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I'm sorry to trouble you, does Hiram Kent live here?”
“Why are you asking?”
“I...I was looking for him. I was supposed to tell him something.”
“You're about 17 days too late.” Johnathan said shortly. The younger man's face showed undisguised confusion. “He died almost two weeks ago.”
“Bathur Suran Oro Lan-Galat.”
“You knew him?”
“No, but I was told to seek him out. I'm sorry this must be confusing.”
“Come on inside, we need to talk.”
Johnathan stood aside for the young man to enter. A woman with red orange hair that curled inward at the edges walked over to him. “I'll put on the coffee.”
Three cups of piping hot coffee were soon on the table along with lemon shortbread cookies and wheat bread.
“Do you take cream and sugar?” Johnathan asked
“Just a little milk, please.” the stranger replied, staring down at his mug.
“What's your name?”
“Calvin Harris.” The stranger hesitated a moment. “And you?”
“My name is Johnathan Kent. This is my wife Martha.”
Calvin's face went red with shame. “Sir I am sorry I had no idea.”
“It's alright. Listen, why don't you stay with us for a few days.”
“But you know nothing of me I...am a stranger to you.”
“A stranger who from the looks of things has crossed the entire state looking for my father. At any rate it's too late to do anything else. At least for tonight, you really have no where else to go.” Johnathan saw Calvin's eyes dart around furiously. “I meant the only hotels in town are closed. So you might as well stay here. Again at least for tonight.”
“Thank you sir.” Calvin picked up the throw pillow from the couch, walked to the back of the room and curled up behind the bookshelf.
“Calvin...are you...” Johnathan began.
“Calvin, the couch is yours.” Martha finished.
Calvin stood, and flopped onto the couch, facing outward. “I...have no words. 'Thank you' is not nearly enough.” His eyes closed instantly. As if the sleep he had been running from for hours had finally overtaken him.
Martha motioned her husband to the dining room table. They sat down across from each-other. “He wouldn't have accepted a room of his own, believe me.” Martha said quietly.
“What could have happened to this kid?” Johnathan wondered aloud.
“Nothing good.”
In three days it becomes clear Hiram meant a lot to him, and that he'd come to Smallville for no other reason than to find him. And that he's not used to kindness from strangers. On the evening of this third day at the Kent's he was making a mushroom-potato curry with artichokes and turnips. And brazened pork rounds.
“Calvin stop.” Johnathan said shortly.
“I...I'm sorry Mr. Kent.” Calvin said humbly.
“Look, here sit.” John than sat down at the table Calvin sat down where he had indicated, his hands loosely at his sides.
“Who scared you like this? I know you're not scared of us but...why are you walking around like you expect us to hurt you?”
“I...all I know is fear and being alone.”
“The people you were with before, they hurt you.”
“They scared me. They never turned off the lights everything was always blood red. I...I did what they said and I was left alone. My father, not me.”
“I'm sorry?”
“Why I was looking for Hiram Kent. I never met the man. My father...left a message for me telling me about his time in Smallville Kansas. How a Good man named Hiram Kent, who had no reason to trust him gave him shelter, accepted him without question. And that if ever I could, to do all in my power to help him. The entire time I was...in that place I had one thought on my mind: That I would never find Hiram. And when I finally did escape I tried to find the small village in Kansas... Smallville my father had mentioned. He called it beautiful, and he was right. I've only met one other GOOD man in my life...on the way here.”
“Hop in.” The man told me. I opened the door to his car and climbed inside. I couldn't keep my eyes off the road s we drove into the night.
“I'm Chris, Christopher Harris.” the man said, holding out his hand.
“I'm Kal__Calvin.” I replied, taking his hand lightly.
“Calvin. You got a last name?”
“Just Calvin.”
“I understand. Not close to your parents.”
“Don't remember them.”
“...I'm sorry.” He replied.
“I don't understand. You have nothing to apologize for.”
