And All Of Us Are Dying

Part 4

"Valor!"

The deep, resonant tones of Orin II, King of all the Seven Seas, echoed loudly in the crowded spaces of the Justice League Watchtower Monitor room, and Lar Gand unconsciously sat up straighter in his comfortable chair at the implied rebuke in that commanding voice.

"You're supposed to be on Monitor duty!" huffed the monarch, also known as Aquaman, "not watching some blasted soap opera, boy! Pay attention!"

"I am paying attention!" the young Daxamite hero defended himself, with a frown and a hard edge to his voice. He might be the "new kid" in the JLA, but he knew his job, and he never shirked it. He crossed his arms over his broad chest and tried not to come across as too belligerent. But the high and mighty Aquaman frequently rubbed him the wrong way.

"You get used to him after a while," J'onn J'onzz, The Martian Manhunter, had assured him. "Arthur wasn't always like this. He used to be a very nice fellow."

"Yeah, right!" muttered Wally West, the Flash. "And I used to be a kid sidekick! Things change, J'onn."

Valor stared at his fellow JLA'er. "In fact, not only am I keeping track of all the monitor screens, Your Majesty," he dug at the proud Atlantean, "but I'm also keeping a telescopic eye peeled on several Earth-side hot spots. Lots of troop movements along the Quarac border. You might want to keep that in mind during your watch." His lascivious, provoking smile was quite deliberate.

"Of course, I always watch 'Secret Hearts', too," he chuckled. "I never miss Kara, after all!"

He could have sworn that the aquatic hero growled. Rising to his feet, Valor bowed low, making a sweeping gesture with his right hand in the direction of the now empty chair, as if it was a beckoning throne. Without a word, Aquaman seated himself and began his task of JLA Monitor duty, staring at his screens, pointedly ignoring his departing young colleague.

"Ah! The prodigal son returns!" quipped Wonder Woman with a smile as Valor took his place at the JLA conference table.

Blushing, the youthful Daxamite adventurer tried to return the smile without staring at the intimidating but astonishingly beautiful Amazon Princess. "Sorry, ma'am," he apologized. "I didn't mean to be late..."

"Cut the kid some slack, Wonder Woman," advised Steel. Under that metal faceplate, it was quite impossible to tell if the engineer and inventor were smiling or not, but his voice was chuckling. "Anybody who's got this kid's touch with machinery deserves some slack, Princess," opined John Henry Irons, the engineer. "Who do you think repaired your robot plane last week?"

Valor blushed at Wonder Woman's warm smile of gratitude, and more than one of his fellow JLA'ers grinned.

At Valor's side, Kyle Rayner, Green Lantern, nodded and spoke up in defense of his fellow crimefighter. "Yeah," said the new GL, "the Aqua Dude was probably late in relieving him on monitor duty."

Kyle was very glad not to be the newest, untried member of the League any longer. He, for one, had welcomed with open arms the addition of Valor to their ranks. Since he also knew the trials and tribulations of replacing a beloved, departed member of the group, Rayner had made a special point of befriending the young hero.

"Hey! That's what superspeed is for," cracked the Flash with a rapidly expanding grin and a wink at his friend across the table. Even the Batman smiled at that. In the dimness, a shadow stirred.

"Speaking of machinery," said the Batman, turning to face Valor, "I've looked over those plans of yours for the new model Batmobile, and they're pretty radical, son. I mean, a car powered by magnetic repulsion? Locked into the Earth's magnetic field, riding the magnetosphere? Is that even possible?"

"Little trick I picked up from a...a...friend of mine...a long time from now," replied Valor. His eidetic memory brought him a clear vision of Rokk Krinn, called Cosmic Boy by his comrades in the 30th century Legion of Super-Heroes. "Not only is it possible, Batman," he hastened to assure the Dark Knight, "but it's a lot cleaner, safer, and you'll have much better control of the vehicle."

Steel prepared to speak up in defense of his youthful protégé-assistant, but someone else beat him to the punch.

"Batman," said Oracle, her voice filtered into unrecognizability by the synthesizer in the JLA Conference Room, "trust me when I tell you that Valor knows what he's talking about."

Sitting at her computer console in her small apartment in Gotham City, Barbara Gordon, Oracle, formerly Batgirl, paralyzed from the waist down when the Joker's bullet shattered her spine, sat back in her floating hoverchair, smiling. At a single mental command from her, her psi-linked chair responded, molding itself to support her body, making her more comfortable in this new position.

'He certainly made my life a lot easier,' she thought, saluting the young hero with her coffee mug.

