* * *

Ship

* * *

Jor-El was sitting alone in the dark when Lara came in. The only flickering light came from the ship. It was almost perfect -- only a few last finishing touches to be added, most of them concerned with making it even more secure. Before the baby was born, Lara had thought she would be the one who would have to call him to come inside at night, to stop him from running too fast, to remind him to chew his food slowly. She'd expected Jor-El to be the fun parent.

He'd turned out to be even more protective than she was. She hadn't had to worry about feeding Kal-El the first few, noisy months; Jor-El had always had the baby in his arms by the time Lara shook herself out of sleep and crept into the nursery. Sometimes she suspected he stayed up all night just watching Kal-El sleep. It had been charming, if a little frightening, watching Jor-El finally realise that there was something in the universe bigger than he was.

She'd worried about what would happen when Kal-El was a teenager and no longer happy to sleep in beds of triple-strengthened alloy, watched by his father and an alarm system set to go off at so much as a whispered profanity. But that wasn't an issue anymore, was it?

She thought Jor-El would have made a good father anyway.

The ship had been his idea, when the faint, disturbing rumours had started rippling through the world. She'd refused to believe they would need it, right until they could no longer deny the coming end.

She wasn't giving up hope yet. The scientists were working on the problem; they promised that they were getting closer to finding out what was wrong with Krypton. There was a good chance that they would fix it.

But . . . just in case. She was glad Jor-El had started planning so early.

"I wish we had the time to build the model we planned," said Jor-El.

Lara sat down and rested her hands on his shoulders, digging her fingers into the muscle. It was like trying to massage a brick wall.

"The one with the inbuilt kennel, you mean?"

"Yes," said Jor-El. "This one wo -- wouldn't be able to fit the dog."

"Or the cat."

"Or the cat," Jor-El agreed.

"Or the horse."

"Or the monkey."

"What monkey?" said Lara.

Jor-El looked shamefaced.

"He was a last-minute addition," he said. "I just thought of it one day. I thought he might come in handy, you know. Monkeys are amusing. Kal-El might want to have something to laugh at, on the new world."

Lara stared at Jor-El's shoulderblade, rubbing the edge of it with her thumb. She didn't remember it being so sharp. It stood out starkly under the cloth of his shirt.

From the back, he looked old, she thought. She'd never thought they'd be old. She had expected to grow old with him, had looked forward to it when she married him, but she'd never imagined just being old. Growing hadn't even been involved. She'd woken up one night and seen age in the slump of her husband's shoulders.

"It was a good idea," she said. Fortunately Jor-El was too absorbed in his thoughts to tell that her heart wasn't in it.

"He's so little," he said wistfully. "Who knows? They might not have monkeys, where he's -- where he might be going. He ought to get to see monkeys.

"And dogs," he added. "They might not have dogs. Every boy should have a dog."

"Well," said Lara.

It was difficult to know what to say. Pain is such a lonely place.

"Maybe he won't like dogs anyway," she said finally.

"That was what the cat was for," said Jor-El.

They both looked at the ship. It looked almost too small to fit even a baby.

"What were you doing up so late?" said Lara, with an effort. She was startled by the violence of the sudden wish that she'd given in to the impulse to go into Kal-El's room and touch him. Just a kiss on his sleep-warm forehead would have made her feel better. He was a deep sleeper; he wouldn't have woken up, and even if he had, she could have quietened him.

Jor-El gestured at the ship.

"I was trying to record a message for him," he said. "I don't -- I want him to have something left of us. But nothing came out right. I mean -- " His shoulders lifted, helplessly. "What is there to say?"

"Play it," said Lara.

Jor-El's voice issued from the ship, crackly and oddly forbidding.

"Um," it said, bringing a wave of white noise with it. "Oh, blast it." A few heartfelt thumps, and the recording device sputtered in protest. The sound cleared miraculously.

"Right," said Jor-El's voice. "To whoever's listening to this -- this is Kal-El from Krypton." He was speaking very slowly and loudly, as one does to foreigners, in the vague hope that reduced speed and increased volume will somehow aid understanding. "Please look after him. He's just -- he's just a baby. He's all we've go -- we had. He's all our hope."

Jor-El coughed. Lara squeezed his shoulders.

"Don't give him too many sweets," the record murmured, drowning Jor-El's little choked sounds. "He'll spoil his teeth. He sleeps a lot, so you shouldn't have too much trouble with him at night. But he doesn't like the dark, so you've got to sit with him till he falls off. It doesn't take too long, anyway. We're sending his favourite blanket with him; don't throw it away, it helps when he's scared. Don't -- don't let him be scared.

"Kal-El, if you're listening to this -- you're alone, but we'll always be with you. Well, we won't be with you, we'll be dead, but we're rigging up something we hope will help. Where we're sending you -- well, the data is conflicting, but you're either going to be very strong and powerful, or you're going to have a very pleasant singing voice. I'm hoping for the singing voice. I never could sing, but we hope for better for you, Kal-El.

"We wanted to give you the world, but ours isn't really up to scratch. Do your best with the one you've got now. Maybe you'll be surrounded by right bastards -- we tried to avoid that, but you'd be surprised how hard it is to find planets that aren't covered with the buggers. Reckon you'd be a god among men wherever you went, anyway. You're our son.

"Don't let the bastards get you down. Take care of yourself. You'll be fine. You'll be great . . ."

"I should find some other way of recording it," said Jor-El. His voice was scratchy, but he'd got himself under control, which was more than Lara could say for herself. "The quality of sound is terrible."

"Those newfangled devices they have," Lara said, when she could talk again. "That beam your messages in light, and can transfer information straight to the brain. You can record a lot on them, they say. And they can withstand almost anything."

Neither of them mentioned how much they would have to withstand. Lara knew Jor-El spent sleepless nights thinking about precisely that, everything their little boy would have to face in the big emptiness outside the world.

"Not very reliable, though," said Jor-El absently. "They do bizarre things with messages, I've heard. Scramble them so they're hardly recognisable anymore. I'll think about it."

"We don't have much time," said Lara.

Jor-El lay a hand flat against the ship, protectively.

"He will," he said. "Lara -- space is so dark."

"He'll be a good man," she whispered. "He'll be happy. He'll have a life, we're making sure of that . . ."

"We won't see it."

"It makes no difference," said Lara. Parenthood had taught Jor-El humility; it had taught her deceit. It was hardly a fair trade-off, but life wasn't about fair. You did the best you could.

"I wish we could send the dog," said Jor-El.

"We'll figure something out," said Lara.

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