He shook his head and paid closer attention to his driving. “So how far you going?”
“As far from here as you can take me.” I answered. “I'm sorry.” I said in a softer voice, realizing I'd been too short with him. “You can just drop me off where you want.”
“Calvin, where are you going? Do you have a place to go?”
“Do you know of a place called Smallville?”
“Yeah it's about 80 miles West of here. I'm headed to Denver, so it's on the way.”
“Thank you. I don't know how I'm ever going to be able to thank you for this.”
“Pay it forward.” He replied. Then he started laughing quietly to himself. “Instead of being kind to me, be kind to others, and generous when you can be.”
“A good way to change the world.”
“I do what I can. It's all we can do sometimes right?” I wasn't sure what he was talking about, so I didn't reply. Less than an hour later we reached Smallville, he pulled off the highway and drove down Route 8 for a few minutes. He parked the car, but didn't let me out. “You're car didn't really break down.” He said in a voice from which I could take no particular meaning.
“No.” I admitted. “But if you knew I was lying to you...why did you help me?”
“Because you needed my help Calvin. And that was more important to me.”
“I didn't know any h-- people could be like that.”
“Not everyone buries their head in the sand oblivious to the troubles of others Calvin. Although you're right, a lot of us do. Here, wait a second.” He took his wallet out of his breast pocket and handed me two $50 dollar bills. I was overawed.
“Please no, you've done too much for me already.”
“I don't know what is here for you. Either way, you're going to need this. Please take it.”
“I will find a way to pay this forward. You're a Good man Christopher.” I clapped hands with him. “Thank You.”
“Where are you from?” Johnathan asks him gently. “Do you know?”
“Far enough away it doesn't matter.”
“What was your father's name?”
“His name was Jor-El.” Calvin looks up from the mug of coffee he is holding in his hand. “My name, my true name is Kal-El. When I realized I was supposed to pick a human name, the people at the Centre wanted it... 'Cal-van' seemed the best thing to call myself.”
“And you call yourself 'Harris' after the man who helped you escape.” Martha reasoned. Calvin nodded firmly. “How long have you been here?”
“It was, nine years ago I think that I landed. The people who found me were...scientists I guess is the word. But they weren't interested in anything except how I worked. My potential to be a threat or an asset. And I don't know what they decided. Please let that suffice.”
“Easily.” “Very Well.” Johnathan and Martha answered at the same moment.
“It's horrible but to have one thought on my mind the entire time I'm a captive, wanting to meet father's hero and to miss that chance by only a couple of weeks...”
“That it happened, yes. It's not horrible to think it so.” Johnathan insisted.
“Calvin, will you stay with us?” Martha Kent offered. “Not for a few days or weeks, not as a guest. for good and all. Do you think you could learn to make this your home?”
“I don't understand.” Calvin said earnestly. “I've told you what I am.”
“And we don't care...about that.” Johnathan said warmly. “Martha and I...we can't have kids of our own. It would be a blessing if you would let us love you like our son.”
“Hakarat Tova Ho-re.” Kal-el said with an explosion of feeling. He set the mug down reached out his arms and embraced his new family. “Thank you-Father.” Translating his words into English.
“You know Hebrew?” Jeremiah said with surprise.
“No, that was Kryptonian. My native language.”
“Oh.” he shook his head lightly. “Sounded like Hebrew.”
Chapter 2: A Name Made Beautiful
Calvin Harris know to call himself Kal-El around other aliens. He learns why that might be, and might not be, a good idea, while locked up in Fort Rozz.
Calvin Harris struggled with his chains. They were clearing made out of some non-terrestrial metal or they would have shattered easily. “Excuse me sir, I really wouldn't bother. If you try to escape he'll just hurt you again.”
“Escape? This a prison?”
“One of the more ancient and secure in 16 galaxies.” The man said calmly. As his eyes adjusted he could make out a man in the cell across from him. The man looked like a middle-aged human with light blonde hair and very thin eyebrows. He spoke with simplicity and confidence.