At the head of the table, J'onn J'onzz cleared his throat delicately. "My friends," he began solemnly. "It is my sad duty to remind us all what an unhappy day this is for heroes and ordinary people everywhere. Exactly one year ago today, we lost one of the best of us..."

Around the table faces fell, heads bowed themselves in sadness, and Wonder Woman's weren't the only eyes misted with unshed tears. Unbidden, Valor's fingers caressed the stylized raised "S" on the chest of his new uniform, tracing its outlines. He was still not yet used to wearing it. But he regarded it as a sacred trust in his own eyes, and in the eyes of his fellow JLA members. One that he intended to fulfill to the best of his ability.

"Superman was an inspiration to each of us," the Martian hero continued in a soft voice, "and we have each mourned him in our own way. But today, on this, the day of his greatest sacrifice, it is only fitting that we take special care to honor him. To remember him. And what he meant to us...as a fellow Justice Leaguer...and as a friend..."

Washing over him like a raging tide came Lar Gand's memories of his long time friend, Kal-El...Superman.

He hadn't believed the news when he'd first heard it on far away Staryl.

He'd only just arrived there the previous week, so he didn't really know Luma Lynai, that world's self-styled champion and superheroine. Many called her Superwoman, but she, herself, always rejected the name vigorously.

"There's only one, Superanybody," she said quietly. "Only one deserving of the name...and I'm not he."

Perhaps Lar alone noticed the sadness staining her striking blue eyes when she spoke the name. Nevertheless, it came as something of a shock when he found the beautiful blonde woman in tears, the early morning light of Staryl's orange sun bathing her tears in soft luminescence until they were almost red, like blood.

"L-Luma?"

He rediscovered pain as he bit his lip at the sight of the sobs wracking her slender body. Under Staryl's orange light, he was no longer invulnerable. And his strength and speed were no match for hers, born to the caress of the bright light of her native sun. Valor had been of little help to her, indeed, in the short time of their acquaintance. But he had, of course, tried hard and done his very best.

But now...instinct told him this was something with which he could not help her, however much he might want to. He wanted to comfort her...take her in his arms...ease her pain...but how? Without being misunderstood? Feeling foolish and awkward, he merely stood there until she peered up at him through tear-blinded eyes. An unaccountable sense of dread engulfed him.

"He's dead..." she whispered between trembling lips, "dead...Oh, gods..."

Walking to her side, he stroked her hair gently. Surely he could offer that much without fear? He did not know whether to be pleased or appalled when she pulled him close, laying her head on his hip and weeping unashamedly, moistening the royal blue cloth of his uniform with her falling tears.

"D-Dead? Who's dead, Luma?" As swiftly as lightning strikes, he knew that he did not truly want to know the answer to that question. Too late now...

"Kal-El..." she wept, "Superman...Do-Doomsday..." Fresh grief convulsed her as he sat down heavily beside her on the stone bench. In truth, he had no choice. His legs, he found, would not support him.

"No..." he murmured, unwilling to believe it, "...no...he can't be-be...It's not possible..." In his arms, the alien heroine sobbed.

"But-but-how can he be dead? He's invulnerable!" Valor cried.

To his utter shame and humiliation, his own mortality came crashing down, unbidden, upon him. "So are you," a small traitorous voice lodged in the back of his mind told him. "So are you! If-if he can die...so can you..."

The woman who rejected the name of Superwoman dried her streaming eyes on the edge of her sleeve and glanced up at Valor, dry eyed now, but still perilously shaky. Her voice wasn't the only thing that trembled. Staring down at her shaking hands, she murmured, "They're going to bury him in a few days." She shivered with revulsion. Barbarians! she thought. To cover the body of a loved one in the filth and decay of the soil; to let it rot, food for worms and vermin...instead of decently permitting them to burn in the cleansing fires of eternity...

"Luma?" Valor whispered. "I-I have to go to Earth." At her small nod of understanding, he held her a bit more closely. "Would-would you like to come with me?" he asked. Offering up a small prayer that she would consent, he was stabbed by disappointment when she shook her blonde head. He did not want to be alone right now.

"I can't..." she mourned, the tears threatening once again. "I've been to Earth, you see. He-he took me there. He came to Staryl looking for me. The computers in his Fortress of Solitude told him about me and he wanted to meet me. He was so brave. And so very, very lonely. It was so easy to fall in love with him! We were both alone, you see. And-and-when he asked me to accompany him back to Earth, to make a life for ourselves together, I agreed and followed him."

She hesitated for a moment. This next was very painful for her, Valor realized. Astounded, he watched her smooth her pristine white and green costume, as if in memory of making herself more presentable, more attractive for her once lover. Her hands had ceased their trembling by this time. She seemed more calm, now, much to Valor's immense relief. Weeping women were his bane.

