really had branded her.
But why was she in this bed?
It didn’t seem like a hospital – not that she was expecting a hospital to seem in any way like a hospital she would be familiar with – but this was someone’s bed ... someone's double bed.
Whose bed?
Mr Top Banana’s?
Where was he?
And what had he done to her while she was unconscious?
Lois felt her body under the covers, relieved to discover she was still wearing the white dress.
Then other memories flooded back and she gasped.
Had they drilled the hole in her head?
With quivering apprehension, Lois reached for her left cheek and skimmed past the slight protrusion of her ear. Where there should have been strands of hair, there was a small bandage. Beyond its edges, she could feel a thin strip of bare scalp.
So they *had* shaved her. And then performed some sort of procedure on ... or *in* ... her head.
The door opened and Mr Top Banana strode in.
He gathered the chair from the desk and sat next to her bed. He scrutinised her for a long moment, face vacuous. His mouth opened. “Hello,” he said.
Lois lurched to a sitting position, disregarding the possibility of a backlash from the trauma inflicted on her head. She stared at him, eyes wide, as she hauled the bedding up to her throat.
“Hello,” he repeated. His voice had a robotic tinniness.
She swallowed. “Hello,” she croaked.
“I am Kal-El, Supreme Ruler of New Krypton,” he said woodenly. He closed his right fist and thudded it into the centre of his chest.
So he really *was* the top banana. “I am Lois Lane, Daily Planet.” Lois extended her right hand as her left hand ensured the bedding kept her covered to the neck.
He dropped his hand from his chest and stared at her outstretched hand, but didn’t make any move towards her. After an extended silence, he said, “Low is slain?”
“Lo-is,” she said as clearly as she could.
“Lo-iss?”
She nodded. “You’re Kal?”
His shoulders straightened and he drew back as if confounded by her question. He’d said his name was Kal. What was she *supposed* to call him? “Where are you from?” he asked.
“Metropolis, New Troy, USA,” Lois answered. “Where am I?
“New Krypton.”
“That’s a city, right?” she guessed. She’d never heard of it. It sounded vaguely Eastern European. “Which country?”
“We have no countries.”
Was that a joke? Lois scanned his face, searching for amusement – no, he was serious. Was he some sort of one-world extremist? She didn’t know ... didn’t care ... didn’t have time for his petty agendas. “I need to get home to Metropolis, Kal,” she informed him. “I appreciate your assistance.”
“I have no means to get you home, even if I knew its whereabouts.”
“The United States of America,” she said with disdain. “This place may be remote, but you must have heard of The United States of America.”
“No.”
Lois sighed, her exasperation rising. “Get me a map,” she said.
He went to his desk and brought back a map. He handed it to her.
It was a map of one land mass – vaguely circular – an island surrounded by ocean. Lois poked at it. “What’s this?” she demanded.
“New Krypton.”
“Where’s the rest of the world?”
“There is no rest of the world,” Kal intoned. “That is our entire planet.”
Great! Just her luck that when she could have crash landed anywhere in the entire world – the Caribbean maybe, or a tropical island paradise – her life-pod had honed in on a cold, dank, shut-away place run by a lunatic. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, Mister,” Lois said, managing, with considerable effort, to keep her tone even. “But I am an American citizen and there are international conventions regarding the treatment of benevolent foreigners. I mean you no harm. Just put me on a plane to anywhere in the USA ... actually, any civilised country will do ... and I won’t bother you again.”
“That isn’t possible.”
“Of course it’s possible,” Lois said. “What are you holding out for? Money? Weapons? Trade favours? You think by detaining me you can broker a deal with the President?”
“You are on Planet New Krypton,” he said. “You arrived in a space capsule – from another planet. You said you were from the Daily Planet.”
“That’s not a *planet*, blockhead,” Lois exploded. “It’s a newspaper.”
He didn’t react to her insult or her tone. “You are on New Krypton,” he said. His monotone was really starting to grate. “It is a planet. Not a country. Not a city. A planet. You come from a different planet. Don’t you know your home planet?”
“Or course I do,” she spat. “Planet Earth.”
“Earth,” he repeated. “I have heard of that planet.”
“Whoopee doo and give the man a toffee.”
“That did not translate,” he said, deadpan.