“Who are you and what brought you to this?”
“I was a farmer. And then I became a thief. And now I'll die for it.”
“And what planet's government sends you to death just for stealing.”
“My jailer claims Kryptonian authority. This jail was run by Kryptonians so he has some kind of a point but, Krypton has NO death penalty for any crime.”
“You spent some time here before...I take it?”
“I was a smuggler for a cycle and sentenced here for 12.” Calvin looked away, dejected. “It is fair; I do not question the judgment. But I could wish they'd tell me for what new crime I've been arrested.” The man said in an even voice.
“You are here to pay for your original crime Nomatar.”
“I am NOT nameless.” The man said with surprising feeling. “My name is Narek.”
“Do you prefer I call you 008429?” The guard said indifferently.
“You can go ahead and execute me. But you cannot take my name from me.”
“I have already done that Nomatar.” The helmeted guard turned to his Kryptonian guest and casually explained 'Nomatar' means 'nameless'.
“Under what authority do you execute him?”
“Under my own authority you simple-minded-twit. I am the only surviving guard left to keep our oaths and continue enforcing justice.”
“Perhaps you will do me the courtesy of telling me wherefore I have been imprisoned... or at least where?”
“This was Fort Rozz. Designed to hold criminals from 16 of the 23 known inhabited galaxies. And now you Octavius will face true justice.” A thin man perhaps 26 Earth years of age was taken from the cell beside Narek's. His skin was sea green his hair matted and greasy. “Prisoner 008428, you've been found guilty of assault, theft and conspiracy to commit kidnapping. The sentence declared is death. To be carried out immediately.” No sooner were the words spoken than Octavius was forced to his knees and beheaded.
“Octavius was his real name?” Calvin asked of the man across the corridor.
“Yes. Why does that surprise you?”
“Why is he allowed to keep his name and you are not?”
Narek chuckled. “I was born on Star Haven. To them a name is a possession, a gift. Anton as I call the guard knows how demoralizing it is that even my name is taken from me. Laserites - that was Octavius people - don't particularly care.”
“So he does it as simply a final insult?”
“I suppose so.” The resignation on the man's face was heart-breaking.
“That's it, I'm getting you out of here.”
Kal-el burned the lock of his cell door with his heat vision, silently thanking whatever God existed that his jailer had not bothered to flood the cell with red sunlight. He pulled the door to Narek's cell off of its hinges. But was thrown backwards against the wall.
“You seriously have no respect for justice.” the guard growled darkly.
“I believe very strongly in Justice.” Kal-El retorted. “But that's not what this is.”
Narek ran to the wall and took a rifle from the weapons locker. He pointed it at Anton's temple. “You should reconsider your current course of action. I will shoot, if I have to.”
“So much for being a man of peace.” Anton taunted him.
“I am a man of peace. But farmers had to defend our fields from rampaging herds and ravagers alike, which means I know how to use a weapon. And right now I'm defending a FRIEND, which means I will use it without hesitation. I say again: Stand down.” The guard dropped his hands. Narek did lowered his gun but did not take his attention off of the guard.
“Why did you give me the name Anton?”
“It means 'Solider of Duty'. It seemed to fit.”
“That it does. And in keeping with the laws and traditions I was sworn to uphold, I surrender myself to justice.” He turned to Calvin. "If you were about to kill me, I would kneel and accept my fate. But you are not about to, are you?"
“You're right, I won't. However, I will find the most isolated cell in this prison you're so fond of and lock you into it for the rest of your mortal life."
“The fourth sub-level on the twilight side.” The guard replied easily.
Kal-el looked at Narek for an explanation
“It's for prisoners who would think about what they've done. The twilight side is called that twilight because the lighting there simulates perpetual twilight. It lends itself to calm thinking and solitary reflection.”
“For criminals who would do their time without incident.” Calvin guessed.
