A/N: I apologise for the long hiatus. I've been going through some personal stuff and suffered a rather persistent bout of writer's block as a result...and this is coming from a person who actually plans stories (including chapter outlines and general themes) through to the end.


Chapter Eight

1 It was already dawning when Kalan and the others were allowed to leave the Armed Forces HQ. Luckily, they were all given the next day off from work, and every one of them went to their own homes to get some sleep and clear their heads. Not so luckily, they had not been told what result their interrogations had yielded, or if anyone had been cleared of suspicion. As Kalan got ready for bed, her entire body feeling as heavy as lead, she couldn't stop her thoughts from repeating themselves over and over and over again. She'd told Faora that she believed Dom, Ro, Mal, and Jor-El to be innocent of treason. Faora had just kept asking questions about the Citadel, about her talks with El and his wife, about how often Dom would spend time with them, about how she felt about Jor-El's rebellious, inquisitive nature.

Kalan had answered the questions as politely as possible, but no matter what she said, she was pretty convinced that Faora had already made up her mind about who was guilty of what. In any case, Faora obviously believed that Jor and maybe Lara were patrons of the Cult of Rao dissidents. She also seemed to be fairly convinced that Dom was the Tryon Hill traitor, even though this made no sense to Kalan. Dom was sometimes critical of his superiors' decisions, yes, but he was not a rebel. Yes, he was outspoken, but never rebellious, let alone seditious. He had a very strict sense of duty and believed in what he did. Dom was a patriot, through and through, giving his all for the safety and prosperity of his people. So what was Faora's beef with him? It was hard to understand.

What did Kalan herself think, though? Faora had kept harping on Dom's connection to Jor-El and how well they got along, but that by itself didn't mean much of anything. Kalan interacted even more often with Jor; she considered him a close friend and confidante, and she was nowhere near being a traitor. But after spending so much time listening to talk about traitors and dissidents and terrorists and conspiracies, she couldn't help but agree with Faora on another point (the first being that neither approved of insurgencies): Kalan really did suspect someone, as much as she didn't want to. As she brushed her short-ish curls, she watched the unhappy expression in her reflection, in the polished mirror above the bathroom sink. Her mother always said that hiding insecurities was easier to do behind a smile than a scowl, but right now, Kalan was too tired to put on any masks. If she couldn't be herself in the confines of her own home, she'd probably end up going crazy.

Through the mirror, she saw Dom entering the bathroom.

"Good thing we'll be able to sleep in tomorrow," he said, stepping up to her, and putting his arms around her waist.

"I'd argue that my mind's probably too cramped to allow my body to rest, but I'm just so…so knackered – weary to the bone. Exhausted." There were no appropriate words to convey this feeling that she'd been drained of everything she could give, with no reserves left. She leaned her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. Some of the tension plaguing her back and neck fell away, as if via magic.

He had that effect on her. After placing a soft kiss on the top of her head, he said, "Just let it go tonight. Lie down, sleep, and forget that everything is horrible."

That made her chuckle. "This is something I've learned to love about you, you know: your talent for pep-talks."

"There's simply no end to the wonders of being me."

When she got wistful, he was always there to cheer her up, to make her feel safe and at ease. In turn, she was always the rock he could lean on when the seriousness of reality made him want to escape it. Like she always said, they complemented each other well. There was nothing like a global crisis to make people thankful for their loved ones.

She suppressed a sigh and peeled herself out of the embrace, so she could turn around and face him properly. "I do wish this would all go away, but it won't."

What little mirth there'd been melted off his expression. "I know, sweetheart," he said, and took her hands into his. "I also know that you have doubts about Ro, apart from being worried about Faora's weird obsession with proving that I'm a traitor. None of that matters tonight." He added the last bit sharply, after she'd opened her mouth to protest. "Do you hear me? None of it. You are going to clear your head, go to bed, sleep, and wake up rested. Then, you can tackle the problems of the whole world. Not tonight, though. You need to recover your strength and you know it. You'll be no good to anyone if you keel over dead." Of course, he was right. That was the case more often than not.

This time, smiling was not a chore. She raised her face and kissed him. "I love you."

He arched an eyebrow. "Even if I'm a traitor?"

"That's not even funny."