"But I never even made it to the surface of the planet..." she admitted.

"I never saw Earth. We'd barely made it into the Sol system when I began to feel faint and nauseous. And my powers left me. Superman rushed me back home to Staryl, and I was fine again. He theorized that the radiance of a yellow sun such as Earth's acts destructively on my body. Under the influence of a yellow sun, my cellular structure begins to break down almost immediately. I could never live on Earth. I was heartbroken when Superman left me to return to his duties on Earth. There's never been anyone else for me. I lived for those rare moments when he returned and loved me. Sometimes I think those were the only times I was ever truly alive. Truly happy."

He thought about the simplicity of her words, the grief spilling into her voice and out her eyes almost continually on the long, sometimes seemingly endless journey to Earth. Not even running into Lobo and trashing the Czarnian bounty hunter made him feel any better. At first he'd been very surprised to discover the self-proclaimed "Main Man" unhappy, even a bit depressed, at the news of Superman's death. It was only when he realized that Lobo was just angry that he hadn't been the one to kill the Man of Steel that things turned ugly and a fight ensued. Valor was a tad unhappy with himself about the whole fight, actually, if the truth be known. Even if he had emerged the victor. It was hardly the way Superman would have wanted to be remembered, he knew, and it shamed him that he'd allowed himself to sink to Lobo's level of childish braggadocio and one-upmanship.

The funeral itself was a blur. He could remember marching in the funeral cortege with a huge, seemingly inexhaustible crowd of other heroes. Almost dizzy with the sheer numbers of them, Valor swore. Daxam's Moons! Terra seemed to spit metahumans like electrons from the core of a uranium atom! Some of them he recognized from his previous meetings with Earth's many metahumans. Many he knew only by reputation.

Most of them he did not know at all. Loneliness buffeted him like a howling wind. Not even sticking close by the JLA, the Terran heroes most familiar to him, helped assuage his crushing feelings of isolation, even in this huge crowd.

That was where he'd first seen Kara.

She was alone, now, he realized with a start. The last...the last Kryptonian. The only one of her kind left in the Universe. He tried hard not to try and imagine what that must be like for her. For anyone.

Alone. As he was alone in so many, many ways. She wouldn't let herself cry. But he could easily see the need for it stirring restlessly in the depths of her sky-blue eyes. Surrounded on all sides as he was by grief and despair, not least of all his own, hers was the pain that touched him most deeply; with the sharpest, most cutting, edge.

"S-Supergirl?"

He swallowed convulsively and cursed himself silently for the tremble marring his voice. Kara frowned at first in puzzled confusion, but then nodded in sudden recognition. 'Please Gods, don't let me blush,' he prayed. And some kind deity must have been listening, because he did not feel the heat touch his cheeks as he feared it would. Kara actually smiled at him to his vast and total amazement. And embarrassment. To his horror, he did blush, then, from the roots of his dark hair outward, like the setting of Earth's sun.

"You're Valor, aren't you?" she murmured. "I remember you...Cousin Kal said that you were very brave..."

And so it began. Trips to Earth's Moon; to Kal-El's Fortress of Solitude, where she soon took up residence. Days and nights spent together, immersed, lost, in the wonder of discovering one another. Through her, he experienced for the first time the beauties of Terra and her people. In return, he gifted her with her the Universe. Like children with a shiny new toy, they gamboled and played among the stars, pausing only to make love when it pleased them. Speeding from place to place, world to world, sometimes faster than light hurled itself through the ether of airless space, he spread the Galaxy out before her like a sumptuous banquet. Hungrily, she ate.

When the Justice League invited her to join, she declined. Linda Lee Danvers, she explained, had a life to build, a career to pursue. But, to his patented delight, she recommended him for membership in her stead, and he was heartily, enthusiastically, approved in short order.

J'onn J'onzz lifted his head and broke the spell, bringing them all back from the abyss of their memories of Superman. The soft voice, so seldom raised in ire or frustration, crept through the silence that no one else wanted to break. The others, one by one, all lifted their heads and turned in the Martian hero's direction. Valor took a moment to admire how easily, how naturally, J'onzz assumed the reins of command. It was not easy, the young Daxamite suspected. The Martian Manhunter, for all his long years and service to the people of Earth, remained a stranger here on this world.

As he was a stranger.

But Superman?