“Yes, forgive me I did not even ask your name.”
“I suppose you would call me Kal-El.”
“...I see. Then you must forgive me but, may I ask what happens to me?”
That's when it finally occurred to him. The guard had not flooded his cell with red solar rays, because neither the guard nor Narek had had any reason to think he was anything other than human. This prison had once been run by Kryptonians. Which is why Anton had surrendered so willingly. To the straight-forward mind of the guard, Kryptonians were in charge of their own prison. Calvin looked with soft eyes as Narek stood there, patiently waiting for him to go on. Then realized the man was waiting for an answer to his question. And not enjoying the wait. “Where is home for you? On Earth I mean.”
“Colorado State University, Colorado Springs.”
“Then hold onto me. That's your next stop.”
Narek wrapped his arms around Kal-El's torso. Four minutes later they were over the astronomy building of the university. Narek stumbled a bit as they touched down.
“I am quite grateful that I did not acquire the ability to fly on this planet.”
“I'm still getting used to it myself.”
“You're letting me go?”
“Yes. That's the general idea.” Kal-El said slowly.
“I don't understand. Why would you do this?”
“Well from my understanding you've served your time. Even if not, I'd say your actions today earned you an early release.”
Narek took Kal-El's hands in his own. “Thank you Kal-El. I could never repay you for this.”
“Yes you can.” Kal-El said with a smile. “Lead a good life. Keep being kind.”
“I promise I will.”
“What do you teach here anyway?”
“Can you not guess?”
“I'd say linguistics but that doesn't seem...stars. You teach humans about the stars.”
“The one thing I know better than anyone else on this planet. Beside most humans, aren't interested in learning alien languages.”
“And Earth languages would sound...more strange to you than to other Earthlings.”
Narek turned his head away and looked sideways at Kal-El. “Would it be presumptuous of me to say you have redeemed your family name today?”
“I do not understand your hesitation. Or the question itself. I was raised here on Earth. I don't know my Kryptonian culture any more than I know__a Laserites.”
Narek picked on a stick started digging into the grass. “This is the symbol for the House of El. Which I take by your surname to be your family. They are - humans would say they have their noses firmly in the air. None more so than one named Zor-El. He sentenced hundreds here without a thought.”
“Including you.” Kal-El prompted.
“One wrong cannot be negated by committing another Kal-El. I meant it when I said I've accepted the justice of my sentence. But I stole a sum equal to almost a year's pay. While some who got the same sentence had stolen no more than furniture from a farmhouse.” Kal El turned his head away, dejected. “As I said, you are not your family. And you have done a great thing here that if I have anything to say about it will be what the house of El is remembered for.”
“Then I'll accept what you say as an affirmation, as well as praise.”
“So it was intended.” Narek replied with a quiet smile.
A Lonely Night of Truth
Jeremiah Danvers, and Nikita have a couple of problems on thier hands.
1. They've been promptly welcomed and repeatedly ignored by thier alien captor.
2. Their captor is a Martian that isn't making any sense to Nikita, the 76 year old former D.E.O prisoner and empath.
3. Nikita's confusion about J'onn Jo'nzz is entirely mutual.
“Jeremiah, are you there?”
“Behind you.” He answered. We were tied back to back. “Are you alright?”
“Head's a little spinny. But I'm okay.”
“Solente Karesh-Esai.” I heard a voice, but couldn't see anyone.
I saw we were in a basement. And someone was watching us. “Whoever you are, please let us see you. Don't make me talk to darkness.” Nothing changed. “No Sonto ni-sakara Nesta- Zaki. Please, whoever you are, let me see your face.” A tall, thin man stood from the shadows to my left. His sloped skull and tinted green skin reminded me of nothing so much as an orchard of lime trees. “Thank you. I don't know what else to say.”
“Who...Who are you?” His voice sounded like he had long since lost the habit of using it. He looked from Jeremiah to me and back.