"It wasn't meant to be." He let go of her hands and cupped her face. "I love you, Kalan, and treason or no, I would never, ever give you up to the authorities. Maybe the Codex glitched when it programmed loyalty into my genes, since I'm a soldier and supposed to be most loyal to my planet. I don't care. You are the most important person in my life. I want you to know that, and no, I don't expect an answer. I won't demand that you clarify your own position or, goodness forbid, force you to take sides. I wouldn't do that to you. Just know this. It also hasn't escaped my notice that you haven't even asked me if I had anything to do with the data theft. I appreciate that. Actions speak much louder than words, and yours make me feel proud to have been bred to be your husband." Without waiting for a reply, he let go of her and left.

A good number of seconds ticked away as she stood there, paralysed, staring after him in gobsmacked shock. There were so many strange, off-putting, even seditious things he'd just said, but one thing stood out in particular sharpness: she really hadn't asked him whether he was guilty. She hadn't even considered it. Truth be told, she didn't think he had anything to do with what had happened at Tryon Hill, but he was a suspect for a reason.

He was a suspect for a reason, and she didn't care.

She'd promised Faora that she'd help her find the truth no matter where that might lead, and she still intended to keep that promise. The real question, however, was this: if push came to shove, if one of those she loved turned out to be the guilty party, would Kalan turn them in?

Still feeling the warmth of his touch on her face, still hearing the phantom of his words ringing in her ears, she came to the terrifying conclusion that she could never bear to help condemn either Dom or Ro to the Phantom Zone. This was wrong. It was so, so wrong. It was unjust. It shouldn't matter who the culprit was, but only that he or she got punished for the treason that they had committed. Justice should matter, not personal attachments. Those were unimportant in the grand scheme of things, since family only mattered if it existed in service of the state.

Except that this was all nonsense. Family did matter. Personal attachments mattered. Love mattered.

Feeling more lost and insecure and tiny than she'd ever had, Kalan tottered out of the bathroom and crept into bed, under the covers, wanting nothing more than to shut out the world for good. Thankfully, it only took a few minutes until a dark and deep sleep overtook her.


2 "What we should do is try to get these people out of Kandor, before they get caught by the Warrior Guild," Jor-El was telling his wife, his tone of voice agitated, his blue eyes feverish.

They were in the reading room: he was pacing; she was sitting. Even when they weren't discussing matters of life and death, this was often how their conversations went. Jor wasn't much for sitting around. That's how he phrased it. Lara just called him fidgety. A lot of people got annoyed at his urge to be constantly moving, but she'd not only got used to it; she found it endearing. This was just him being so full of energy, so driven by his own mind, that mere words could not serve as a proper outlet.

"And how do you suggest we do that?" she replied, the very picture of serenity, reclined in her armchair, relaxed and at ease. "The city is locked down. There are soldiers and SP officers everywhere. Even if we could smuggle the Insider all the other conspirators out of Kandor, there is no place they can hide."

He stopped pacing abruptly and faced her. "We have to do something! We can't just stand by and twiddle our thumbs!"

This was somewhat astonishing: the moment Lara had explained to Jor what she knew, he'd immediately jumped on the treason bandwagon. Anyone knew that he was unhappy with the path that Kryptonian civilisation was on, but even Lara was surprised at how readily he'd thrown all caution in the wind and simply declared himself a ready ally for the Insider.

Okay, maybe it wasn't that surprising. Jor was a scientist. He found a subject that interested him, asked the pertinent questions, formed a hypothesis, did research, and came to conclusions. His approach to ideology and politics was no different. He'd lived his life asking questions, and now, it was as if the last piece of evidence he'd needed to answer the most important one had finally fallen into place. Jor-El was a dissident. Now that he'd finally admitted this truth to his wife (and most likely to himself), he seemed liberated.

Lara, the more level-headed of the two, decided to keep her doubts and reservations alive for the nonce. It was safer that way. "That's not what I'm suggesting, but I am suggesting caution. First and foremost, we need to keep a cool head. Everything else would be counter-productive. You should also try to rein your enthusiasm in if only because we have a guest tonight, and he should not overhear any of this." The guest quarters were in another part of the Citadel, and the walls and doors were thick, but this was a serious matter that should not be treated lightly.

His shoulders slumped somewhat. He ran his strong fingers through his unruly mop of light-brown hair, took a deep breath, and then briefly raised his hands in a defensive motion. "I know; I know. I'm sorry." After a small silence, he dropped himself in the armchair opposite her. "It's hard to describe to you what's going on in my head." A wry little smile curved up one corner of his mouth. "You were always more gifted with words than me."

"It's a good thing that I know you so well, then, Jor-El," she said, feeling compelled to mirror his expression. "I understand what you're thinking and feeling: you've been unhappy with the path our society has been led down. Now that everything is coming to a head and you have the actual opportunity to do something and effect some change, you can hardly contain your joy."