No. He was never a stranger. For all his Kryptonian genes and alien power, Superman was very human, Valor knew. A naive (some said) "big blue Boy Scout" from the heartland of this great nation. As American as the corn or the wheat that grew in vast fields stretching from horizon to horizon in this, his true birthplace. Superman was so very human, despite his alien heritage.

And as much a part of the Earth he'd protected so zealously, like a mountain range or a great tree rooted deep in the soil. But the mountain had fallen. The tree lay felled and uprooted.

"There will be a small ceremony, a memorial, in Metropolis," said J'onn. "In Centennial Park. No press coverage, I'm afraid. This will be just for us, his friends. At nightfall--around eight o'clock. Don't be late, my friends."

After that, the meeting quickly broke up. JLA'ers wandered off, one by one or in groups, to their rooms or to their homes and duties if they had them. Valor was struck at once with the uncomfortable quiet, the silence that surrounded him. Not at all like the silence of deep space that he so cherished; soothing and calming to the spirit. No, not like that at all. This silence, he realized with an unpleasant pang of grief, was isolating and painful; like the silence of a carefully tended tomb.

Superman's tomb.

He rose quickly from his chair at the meeting table, and stood to go. Nervously, he ran his fingers through his fine, dark hair and sighed softly beneath his gusting breath. Time to go. Time to get on with his so called life. He sighed again, plagued by the necessity.

Time for med student Lar Kelson to make one of his sporadic appearances. Kelson was due to check in with his Faculty Advisor soon. Past time he did so, actually, the young superhero admitted wryly to himself. Doctor Jenson disapproved of him, he knew. "Medicine, Mr. Kelson," the pompous professor had pontificated, "is not a career to be taken lightly. It requires purpose and dedication. Neither of which you seem to have!"

Not true, of course.

He was very dedicated to idea of medicine. On Daxam there was no higher goal, no more respected life work than that of a physician. But terrestrial medicine was so primitive! It was like swimming his way through oceans of turgid methane to study it. So much of it was species specific...and just plain wrong... When he thought of the changes he could make, the progress he could so easily provide...it was hard, so very hard to restrain himself.

"Patience, Lar, patience," he reminded himself in his sternest inner voice, curbing his instincts with a will. "All that will come, for them and for you, in time. Give it time."

A picture of Barbara Gordon, Oracle, sprang into his mind unbidden. Even with the hoverchair he'd designed for her, she was still so limited. He was determined to free her from the prison of her injured body, to see her run again, to watch her fly over the rooftops of her native Gotham once more. To be the heroine she was always meant to be. Sooner or later, he knew, he was going to get the hang of this leading a double life.

Daxam's Moons! Let it be sooner.

And so, in the meantime, he would endure Doctor Jenson's ignorance and his own biting impatience. This meeting with Jenson was important. An opportunity to begin making amends by arriving on time and showing the enthusiasm the good doctor seemed to expect of his students. The man's good will, much as he hated to admit it, was important. So, best not be late or ill prepared. Time, perhaps, to consider his speech of reconciliation?

That, or he could always go and putter about the JLA repair facilities in the company of John Henry. Irons was a fine engineer and technologist. Valor had learned quite a lot about weapons and weapons design from him. He was good company. He--

"Yo! Lar, ol' buddy!"

Startled in spite of himself, Valor plastered a quick smile on his face and turned to face Kyle Rayner, Green Lantern. The artist turned hero used his Power Ring to send his uniform into oblivion and then to clothe himself instantly in worn jeans and a Metallica tee shirt. Valor blinked. No matter how many times he saw the lost legacy of the Green Lantern Corps in action, he was never going to get used to it, he suspected.

Kyle grinned. "Wally and I are gonna go scarf down some chili or something before we hit the road. I know this great little greasy spoon in Del Monico, Texas! Burn your mouth right off, guy! So, you in, or what?"

Valor bit his lip. "I...shouldn't," he admitted, but it was plain that he wished to. In his short time on Earth he'd made few friends. He spared himself little time for socializing...

And yet thoughts of Superman had left him feeling--

Feeling what?

Alone, perhaps.

"I'm not really dressed for it," he hedged, still chewing on his lower lip.

Rayner chuckled and aimed his ring at his young comrade. With a thought, Valor found himself clad in skin tight jeans, a shiny white Stetson, Confederate belt buckle, and a loose muscle shirt.

"You are now!" Green Lantern declared, still grinning from ear to ear.

"Oh, yeah. That'll go over big!" snickered Wally West, vibrating into focus from a superspeed stop next to Rayner.

"You think?"

"Yeah. I think!"

"Hey! It is Texas, after all, dude!" returned Green Lantern.

Dumbfounded, Valor flushed. "Uh, guys? I don't really think this is-ah-quite me," he frowned.