“My name is Jeremiah.” He stated with the slightest insistence in his voice.
“My name is Nikita. I suppose it would be naive of me to ask your name.” The man simply crouched down and stared at me. “Among my people it is extremely rude not to introduce yourself, even among enemies.”
“I am not of your people.” The man replied.
“Fair enough.” Jeremiah answered. I drifted off to sleep soon after.
When I woke up there was only gray light in the high windows, a sign we were in a basement. Jeremiah was still tied up behind me. I looked around.
“He's not here.”
“He is...do you think this is his home?”
“Perhaps. But I doubt trespassing was our transgression. Jeremiah whatever happens, do not lie to him.”
“Heh. Only you could be concerned about such a thing.”
“It's not about me. In some alien cultures lying about committing a murder-- covering the deed-- is more reprehensible than having taken another life. Our host is of such a kind.”
The man approached from the stairs to my left holding a small bowl of water out to me. “My friend first.” I told him and turned my head away. Making it perfectly clear that unless he force-fed me, I wouldn't drink it. The man took the bowl to Jeremiah. And then brought it back to me.
“It's a kind of meso soup.” I heard Jeremiah saw a minute later.
“I've made plenty more.” Our host said before turning around to leave.
“Jeremiah, I don't need to be strapped to your back to know you have a question.”
“Then you can probably guess the question.”
I did. “I don't need much anymore. My body has trained itself to survive on little. Besides, he needs to see that you're worth it__to me.”
The man did not return until there was no longer light coming through the windows. “I'm certain you understand me, you can trust my words. You don't need to keep us restrained like this in order to keep us here. So why do you?”
“In case I was a fighter. In case either of us resisted.” Jeremiah answered me.
The man nodded his agreement.
“I just want to see Jeremiahs face. I want to be able to look you both in the face when we talk. You can keep our hands tied I just want to be able to use my legs. Even the D.E.O allowed me that. If we're going to...” I had been about to say 'going to trust each-other, then show this sign of trust'. But I suddenly felt that our host had long since forgotten what it felt like to trust some one else. “If you want to see who we are – what choice we would make – give us the ability to make a choice. Give Jeremiah his hands. He'll show you where his loyalties lie. Or rather where they do NOT sit.” As if on impulse the man cut Jeremiah and I free from each-other. A moment later he cut the bonds around Jeremiah's wrist. The instant his hands were free, Jeremiah put action to truth and tore the D.E.O. emblem off his shirt.
The alien would feed us, ask a few rather simple questions and then leave. He never did anything more TO me than shove me against a wall or punch me in the chest when I was 'being implacable'. He actually, well, took care of us. I was having trouble making heads or tails of him. When I looked at Nikita I saw she was having similar difficulties.
But neither of us felt like voicing our opinions.
“Stop it!” Nikita cried out. The alien stopped in his tracks. He turned to Nikita with a look. “He's done nothing to deserve this. I would think if anything you'd be after me.”
“Are you saying you'd rather die instead?”
“...Yes.” Nikita answered her voice low but distinct. “I would rather be killed than let him die. I'd think if you'd be angry at either of us it would be a freak of nature like me. Not the best human I've ever known. If nothing else that makes sense!”
I looked over at the man, who glanced back at me, silently asking for an interpretation. “She's comparing you to Hank Henshaw. Someone who treated her like an enemy for no reason and literally tortured her in a blind attempt to get her to reveal the truth of her intentions. But there was no truth to be found, because she wasn't lying. She wasn't a danger to anyone. And if Hank had looked at her for 5 seconds and seen anything other than a human-looking alien, he would have seen her for the innocent person she was. It was there for all the world to see and he couldn't accept it. I served under Henshaw during this time. I couldn't understand why he saw her as the enemy. The last interrogation he performed on her proved he actually got off on hurting aliens... even helpless ones like her.”
“Okay, what IS it with this guy? I mean for holding us prisoner for three weeks and running, he doesn't seem to want anything from us.”
