Mon-El

Epilogue

Clark was devastated, of course. I was right about that. He locked himself in his room and refused to see anyone. He checked the computer regularly for updates on Tasmia's condition on Medicus One, but he wouldn't talk to anybody. They all tried, Garth and Rokk and even shy Violet. Jo threatened to break the door down. Dirk was all for melting the door and dragging him out. Cham and Tinya volunteered to use their powers to check on him. I remember the frown on Jan's face when he shook his head.

"No," said Element Lad with quiet authority. "Let him be. He needs to be alone right now. When he's ready he'll come back. Leave him be."

Sometimes Jan is surprising. But, then, I guess none of us *should* have been surprised that he would know about loss and being alone. Like Clark, he is the last of his kind. There are no other Trommites. Somehow with his quiet wisdom Element Lad managed to set us all on the road to healing from this terrible blow. Everyone knew that I had done the right thing. There was never any question of that. By unspoken acquiescence I had done what was necessary and saved the rest of them from any guilt in the matter. They were very grateful.

But it was going to be some time before they were comfortable again in my presence.

Apparently I failed to save them from *all* their guilt about Mon-El and Shadow Lass. I forced myself not to think of Tasmia. She still did not know. Still recovering on Medicus One, the fate of her lover was unknown to her. And I, of course, was going to be the one who told her. I could not deny that this was fitting. Who else to tell her of her sorrow but it's author? How would she deal with it? Would she hate me? Only time would tell. Perhaps that is why I find myself so intrigued by time. It holds the answers to so many questions.

After almost a week, Superboy emerged from his room, pale and drawn. He had absolutely nothing to say to me. Nothing. He would not even meet my eyes.

"I'm going home," he said to the others, his voice crisp but weary. "Call me if the Khunds invade."

"Will you be coming back?" asked a tentative Ayla.

"I ... don't know," Clark said honestly.

"Clark, please... " Rokk began. Jan covered Rokk's hand with his and cut him off.

"When he's ready," he reminded Cosmic Boy in his serene, steady way. "When he's ready."

It didn't take him long to gather his things. I barely had time to fetch what I sought from the Vaults and meet him on the Shuttle Deck. Another moment and I would have been too late. But he was still there staring off into the Metropolis skyline when I arrived.

"Clark?"

He was not startled, of course. He heard me coming long before I spoke. Politely, he turned to face me, waiting for me to speak again. And I suddenly realized I had not idea what to say to him. "I'm sorry"? How feeble. "I grieve for you"? True but irrelevant.

"I have something that belongs to you," I informed him. A frown began at the corners of his full mouth.

"I don't want anything from you, Querl," he said matter-of-factly. I winced at the use of my name. It was strange how much I missed the warm familiarity of my unwanted nickname now that it was lost. I closed my eyes.

"It's not from me. It's from Lar."

"L - Lar?" He was shaken, but there were the tattered remains of joy and anticipation clinging to his voice when he spoke that name. I nodded.

"It's from the Vaults," I admitted, unsure of his reaction. It wasn't long in coming.

"He's not dead!" he cried. "He's NOT!"

"No, no," I amended in haste. He regained his calm after a moment. "But I think he'd want you to have this now."

Careful not to touch it except through the cloth that covered it, I unveiled Mon-El's legacy. There, in the midst of fragile crystal, swirled the image of a smiling, happy Lar Gand surrounded by the stark, turbulent beauty of deep space and the Fire Rings of Beta Carinae. Laughing, he wheeled and soared like a comet among the blazing splendors, the joy on his face captured exactly.

"It's beautiful," said Clark in wonder.

"It's more than just beautiful, although it *is* that," I smiled. "It's a Transpathic Psionic Crystal. Here, touch it." I held the crystal out to him and watched him take it in his hands. When the crystal began to work it's empathic magic, Clark's eyes widened and I feared for one dire instant that he might drop the irreplaceable treasure he clutched tightly in his hand.

"Oh God," he breathed, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. "It's - it's -"

"Lar," I finished for him when he lost his voice. "He didn't want you to be alone. More than anything else he didn't want you to be so alone." I pointed at the crystal. "Everything he felt, everything that he *is* rests in the crystal. Everything he loved ... the vastness of space, playing baseball, the sleek lines of a well designed spacecraft ... *you* ... it's all in there. Anytime the loneliness becomes too much all you have to do is touch the crystal. And Lar will be with you."

"How ... ? "

"In it's raw form," I answered him, doing my best not to lecture, "the crystal is mined on Hephestion by The Singers Guild. The miners are called Singer because the crystal can only be separated from the surrounding mineral rock by certain precise harmonic tones. Anything physical will shatter the matrix and the crystal is useless. Just another piece of rock. So, the Singers actually sing the crystal free. It's very delicate work. Singers are reputed to have the most beautiful voices in the Galaxy." I pointed once again to the crystal, now covered again. "After that, all it takes is an Alpha class telepath and a willing subject to create one of those." His smile was wan but it spoke volumes of gratitude.

"Imra?"

"She *is* one of the most powerful telepaths in the United Planets," I agreed. "But even a telepath of Imra skill and ability can generally only create *one* of those." He stared at the crystal, awestruck.

"What would something like this cost?" he wondered, for the moment a young provincial Kansas farm boy from Earth's twentieth century. I shook my head.

"They don't," I told him. "The low and mid-grade crystals The Guild sells for use in the more expensive computer and holotechnologies. High grade crystals like that one are not for sale. You can't buy one. You have to earn it." I put up my hand to forestall his inevitable question.

"I don't know what he did. He wouldn't say. But there the crystal is." For a moment he looked very sad.

"This should go to Tasmia," he maintained and tried to hand the crystal back to me. I stepped back to avoid his proffering hands and shook my head with vehemence.

"No," I said firmly, "Lar wanted *you* to have it. He left it in the Vaults for you in case anything should ever happen to him. He meant it for you, Clark. For you." He watched me for some moments from out of guileless blue eyes, struggling; trying to reach a difficult decision. When the decision was made he seemed more at peace and his shy smile reflected everything that Lar loved about him.

"Kal-El," he said clearly. "My name is Kal-El."

He tucked the crystal into a fold of his invulnerable cape and then, in a flash of red and blue, he was gone.

But he'll be back.

After all, he has trusted friends here.

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/