Rayner scratched his chin in deep contemplation, regarding his victim from all angles. "Well," he smiled, "actually the idea is not to be you, but okay! How about this?"

Valor had to admit that the conservative, pleated charcoal gray pants, narrow bright red power tie, white silk shirt, and Gucci loafers were better. Wally, however, was appalled.

"Too GQ! Waaaay too GQ!" he cried in horror, waving his arms in distress like a railway crossing signal gone frenetic. "Those 'good ol' boys' will eat him for lunch, not the chili!"

"Hmmm. Point taken," conceded Kyle, with what grace he could muster. Valor crossed his arms over his chest, lifting one eyebrow in silent, inquisitorial rebuttal. Green Lantern rolled his eyes beseechingly Heavenward.

"...or not," he admitted.

Valor had to smile at that. "You know, guys," he suggested mildly, "I do have clothes at home in my apartment. A whole closet full of them, as a matter of fact. We could always do something radical like...oh, I don't know...stop by and let me change clothes?"

The two young heroes high-fived one another with glee. They had him! Lunch was a done deal! That settled, Kyle turned to Wally, shaking his head in disgust. "Pitiful," he declared. "Pitiful, I say. Man has no sense of style or drama at all. Change into your own clothes? Jeez! Where's the fun in that, I ask you?" He laid his head on Wally's shoulder and mock sobbed pathetically. "Where did we go wrong?" he wailed. "Where?"

The speedster patted Rayner's shoulder in sympathy. "It's hopeless, I'm telling you, hopeless. But we keep trying. We gotta keep trying."

Kyle wiped his eyes in supposed grief. "It's our curse, Wally. Our curse. Too cool for words, that's us!"

Valor laughed and struck a sultry pose, trusting his broad chest forward and flexing his biceps, humming softly.

"I'm...too sexy for my shirt, too sexy for my shirt,
So sexy it hurts,
And I'm...too sexy for Milan, too sexy for Milan,
New York and Japan..."

Blinking back astonishment, Kyle turned to his red haired companion once more, affecting an improbable British accent vaguely reminiscent of the highbrow Henry Higgins. "I think he's got it!" he cried. "By George, I think he's got it!"

"Smokin'!" the Flash chortled. "Look out Texas, here we come!"

It was good to laugh with friends, Valor decided with a smile as the unlikely trio made their way arm in arm to the transport tubes and a bowel binding meal of chili chased with beer.

"Later for you, Doctor Know It All," Valor told the ghost of his frowning, disapproving Advisor. "Later for you!"

Superboy was rapidly becoming Superman.

He kept telling himself that. As often as possible, in fact.

He still didn't believe it.

Glancing over at his Metro University college roommate, Tommy Lee, Clark Kent ignored the siren song of the calculus textbook calling his name in a soft accusing voice. Tommy was enjoying himself. The frosh was smiling, his all too scrutable Oriental features fixed in a wide grin.

"Hey, Clark!" he called, his voice merry. "My folks are taking me out for pizza to celebrate Parent's Visiting Day. Coming all the way from Hong Kong, man! God, I love pizza! Wanna tag along?"

The small town boy from Smallville adjusted his glasses, hanging his head. "Um, no thanks, Tommy. I'm - I'm really not very hungry..."

"Aw, man, I'm sorry," the Asian boy said contritely. "I know Parents Visiting Day is rough on you, with your folks being so recently deceased and all. I didn't think." He smacked his forehead soundly. "If I had a brain I'd be dangerous! What a numbskull!"

Clark tried to smile wanly. "It's okay, Tommy; not you're fault. Even Ducky's parents are coming in from LA. You guys go and have a good time. I need to study for this calc exam tomorrow, anyway, or it's likely to kick my tush."

"Hey man, c'mon. You know you're welcome," Tommy entreated.

Clark bit his lip. "No, really, Tommy, I'll be fine."

Tommy sighed, defeated. "Okay, man, but if you should change your mind..."

"Yeah," Clark nodded. "I know where to find you. Spagotini's Pizza on Flatbush, right?"

Tommy made a clenched power fist. "Right on, brother! Always!"

Clark's eyes wandered back to the calculus text, but his heart wasn't really in his studies. Despite what he'd told Tommy, math was no real problem, in any case. He'd ace the exam with no trouble, he was sure. No, it wasn't calculus that was the problem at all. He snapped his pencil in two in disgust.

'I'm almost twenty years old,' he thought in something awfully akin to despair. 'Ma and Pa have been dead for almost three years now. I'm a sophomore in college. Why can't I get past this? I have to grieve and move on, don't I? That's what everyone says, anyway. Why can't I do that? Why? I know what I want to do with my life. I want to help people. So why can't I even help myself?'