“He's just trying to understand us.” Nikita said definitively. “And that goes both ways. He's...different. Unless he's Phobos in which case he is REALLY different.”
“I do not understand.”
“He's a GREEN Martian. He's lived on Earth for over 300 years. If he's lived that time alone, like more alone than I ever was, it's little wonder he doesn't trust humans. It would be easier to trust someone he knows is...different.”
“Which explains why he talks with you so freely. He knows you're an alien.”
“Yes. He would have learned not to trust humans. Trust me it wasn't just my time at the D.E.O. that taught me how ignorant humans can be, especially when they're scared.”
“How long have you been on Earth anyway?”
“Since about 3 months before you first landed on the moon.”
“Wow. You do NOT look that old.”
“My people age in stages and in surged Jeremiah. Until I hit 90 years old I won't look much different than I do at 40.”
“I get the feeling the others of his kind are...”
“Not his kind Jeremiah. Whites and Greens are different races of the same species. They are not of each-other's like.”
“You're saying that depending on which race of Martian he is...” I couldn't finish the thought, because for the first time in my memory Nikita interrupted me.
“Jeremiah, if that man wanted us dead we'd BE dead!”
Three days later the alien came to take me away. He grabbed me by the arm and started to literally drag me out of the room. “No leave him alone!” Nikita cried out.
“You want to die instead?” The man asked her in a threatening voice.
Nikita's voice was low but distinct. “Yes, I do. I cannot believe you are actually going to kill him; I do not see this in you. But if you were going to kill one of us, I'd rather it be me than him. If for no other reason than that would make sense!” She turned to look at me. “And obviously there is another reason. I am quite familiar with how ignorant humans can be, especially when they're scared. But I'd think if you were angry at either of us it would be a freak of nature like me, not quite literally the best human I have ever known!” The alien had released me from his grip and was starring at Nikita with something stronger than curiosity. A sentiment I shared with him. Nikita wasn't finished. “I seriously cannot understand why you hate him. Hate is reserved for Whites and for the worst of humans. Hank would fit in among White Martians. My word for him translates as 'ignorant, arrogant asshole'. But Whites are something else, Crishnaka-Sareth. Or near enough.”
“You've lived under the Whites?” The alien said in a strange voice.
“I've lived under Hank Henshaw for more than 15 years. He scared the hell out of me. If I wasn't so busy being scared of him I'd have laughed in his face. You confuse the hell out of me. If I wasn't busy being confused for you, I'd be sad for you. Is there any thing else to say.”
I looked at the man, trying to judge if the outburst had hit home. It clearly had done: the man was staring with wide, sad eyes; staring at me. “What is it?”
“I was wrong about you. And I'm sorry.”
That's when I finally realized. “You thought I was...her keeper?”
“I thought she was Enkaren and you were keeping her calm and under control.”
“Demios Pah, Tor-ek Nitch-a.”
“WHAT?!” I exclaimed. “Nikita, what the hell was that?”
“She says I've dishonored the name of my ancestor. And she's not wrong.”
“Phobos that is White Martians are known as aggressive, arrogant and flat out obsessed with their own races superiority. Deimos, those that trace their heritage back to Deimos are known to be honorable, duty-bound and stiff by comparison.” Nikita said to me. She turned to look J'onn directly in the face, though she still refused to look him in the eyes. “And no disrespect intended-I swear but...why did you think I was Enkaren?”
"Because you're speaking thier language like a native." J'onn replied simply.
"It's the native language of Xavallens, Atraxi and Enkarens. We share the same root."
"That is...no longer taught."
“It's been the better part of 3,000 years and Enkarens no longer look like us. The three of us being sibling races is presumably still taught. But most people hear an Enkaren speaking and instantly think they are hearing the 'Enkaren tongue'. Now that I think about it, Jeremiah never got the chance to learn this either.”
“Now THAT I find hard to believe.”
