'What do you think you're going to do with this toy, Jor?' Lara helped him set the seven-foot prototype starcraft on the rig at the window.
'Send you and the child into space. Here, let me get that navigational unit off the big ship's nose.'
'No, you're not.'
Jor-El ignored her and went about fixing the little silver navigational mechanism to the tip of the child's craft, ready to separate and eventually fly several light-hours ahead of the main unit.
As he did that Lara found two musty blankets in a cup-board. She wrapped the red and blue blankets around the infant, who was already struggling in a yellow sheet.
Jor-El apparently finished a few final calculations and then turned to his wife. 'Get aboard, Lara.'
'My place is with you. The ship will have a better chance of escaping Krypton's gravity without my weight anyway.'
'Your place is wherever you can survive - and that isn't here.'
'Remember what we named our son, Jor? Kal-El means "star child" in ancient Kryptonese.'
'An accident of language. Get on.'
'No. I am a Kryptonian woman and Krypton is dead. Give the child a chance.'
Jor-El wasn't surprised, only disappointed. He pulled a prepared recording disc from a shelf and slipped it into a slot on the navigational unit.
'My dear God,' Jor-El whispered as the rocket carrying its tiny burden lifted off amid the crashing of metal and rock. 'May the starwinds guide your course, Kal-El.'
And the vacuum of space muffled the star child's wailing as a giant world ripped itself apart.