Over the next while, Jor-Il poured over the information Clark had sent him, interspersing the review with questions to Clark concerning a myriad of topics. Had he had any difficulty gauging his strength? Spontaneous bursts of heat-vision? Lapses in the level of his invulnerability? Jor-Il peppered Clark with question after question until, finally, the scientist sat back from the console, his expression introspective.

            Clark remained silent, waiting.

            “Foremost, I can safely say that your cells are, indeed, one-hundred percent Kryptonian. A by-product of this is that your need for a constant flow of broadcast energy from the artificial anti-Kryptonite we created to be at an end,” Jor-Il announced. “Your cells are processing the anti-Kryptonite radiation at an UNBELIEVABLY efficient level. I’d daresay that, once fully charged, you could operate at peak efficiency for…” He tabbed through another data scan. “…five solar days before experiencing any noticeable decrease.”

            Clark continued to remain silent.       

            Sitting back in his chair, Jor-Il peaked his hands beneath his chin, tapping his fingertips together in thought. “An… unfortunate by-product of this metamorphosis, however, is that you are no longer genetically compatible with the human species,” the scientist explained. “Any progeny that you may wish to spawn must now come from SUBSTANTIALLY better stock. Daxamites. Or perhaps Almeracians.” He raised an eyebrow. "Or Amazons."

            “But WHY?” Clark asked, his voice strained by the level of self-control he was exerting, preventing himself from erupting in rage. “WHY did you do this to me?”

            Jor-Il’s face grew puzzled as he glanced away from the screen to meet Clark’s eyes. “I don’t think you quite grasp the true nature of what you represent. You are something which has not existed in over ten centuries: a living, breathing Kryptonian THRIVING on an alien world.” He motioned to Clark. “You were and are living proof that our forefathers were WRONG to institute the genetic lock on our race. That they were WRONG to ban space travel.” Jor-Il snorted a harsh laugh. “Because of the crimes of ONE man—Jax-Ur—our people were forbidden from travelling to the stars… where we BELONG.”

            Jor-Il sat back.

“You represented hope, my son; hope for the Kryptonian people to be something more than what’d been intended for them,” the elder Kryptonian scientist explained. “Hope for our future generations to have become more than what society had determined for them. Hope for our people to have once more reclaimed their place in the sun.”

            Clark’s eyes narrowed in irritation. “And what if I don’t want to be this ‘hope’?”

            Jor-Il waved his hand dismissively. “You already have been. Whether you wanted to be or not is immaterial.”

            Clark shook his head, his mind awash with new thoughts. “So all of this… what you’ve done to me… what you’ve made me into… it was all just so you could thumb your nose at the Council and show them you were right?”

            Jor-Il leaned closer to the screen, his one remaining eye glittering in satisfaction. “And to prove that those short-sighted bastards were WRONG.” As fast as the expression emerged, however, it faded equally as fast as the scientist leaned back once more, his brow creasing in frustration. “And, as with most everything else… it’s too late.”

            Clark scowled. “And this change of heart, Jor-Il?” he snapped icily. “What brought THIS about? You’ve spent the better part of the last couple decades being nothing short of a colossal pain in my ass… and now you’re practically falling all over yourself to help?” He shook his head. “’Suspicious’ is far too mild of a word to describe what I’m feeling right now.”

            A curious mixture of fondness and sorrow twisted Jor-Il’s face as he glanced away uncomfortably. “You… can blame my wife for that, Kal-Il. Or thank, depending on how you want to look at it.”

            Falling silent for a moment, Jor-Il seemed to be gathering his thoughts before sighing faintly.

            “Understand, son, this is… uncomfortable for me. Sharing, like this,” the scientist explained. “All my life, I’ve never concerned myself with… emotion…” He sighed, his words tapering off as he rubbed a hand across his brow. “Then I met Lara, and it was as if I’d found a piece of myself I hadn’t even known I was missing. The other half of my soul. My laH’e be’nal.”

In spite of his suspicion, Clark nodded. “’Soulmate.’”

Jor-Il nodded. “As close of a term as Terran language will allow. But yes, you understand.” His eyes grew distant. “Kryptonian myth says that when the two halves of a soul find each other, there is an unspoken understanding of one another, that they feel unified. And in that unity, they would know no greater joy than that.” He shrugged. “I’m not a man of religion, son… but I DO believe in that.” Glancing at the screen, Jor-Il nodded. “And I can see by your expression that you understand that feeling all too well.”

Folding his arms across his broad chest, Clark scowled. “We’re talking about your change of heart, Jor-Il… NOT about my love-life.”

            Jor-Il sighed patiently. “And I AM explaining it to you, son. Trust me, this ‘change of heart’ as you put it did NOT happen overnight.” He paused. “The original ship that brought Armageddon to Earth… it also contained a specially designed robot,” Jor-Il confessed. “It’s been monitoring you, now, ever since and sending us regular update reports on you.”

            “Spying on me?” Clark barked, outraged.

            Jor-Il shook his head. “Primarily news reports and other such programs. NOTHING invasive. That was one of your mother’s conditions to the probe being sent. And can you blame us, son, for your mother and I being curious as to how our child is doing?” Seeing Clark’s outraged expression, Jor-Il raised a hand to forestall the forthcoming objection. “Granted, son, my designs were, at first, FAR from mere curiosity. I admit… I DID use it to keep tabs on you and your doings. But eventually…?” He shrugged, shaking his head. “Listening to your mother, Lara, dote endlessly on your achievements…? It was hard NOT to start seeing her point of view. And when I began to…?” He shrugged once more. “Can you blame me for wanting to see what my life’s greatest creation was capable of doing? Of becoming?

            His anger lessening slightly, Clark huffed a sigh. “You’re supposed to be explaining your change of heart towards me… and actually give me a reason to be even MORE angry at you?” He shook his head. “There are sometimes I TRULY do not understand you, Jor-Il. And there’s times I truly do.” Scowling, Clark ran a hand through his hair. “And to be honest…? I don’t know which one is the more unsettling.”