The dry smirk blossomed into a full smile: one of those that crinkled the skin around his eyes. "I'm pretty sure that without you, I'd have gone mad due to my inability to express my thoughts correctly a long time ago."

She raised her eyebrows. "Only pretty sure?"

For a moment, they just sat there in comfortable silence, smiling at each other whilst outside, the wind howled, thunder roared, and rain pelted the Citadel's heavy dome. It felt a little as if the world was about to crack and reveal something new and shiny and precious underneath the battered and worn-out surface. This wasn't the end of Krypton. It might be the end of Krypton as they knew it, but that was a good thing. In days of old, people had often burned down their old, decrepit homes and built new ones atop the cold ashes of what had once seemed eternal.

He said, "What can we do? It seems to me that you have put some thought into the matter long before I strode in here dramatically and full of self-importance."

Giving him an amused look, she replied, "Well, it seems to me that the pretty plan of leverage against the government that the Insider told me about has fallen apart completely. All the conspirators will have to improvise, and at least two of them are trapped in Krypton."

"Two?"

"Yes: the Insider who scrambled the sensors at Tryon Hill and the person who received the stolen data and uploaded it into the public network."

"Oh." Visibly uncomfortable, he shifted in his seat. "That would be a young woman called Illura Dom-Linn, sister of Captain Kal-Linn. At the moment, she's confined to her parents' house."

That, Lara had not expected. Her eyes grew wide. "That's…interesting. I thought that she was hiding in the mountains along with most other Cult of Rao rebels."

He shook his head. "Apparently, she snuck into the city to get the stolen data in form of a data key, which she then uploaded out of sheer desperation. Apparently very ill, she went back home, where she's currently recovering."

"But if the Warrior Guild knows all this, and I'm assuming they do, then why were Kalan Val-Ris, her husband, her sister, and her brother-in-law arrested earlier in the evening? They know. What's that about?"

His expression turned solemn. "It's because of me. Faora is trying to find evidence that I'm a traitor to the system."

Despite herself, Lara felt cold. "Then let's do what we can to change this corrupt system, so that people like her cannot do as they please and call it public security."

"Which leads me back to my original question."

"Yes." When she smiled again, it felt grim. "I have a plan."


3 Despite the storm and her constant fear that her friends up on Karon Hill might be flushed out by a flash flood or simply succumb to hypothermia or their compromised immune systems, Illura slept the sleep of the righteous in her soft, dry, and warm bed. Her House was affluent, their ancestral home built to last into what could be considered eternity. The occasional, loudly crashing thunder startled her awake a few times, but every time, she fell asleep again almost immediately. The sickness had taken a greater toll on her body than she'd expected.

When she woke up for good, the sun was up, and the room was flooded in yellowish-bronze light. Dust motes were dancing in the bright beams falling in through the half-open metal slats of the shutters. It was pretty. She had to admit, as she stretched her limbs and yawned heartily, that it felt like the proverbial paradise to be lying in a proper bed, in a proper house. Then, the guilt hit. If her friends (Korr and his broken leg) were still alive, then they must be going through hell. They'd survived more than one winter up in the hills, yes, but they'd been lucky in that the winters had been relatively mild and that there'd hardly been any rain or snow at all. This storm, though? It must have seemed like the end of the world up there, and here Illura was, healthy and warm and rested and just lounging in bed.

To be fair, she was probably about to either die or get whisked away into the Phantom Zone, which wasn't anything to look forward to, to use a euphemism. None of their prospects were particularly rosy, but Illura had no intention of either being imprisoned in that living hell or of wasting away in some decaying hole up on the slopes of the Jewel Mountains. No, she'd either succeed, or she'd perish. Those were the only viable alternatives.

When the heavy door to her room slid open, she expected to see he brother, Kal; instead, her father stepped in. Illura had taken after her mother in terms of personality, but she looked a lot like Dom-Linn: they had the same lumpy brown hair, the same aquiline nose, the same plump mouth, the same light-brown eyes. Like her father, Illura was rather tall and angular, building lean but strong muscles easily. Unlike like her father, she hadn't had access to fitness apparel, or opportunity to do any muscle-building exercise, for a long time. This meant that she'd lost a considerable amount of weight and now just looked like a husk, a sallow and shrunken shadow of her former self.

Ah, the glamorous life of a rebel!

Looking thoroughly and utterly miserable, Dom-Linn stepped into the room, let the door shut behind himself, and beheld his daughter in silence.