He lowered his head into his arms atop the thick calculus textbook. 'God, I miss them,' he mourned. 'They were so much more than just parents. They were my conscience. My rock. I'm so lost without them. I haven't even anyone I can talk to, now; no one to confide in about the special problems that come with all these gifts of mine. Lord, I need to talk to someone...'

~You can talk to me~

The voice in his head was cool and calm, and very hauntingly familiar.

~Imra?~ He couldn't quite keep all the incredulity from his mental "voice".

Good Lord, how long had it been now? Three - four years since he'd last involved himself with Legion of Super-Heroes business? And how had THAT happened, he wondered sadly. 'They were some of the best friends I ever had. What happened to make me neglect them like this?'

Life happened, he realized. As he grew older, Superboy gained more and more responsibility here in his own era. It left little time to spare for jaunts to the Thirtieth Century.

~Yes, it's me, Clark. Open the door, please.~

He hugged the blonde telepath fiercely when she stepped into the small room. "God, I'm glad to see you! How is everyone?" He frowned, struck at last by the obvious. "And what are you doing here? Is there trouble?"

Her nod was slow, reluctant, as if the muscles of her body were refusing to cooperate. She looked very unhappy. "Yes, there's great trouble, I'm afraid. I come here to bring you back with me." Her blue eyes clouded with pain, and the shadows of something dark and terrible flickered through her gaze. "We desperately need your help, Clark. You're the only one who can stop him."

Resignation settled over him like a shroud.

'Aren't I always?' he thought acerbically. 'Aren't I always the only one?' But, of course, he didn't say it. Not with his lips, anyway. It was only later, when the horror was over and done with that it occurred to him to wonder if she "heard" him, anyway.

He never knew.

"Stop who?" he questioned.

Imra Ardeen, Saturn Girl, took a deep cleansing breath to sustain her, to protect her from her next words. "Lar," she said.

He sat heavily back down into his desk chair, catching himself with a quick superspeed hand on the nearby desk, as if felled by Kryptonite.

But, of course, this hurt much worse.

"La - Lar? Oh, God! What's happened to Lar? WHAT?!" The shouted demand rattled the glass of the third story dorm room windows, and then shattered them utterly, with a great, almost musical bursting. Imra covered her ears against the unintentional sonic assault.

"I haven't got time to explain right now, Clark!" she cried. "Please, just come with me. We haven't got much time."

He crossed his arms over his chest in defiance. "We have all the time in the Universe, and you know it. That's how time travel works, Imra. You know that, too. You know that we can arrive only seconds after you left, if that's what you want. And you'd better know that I'm not going anywhere with you or anyone else until you tell me what's happened to Lar."

The diamond hardness of his blue eyes softened. "Please, Imra, please. I - I have to know. I have to."

Saturn Girl took his unsteady hand. "All right, Clark. But there's something back home that I can show you that will explain much better than words ever could. Will you at least come with me and see it?"

She squeezed his hand, waiting for his answer.

He didn't bother to say it aloud. That wasn't necessary. He simply followed her to the hidden Legion Time Bubble and stepped inside. Next stop: the Thirtieth Century and Legion HQ.

Watching her work the complex controls of the Time Bubble, he noticed for the first time that she was older than he remembered. Much older.

'God, I wonder how much time has passed for them?' he thought, oddly disturbed. 'What have I gotten myself into?'

He kept such thoughts to himself. Well, he *hoped* so, anyway. They passed the trip in almost complete silence. He sat, his back against a rounded wall, and watched the rainbow-colored brilliance of the TimeStream flow by all around him. Usually, it was a sight that he never tired of.

But now he was preoccupied with other things.

The trip seemed to take forever. Time crawled, it crept, it lolly-gagged. All a trick of perception, naturally. In reality, the trip, quite literally, took no time whatsoever. A thousand years after they began, and less than a nanosecond at one and the same time, they arrived at their goal.

Thirtieth Century science marches on.

Legion HQ was a space station, these days. That surprised him quite a bit. But it was only the first of many such surprises. He was allowed only a moment to greet the others before Imra took him firmly in hand and led him away, deep into the bowels of the orbiting HQ. With a pounding, sinking heart, he knew their final destination long before they actually passed through the imposing, arching portals of the sepulchral nave.

The Memorial Room.

The Hall of the Dead.