Lois rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Can I go home?” she asked wearily.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“We don’t have the technology nor the energy to transport you to your uncharted planet.”
“It’s *not* uncharted,” Lois hissed.
“It’s not on the map.”
No arguments there. Lois sighed. What now?
A sudden explanation flared through her brain. Maybe they’d put her in the asylum. Maybe Kal was an inmate. “Is there someone else I can speak to?” she asked hopefully.
“I am the Supreme Ruler.”
Delusions of grandeur ... wonderful. “You already mentioned that,” Lois said, allowing her derision full expression. She looked past him, trying to assess the chances of success should she attempt to escape. They weren’t good, she decided grimly. “Did anyone else from my spaceship survive?”
“You are the only one of your kind here.”
Lois held her violated hand towards him. “What is this?” she said.
“The Crest of the House of El.”
He’d said his name was Kal El. “*Your* house?” she accused.
"Yes."
So it *had* been some sort of ceremony. Which, unfortunately, quashed the inmate theory. “Why?”
“You are my concubine.”
“Your *concubine*?” Lois spluttered.
“Yes,” Kal said with a nonchalance that detonated her smouldering hostility.
“Did you even have the common decency to enquire whether I *wanted* to be lumped with you?” Lois stormed. “Or did you imagine that because you’re pretty and because you’re the top banana you can just do whatever you want to?”
Somehow, his blankness got ... blanker. “I am not a banana,” he said as if he were giving her helpful information.
Lois Lane was speechless. For the first time in her life, she was utterly speechless.
“It was not your choice,” Kal said. “You are C4.”
“C4?” she managed.
“The fourth of my concubines.”
That probably explained what she was doing in his bed. But had he already claimed his conjugal *rights* or was that why he was here now? “Don’t think for one moment that you’ll be getting anything from me,” she fumed. “Concubine or not.”
Kal pushed back the chair and rose. “I will come back later,” he said.
Lois glared as she watched him walk through the doorway. Then the thought hit her ... come back for what?
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Kal-El was supposed to be checking the Government Accounts. That’s what he did during the hour prior to lunch on Thursdays.
But the neat rows of figures before him kept morphing into an image of the alien woman.
Low-iss.
What a strange name.
Was it representative of her position? Was she a person of no consequence on her home planet? Except she didn’t look like a person born into a hopeless situation ... didn’t look like someone who had known from the beginning of consciousness that her life could never be anything other than an overwhelming struggle.
Why put a lowly person into a spaceship?
Maybe her life was expendable. Maybe she was an experiment. Maybe her death was immaterial.
There was something about her eyes. Something that continually lured him back. Every time he was with her, he kept forcing his attention away, only to find himself anchored in her again.
Certainly her demeanour was different to every other person he’d known. She seemed to regard him as an equal. Even after he’d told her he was the Supreme Ruler.
She’d called him ‘Kal’.
*Kal*.
No one had ever called him Kal. Possibly his parents had, before their deaths, but he had no memory of them.
The people closest to him – his servants who had served him for a long time – called him Sir. The three Regal Nobles who constituted his Cabinet referred to him as the Supreme Ruler. Everyone else accepted they weren’t worthy to speak his name.
Yet this person – this woman – this Low-iss – an alien from Planet Earth, who would be lower than the lowest if he hadn’t taken her as a concubine, calmly called him ‘Kal’.
And she hadn’t responded when he’d put his hand to his chest to signify that he willingly accepted her into his presence.
She’d put out her hand, sideways, thumb up. Almost ... almost as if she had expected him to respond to her. But how? Was he supposed to hold out his hand too? Maybe the very ends of their fingertips were supposed to touch. And that would signify ... what?
Kal checked the time. Another nine and a half minutes to work on the Accounts.
An idea formed – an insistent idea that had established residence in his mind before he had a chance to protest.
He could check on Low-iss before lunch.
Never, in the ten years he had been Supreme Ruler, had he ever abandoned a task before the allotted time. Not unless it was an emergency.
This was not an emergency.
But ...
Kal snapped shut the account book and walked, as unhurriedly as he could manage, to his bedroom.
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Lois made a speculative exploration of her head. Most of her hair was untouched. It was grimy and in desperate need of a wash, but it was still there. The bandage – about an inch square - was firmly attached above her left ear.