“Hank wasn't interested in learning anything about her except how to break her.” Jeremiah half-explained, half objected.
“But you're not...” He rubbed his left forefinger against her temple, as if tracing something that should be there. “Are you Xavallen?”
“Why should that be of particular interest to you?”
The alien actually bent his back forward and backed away from Nikita. “I...my name is J'onn Jo'nzz. And I must humbly beg your pardon.”
“I...do not understand. Please you owe me nothing. You might owe Jeremiah an apology for so completely misjudging him but you own me nothing!”
“Okay, I'm officially lost.” Jeremiah admitted.
“No less so than I.”
“You...you don't...” J'onn actually stammered.
“My parents taught me more about Atraxi, Brevaks, Zyerilians and such than they did about our own race. That's why I left. There was a coming of age ceremony 2 years before I became a legal independent adult on my planet. But I never had one. My biological parents didn't think I was worth teaching my own races history and culture. So I ran away. And because I wasn't yet a legal adult by our planets laws that's what I was: A runaway.”
“I was as wrong about the two of you as this arrogant human you keep talking about was wrong about her. I am sorry. And I will FIND a way to make it right.” He left without another word.
A few hours later Jeremiah walked up the steps from the basement. Something he very rarely did. He saw J'onn sitting at a dining table, staring out the window. “Most humans, most races in the galaxies at all no matter how much they try to lift the head of another and put the needs of their friends first, would still put their own life, their own survival before anything else at need. Xavallens don't. They are, by comparison to their brethren, Friars and Philosophers.” He looked up at me, as if ashamed of himself. “I was wrong about you. You're not her keeper or her jailer. She protects you and listens to you, not out of compulsion or obligation but for you. Because you freed her from the D.E.O. Please tell me how that happened?
“I couldn't stand by and let her get tortured for information she didn't actually have. For being a thing rather than a person. Most prisoners at the D.E.O absolutely deserve to be there. Some of them, to our eyes would truly look like freaks of nature. There is no getting around that. But Nikita was no threat, and certainly no monster. I'm been, present when Director Henshaw was 'getting some answers' except there were none to find and he didn't accept that. The night before we escaped, I asked him why he was so convinced 'this prisoner' –I had to use those words– was an enemy he looked at me and promised that 'Tomorrow, that thing will reveal its true intentions'. And the next morning he...I don't have the words for what he did to her. It was agonizing and senseless. I knocked Hank unconscious, shut the machine off and released her restraints. I told her to go, that she was free. She said she would, but wanted to know if I wanted to come with her. That I didn't deserve to be trapped here any more than she did. She said she didn't want to make that plea, didn't want to 'guilt trip' me into leaving with her. She said she wanted me with her, but only if I wanted to leave with her. It was amazing on a level I can still hardly wrap my head around. And she is quite right. All you had to do was ask. She would have told you anything. Force, much less pain was useless. She actually laughed at Hank for making the exact same assumption.” Jeremiah smiled as the memories caught up with him. “It was the last thing I expected.” His eyes became present again. “But to her, you probably seemed As Blind, if far gentler than Hank.”
“Enkarens and Xavallens are sibling races to each-other. Enkarens are far superior to humans in most respects. Xavallens are, by comparison religious friars. They speak the same language.”
“And she doesn't make sense for an Enkaren.”
J'onn nodded. “But more than that, Xavallens are a protected species.”
“Wait, what?”
“If I had something against her personally, as an individual it would be a different thing. If I had known what she was, hurting her to get you to talk or the other way around would have been a crime. And I would have begged her forgiveness.”
“Sir, I confess I don't know where this comes from. But I know her, she holds you no grudge, for any of this.”
“And what about you?”
“You didn't know. And besides, it was as much my choice as hers.”
“I can see why she loves you so much.”
“...Loves me?”
“Like a father.” His face became concerned, and amazed. “You didn't know?”
“I didn't have the chance to get to know her, until about 3 months ago.”