He forced his feet forward. Suddenly, his limbs seemed to be made of nutronium. Simply putting one foot in front of the other required a conscious effort of considerable will. Speechless with terror, he closed his eyes when they entered the high arched doorway leading into the somber room. His mouth was suddenly as dry as a desert bone. It hurt to swallow.

'Coward!' he accused himself.

And still he could not force his eyes open. He felt himself being led gently forward, and did not protest. "Open your eyes now, Clark," Imra said in as gentle a voice as she could muster. "You have to see this. Then you may understand why we need you. A lot has happened since you were last here."

He obeyed her because he had no choice.

The gleaming golden plaque at the base of the statue said simply, "Shadow Lass. Died saving the Science Asteroid." That was all. No elaboration, no "In Gratitude" or "In Memorium"...no nothing. Just those plain words and no others to commemorate a young life lost in the defense of all she knew and held dear.

For an instant he lost himself in memories of her laughter, the strength of that staunch spirit. He remembered the joy in Lar Gand's eyes every time he looked at her.

Superboy gulped around the rising knot in his throat that threatened to strangle him. His nose brought him the scent of fresh cut flowers and he knelt to touch them.

"Aphrodite's Tears, from Aechia. Her favorite flowers. He leaves them every day. Here and on Shanghalla. We still haven't discovered how he gets in and out without our notice. We've been trying to catch him for over a year now."

He looked up, his eyes brimming with tears and confusion. "C...catch him?" he stammered. "Why would you be trying to stop him from putting flowers on the grave of the woman he loved?" The words came out quite harsher than he'd intended, much to his dismay.

Saturn Girl proffered her hand to help him rise. "We'd better go back and meet with the others. It's a long story, Clark...and not a very pleasant one."

Again he had little choice, so he obeyed.

'Oh, that's me, all right. Just an obedient little Boy Scout,' he thought in bitter recrimination.

And wondered again if Imra "heard" him.

But, this time he didn't care.

Superboy slumped in his chair around the great viridium plasti-steel table in the Legion Meeting Room. It shocked him to see his "S" symbol emblazoned on the back of one of the comfortable things. Apparently, his friends in the Thirtieth Century hadn't forgotten him entirely. At the moment, that wasn't a very comforting thought.

Rokk Krinn, Cosmic Boy, activated the holoprojectors built into the huge edifice of the Conference Table. The image wavered for an instant, and then solidified.

The ship was drifting aimlessly; dark and dead. It was, in fact, in a great many very small pieces, barely recognizable as a star going vessel.

Something very, very powerful had torn it asunder.

Something very, very, powerful...

...and very, very angry...

"Khundia Prime," intoned the magnetically powered Legion Leader. "Two weeks ago. The Dreadnought Class Khundian Battle Wagon 'Spirit of Vengeance'. Lost with all hands aboard. Twenty-five hundred men and women." Clark winced, biting his lip.

"And six children," finished the Braalian man in the magenta costume.

The Kryptonian Legionnaire sat up straight now, his hands clenched into fists at his side. "What were *children* doing on a warship? God Almighty!" he spat.

Rokk shrugged. "Ask the Khunds," he advised, touching the thermally sensitive controls of the hidden holoprojectors once more.

More solid light magic manifested itself at his command.

A smaller ship, this time, but just as lifeless, also in pieces. A gaudily dressed uniformed body floated lazily past, the look of surprise on it's heavy Khundian features captured exactly and preserved by the uncaring vacuum of space.

"Warlord Tarn Agar's personal yacht, one month ago. Twenty-two crewmen lost, including the Warlord, his wife and his eldest son, Vema."

Flicker.

"Obol IX. Two days after the death of the Warlord and his family. Merchant Class Trade ship, 'Barter World' belonging to the Dyzon Clan, Champions of the Challenge Courts. One thousand, six hundred, eighteen dead."

Flicker.

"Himon's World. Less than twelve hours later. Stinger Class Corvette 'Fist of Khundia'. Two hundred fifty-nine dead."

Flicker.

"The War Academy, Hallock II. Training vessel B19. Fifteen students and three instructors dead. Most of them under the legal Khundian age of majority."

Superboy paled, and Rokk Krinn took grim notice of it. "There's more if you really want to see it. LOTS more."

"No," Clark whispered. "That's enough. I've seen enough." He covered his eyes, but the images were burned into the backs of his eyelids, it seemed. It was going to be a long time before he could escape them. If ever. Rokk Krinn shut down the holoprojector with a touch. The terrible image there froze, blurred, then winked out. Clark found that he could breathe again. Rokk cleared his throat, and Clark's eyes snapped wide open so quickly it left him dizzy.