Gently, she probed it. It didn’t hurt. Maybe they’d put that numbing purple gel on it. She could feel a little lump under the bandage.
Terrifying though it had been – whatever they’d put in her head had given her the capacity to communicate – and for that, she felt a wave of gratitude.
She examined her hand again. The redness had gone. It didn’t hurt even when she pressed the ‘S’ symbol.
They didn’t seem to be an innately cruel people.
They had branded her and put something in her head, but both had been done ... well, humanely. Although she was convinced the doctors or whatever they were had intended to drill into her head without any anaesthetic, until Mr Top ... Kal ... had come and stopped them.
He was definitely not cruel. Distant maybe, but not cruel.
Kal said she was his concubine ... but he hadn’t demanded anything of her.
Yet.
But she *was* in his bed.
If she was his fourth concubine, where were the other three?
Was it a time-share deal?
Lois looked around the room. It wasn’t a particularly big room – smaller than her bedroom in her apartment. If Kal was the supreme ruler, wouldn’t he have a grander, bigger room than this?
Maybe this was *her* room.
Maybe all the concubines had a room and Kal visited as the mood took him.
She gulped.
It had taken considerable time for her indignation and frustration to subside enough to allow logical thought.
Except there was nothing logical about her situation.
The people were so different. Their total lack of emotion was disconcerting. Did they laugh, these strange people? Did they smile even? Did they cry? Get angry?
Or were they just restrained around strangers? Aliens.
Aliens.
Could it possibly be true that she was ... actually ... really ... on *another* planet?
She’d known she wasn’t in Metropolis. Known she wasn’t in the United States.
But to think she wasn’t even on Earth!
The room had a desk – bare other than a pile of folders – a chair and a small basin.
This couldn’t be his room ... it was too stark ... far too humble for a supreme ruler.
The door opened and Kal entered. He walked to the chair and sat down, his elbows resting on his knees, his head down.
“Hello,” Lois said hesitantly.
His head raised and Lois looked into his brown eyes. They reminded her of chocolate. “Hello,” he replied in the monotone. Was that his normal tone or was that the result of communicating through whatever they had put in her head?
There was a long silence while his attention volleyed between her face and the floor.
Lois watched him. He seemed uncomfortable. Was he trying to tell her something? Then a thought struck her. Had he come for ... well, the concubine thing?
Surely a man with three concubines and who-knew-how-many wives would simply come in and take what he assumed was his.
Kal looked up. “How do you keep warm in winter?”
Lois was completely taken aback. She was thinking about concubines and he wanted to know how she kept warm. Unless ... what if they were thinking the same thing and this was his clumsy, Kryptonian pick-up line?
Despite everything, Lois felt a smile curve across her mouth. An image - his face when he’d solemnly informed her that he was not a banana - leapt into her mind and drove her smile wider.
Now, he was staring at her. His stock expression hadn’t changed but she thought she detected confusion. Or maybe it was displeasure. She quickly covered her mouth with her hand.
His unblinking eyes bored into her.
As if she’d grown an extra head.
Lois felt her bandage. It was still in place. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
“How do you keep warm in winter?” he repeated.
Lois firmly suppressed her lingering amusement. “We have heating,” she said. “We burn gas or wood or coal. We also wear extra clothing such as coats.”
“We have no gas and our supplies of wood and coal are extremely limited.”
“It’s warm in here.”
“This is the Regal Residence. It is kept warm.” Kal looked up from the floor. “But my people are not so fortunate.”
He seemed genuinely concerned.
“Some homes have no heating at all,” he continued. “Many people die every winter.”
There was no sorrow on his face and his voice carried no emotion. But Lois could feel his concern. In his strange, mechanical way, this leader cared for his people.
His head was low, his shoulders slumped.
Lois experienced a sudden, unexpected impulse to reach over and touch his hand. To connect with him. To convey encouragement.
She didn’t. She didn’t move. She didn’t speak. She had no suggestions as to how this cold planet could find warmth through the winter.
And she was uncertain as to how touching him would be received.
But her gut feeling was ... it wouldn’t be welcome.
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Innumerable miles away, as the sun descended on another day, a mother stared into the deepening gloom, searching.
Always searching.