Illura, not one to tolerate any awkward silences, rolled her eyes and snorted. "So here I am, back home in disgrace. What will the neighbours say?" Yes, she was being a brat on purpose. Yes, it was stupid.

"I don't care," he said, subdued. "You're in very serious trouble, Lu – very serious. There's no way out."

When she forced herself to lock eyes with him, she saw only sorrow and pain in his haggard, lined, beloved face. Her innards roiled. This was so wretched. Her righteous anger puffed out, and she sank back against the propped-up pillows. "I'm sorry." No, she wasn't apologising for the choices she'd made and still planned to make, but nevertheless, the sentiment was genuine. "I missed you all." That, too, was true.

"We missed you, too," he said, trying and failing to smile. "Your mother's in her office, yelling at some Tryon Hill goon or other over the emergency channel. They want to arrest you. She wants you to stay here until a trial gets underway – a civilian trial."

That was a bit of a surprise. Despite herself, Illura perked up. The knot in her gut loosened; instead, her heart started beating faster. "Oh?" Hope really did spring eternal, didn't it?

He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his expensive-looking jacket and chuckled. "Poor idiot trying to win an argument against your mother. I almost feel sorry for them."

Gathering all her courage (she had to admit, it wasn't all that much), she made herself say, "Will she talk to me?" It came out in an almost ridiculous, shy little squeak that sounded so adolescent, it made her flinch.

"Of course, but not before she knows what your immediate fate will be. She wants to be the bearer of good news, as meagre as the prospects might be."

"Mother's never been one to admit any kind of defeat." It wasn't criticism. This was a trait that Illura admired a great deal.

He smiled a little. "Your mother is even more of a fighter than you are, sweetie – much more than I am, in any case."

Another small silence ensued, but this was decidedly less awkward.

Illura had to wrestle down the knot that formed in her throat. All of a sudden, she felt not only tired, but weary to the very core – broken, even. Her nose itched. Her face heated up. Her vision grew blurry. Damn it.

"Oh, baby," Father said, hurried over to her, sat down on the edge of the mattress, and swept her into a tight embrace.

She leaned her head against his shoulder, closed her eyes, grabbed fistfuls of his jacket's lapels, and burst into tears.


4 The pieces of the puzzle were all in place. Doubt had been planted in the mind of Administrator Val-Ris about her husband. The small-time terrorist Illura Dom-Linn was contained at her family home, awaiting arrest. Jor-El's sedition was about to be unearthed. Planetary security was being tightened, and soon, more powers would be granted to the Warrior Guild than they'd had since the Eradication. Troublemakers and dissidents would be hunted down mercilessly, the Cult of Rao eliminated, treason and even thoughts of rebellion wiped off the face of the planet. Krypton would be made safe again, made strong again. Her people would live and thrive; her culture would be protected. The populace would understand that this was the best course of action – the only course of action.

To Faora, the way that the plan was unfolding was almost akin to a mosaic: a big picture composed of many small, but vitally important parts. She was sitting in her office, hours after the night shift had started, sifting through the reports of public response to many of the leaked documents. The silly comparison of her plans to an intricate work of art made the corners of her mouth twitch slightly, and she shook her head at herself. Weariness made the strangest tendencies come to light. It was slightly exasperating, but not wholly useless; after all, by paying attention to parts of her mind that she usually kept submerged, she could not only get to know herself better, but also prevent herself from lapsing into unexpected and inexplicable behaviour at the worst possible times. Knowing oneself meant being adaptable. Being adaptable meant being evolved. If there was one creed that Faora subscribed to like a theist to their superstitions, it was that evolution always won.

She leaned back in her chair, took a deep breath, and tried to relax her knotted shoulders. This work was gruelling, but it was worth it. The terrorists thought that they'd outsmarted and defeated the Warrior Guild, that their visions of chaos and uncertainty would prevail, but they couldn't be more mistaken. No, the trap had been set and the traitors would spring it soon. Not only the Linn girl would be in custody, but Major Venn and Jor-El would be exposed for the malcontent dissidents they were, and the Warrior Guild would finally have all the power needed to keep Krypton safe. The last members of the Cult of Rao would be either re-integrated into society or condemned to the Phantom Zone. Treason would be rooted out. Society would flourish. The data leak had been a bad blow, surely, but in the end, it would prove advantageous to all true patriots. Finally, the necessary laws would be passed. There'd be no more threats to Krypton that the Warrior Guild wouldn't be able to snuff out straightaway. Everything would turn out for the best, and Faora would not rest until final victory had been achieved.

The lieutenant general would be proud.