"Tasmia was killed defending the Science Asteroid from a Khund Attack Force. Lar...Lar never quite recovered or forgave himself, I don't think. He withdrew; left the Legion...to explore, he said. See the Galaxy. At first, we thought he just needed some time alone."

Superboy gritted his teeth. "What were you thinking?" he demanded, flushed with anger, now. "Lar hates being alone! He spent a thousand years alone, thanks to me! Why didn't you call me! You should have called me, damn it!"

"We have called you," said Saturn Girl, softly.

The Teen of Steel backed away, upsetting his chair and shaking his head, horror marring his handsome face. He backed away until he was left with nowhere else to go, until his back was literally against the wall. "Nononononononononono..." He threw up his hands, shielding his face, as if to ward off some approaching evil. Turning away at superspeed, he lay his reddened cheek next to the cold metal of the wall for a brief instant, and then punched his hand through the thick metal half a dozen times. The room shook with the force of his blows.

Spent, he fell to his knees, hiding his face from his fellow Legionnaires.

It was Duo Damsel who first approached him. The brown haired Carggite reached out to touch him, to offer comfort. But when she spied the look of hurt in Chuck Taine's eye, she stopped. Her hand fell to her side. "Please, Kal," she entreated in desperation.

Furious, the Last Son of Krypton shot to his feet. "Don't call me that!" he roared. "There's only one person who calls me that, and it isn't you!"

In tears, the once Triplicate Girl fled into the waiting arms of Bouncing Boy, her husband.

"Sprock you, Kal-El!" snarled the portly Legionnaire, baring his teeth.

The Youth of Tomorrow clutched his temples with both hands and pounded.

It did not, of course, hurt him.

"Clark!" he cried. "My name is Clark! Clark Kent!"

"Yeah? Well, sprock him, too," growled Taine. His face hardened. "Lu didn't deserve that, you giant piece of nass!"

Falling back on his buttocks and clutching his knees, Superboy lowered his head. "I know," he whispered. "I know...Luornu, I'm so sorry...so sorry...I didn't mean it, Lu! I didn't mean it!" He held out his shaking hand.

Wiping away the remains of her tears with a firm, steady hand, Luornu Durgo-Taine knelt beside her first crush, taking his hand in hers. 'We were both so young,' she thought. 'So young...we had the Galaxy by the tail...heroing was just so much fun in those days. I wonder when that changed?' The soon to be Superman pressed her small hand with his larger one, and Duo Damsel, returning to the present, kissed his cheek. 'For all of us.' "I know you didn't mean it, Ka...Clark."

"You can call me Kal," he insisted. "I'd like that."

Smiling, she nodded. "Kal. I overreacted, okay? So did Chuck. This whole thing's made us all a little crazy." Her short, bobbed brown hair bounced as she shook her head. "It's all just so awful. Shady dying...Mon leaving...and now, this." She helped him to unsteady feet and embraced him. He seemed to relax and collect himself a bit in her arms. "I swear by the Triple Goddess, Kal, we only want you to talk to him. Just to talk. This can't go on. It can't. He's got to stop, you know that. He might listen to you. You're our last hope."

He felt Chuck Taine's hand on his shoulder. "She's right, Buddy. It's up to you, now. He won't listen to the rest of us. We've tried. Mon was always...intense...but this...My God! Close to twenty-thousand Khunds are already dead. You want to know the truth, I don't give a sizzling comet about the Khunds, one way or the other. But Mon's my friend. I don't like to think what this might be doing to him; what he must be going through."

Superboy paled. "I need to think," he pleaded, running his fingers through his disheveled hair. "Is there someplace I can go? Someplace quiet? Where I can be alone?"

Saturn Girl took him in hand. "I know the perfect spot," she told him. "I go there all the time. And the view is spectacular, to say the least."

It was, indeed.

The alien youth who'd devoted himself to the protection of his adopted planet gaped in wonder at the sight of the lush blue-green world spinning below him. Mesmerized, he reached out and touched the ironglass of the huge panoramic display window framing the Earth crowned by a twinkling corona of stars. It was as if he really tried he could cup that fragile beauty in the palm of his hand and never release it, shelter it always.

With an affectionate squeeze of his shoulder, the telepath left him to his thoughts.

This site is dedicated to the memory of Dannell Lites, who died unceremoniously on 16 September, 2002, in Kansas City, MO. Other than characters, place names, etc., which are ©DC Comics, Marvel Comics, Warner Bros., WGBS or any other television/movie owner, or Wizard Magazine, all content is ©2002 Dannell Lites. Background set ©2002 by SleepyHead. Please do not use without her permission. Site url= http://dannfan.50megs.com/