An Extraordinary Man: Part Two -- Trials and Triumphs
By Chris Carr <carrcmh@yahoo.co.uk>
Rated: PG-13
Submitted: August 2003
___________


INTRODUCTION:

Well, this is it. I'm done. Extraordinary Man II is completed.

Finally.

I hope you, dear reader, think that it has been worth the wait.

It has taken me years to get this written; I've been working on 
it sporadically since the summer of 2000; bits of this were 
written before EMI came out, as I originally planned the whole 
saga as a single story, not the two parts it eventually evolved 
into.

EMII is surprisingly well travelled. I've taken incomplete 
drafts of it away with me to the Netherlands (three times) and 
Germany (twice). It has yo-yoed back and forth across England, 
usually staying untouched in my bag over weekends spent with 
friends and relations. It even went backpacking around the 
Outer Hebrides, just when every pound really counted, too!

I'm almost relieved to see the back of it, to be honest. Yet, 
at the same time, I'm sad to let it go.

That this story has been finished goes to show the power of 
nagging, and to prove that miracles do happen, that stories can 
wake up from their comas and that I'm really not quite the lost 
cause that I, and an awful lot of other people, sometimes think 
I am. I would never have made it this far without the support 
and encouragement of more people than I can probably remember 
after all this time. My apologies, therefore, to anyone I 
unwittingly leave out.

Various people have beta-read bits of this: Kaylle, Anne, 
Wendy, Helene, Pebbles... A *huge* thank you goes to Jenni for 
volunteering to beta-read the whole thing. Thanks also to 
Carol, who sent very supportive emails and pointed out a number 
of typos etc that would otherwise have got by me; you guys are 
terrific! (BTW, Carol, you won't find any references to 
'electric shocks' in *this* version!) Helene might also be able 
to identify a few of her suggestions that have been 
incorporated into the final version.

There has also been a number of people cheerleading in the 
background, on IRC, on the mbs and even, once or twice, by 
private email. You, too, have helped to improve the story, by 
pointing out more typos and making yet more suggestions.

Thanks also to Jeanne Pare for GEing this for me. Appreciated! 
:)

DISCLAIMER: This story has been written for fun, not profit. No 
attempt is being made to infringe any existing copyrights held 
by December 3rd Productions, Warner Bros, D C Comics, or 
anybody else.

I strongly suggest that you read Extraordinary Man before 
reading this, but in case you don't want to, here is a recap:

PREVIOUSLY, ON EXTRAORDINARY MAN: Even by Assistant District 
Attorney CJ Kent's standards, Wednesday, 30 April, 1997, turns 
out to be a spectacularly bad day. He's having flashbacks to a 
traumatic event several years in his past, he's on the verge of 
a breakdown and, thanks to the machinations of Lex Luthor, the 
case he is prosecuting is going down the toilet. Then he 
witnesses a shooting on the steps of Metropolis's courthouse... 
just as he is pushed by a meddlesome H G Wells into an 
alternate reality.

CJ meets his alter-ego, a journalist called Clark, who, CJ 
quickly discovers, masquerades as a superhero in his spare 
time. He also meets Clark's wife, Lois Lane. CJ learns that H G 
Wells's purpose in removing CJ from his own world is to enable 
CJ to acquire powers like Clark's so that he can return home 
and prevent the death of his own world's Lois. The only problem 
is that CJ isn't sure that he wants to go back.

Over the course of ten days, CJ comes to know Lois and Clark 
better. He learns how to control the strange, and sometimes 
frightening, powers he's developing. He begins to put the worst 
of his past behind him, and with it his depression. It takes a 
lot of soul-searching, but he finally decides to go back to his 
own world and save Lois's life.

But saving Lois is only the first of the tasks he sets for 
himself: he also wants to bring Luthor down. CJ returns home 
carrying with him copies of Lois and Clark's Luthor files, the 
key, he hopes, to dethroning the criminal mastermind who holds 
the whole of Metropolis in his grip.

NOW READ ON...

CHAPTER ONE

********************** Wednesday, 30 April 1997 
**********************

"No, Lois! Absolutely not! I told you already: it's either 
going to talk to Saxon about those fish or it's the Allen 
trial. Nothing else!"

"But, Perry--!" Lois placed her hands palm down on her editor's 
desk and leaned across it to lend force to her protest. She 
knew it was useless to argue with him but she was Lois Lane, so 
she was going to argue anyway. "It'd be a great piece!"

They were arguing about an article she wanted to write. She'd 
come to Perry White with the idea, saying that the fourth 
anniversary of the Council of Nations' withdrawal from the 
space programme was a timely opportunity to consider the 
ramifications of LexCorp's virtual monopoly on space science. 
Perry had immediately vetoed the idea and suggested that, 
rather than in op- ed pieces, her talents would be best 
showcased through the investigative work of which she was so 
fond. The real reason for his refusal remained unsaid by, but 
known to, both of them: he didn't want to have to pull the 
piece after she had written it, something which would almost 
certainly be necessary if she ground her axe as she was wont to 
do where Luthor was concerned. If Perry didn't nix the piece, 
the paper's lawyers undoubtedly would. Then they would 
recommend that Lois be suspended.

Perry refused to be intimidated by her fervour. He stared her 
in the eye and, exasperated, said, "I'm sure it'd be a great 
piece, but you know as well as I do that I couldn't print it!"

She screwed her lips together, straightened up, folded her arms 
across her chest, then plonked herself down in Perry's plaid 
arm-chair. Petulantly, she said, "Why not?"

"Now you're just being obtuse."

She had to admit that was true, if only to herself. She knew 
things were bad at the Planet -- worse, in fact, than Perry let 
on. The paper was haemorrhaging money; the only reason it had 
stayed afloat for as long as it had was that Franklin Stern was 
prepared to throw resources at it, just because it annoyed 
Luthor that there was still one part of Metropolis's media he 
couldn't control. But Stern's pockets weren't bottomless and, 
in a war of attrition, Luthor would eventually come out on top 
simply because he was the second richest man in the world; 
Stern barely made it into the top one hundred.

Defeated, Lois scowled and said, "Okay, okay... I'll take the 
Allen story."

Perry evidently recognised that the last of the fight had left 
her because when he spoke again, it was in a much more 
sympathetic tone. "Well, that's great, Lois. Now, don't you 
think you'd better get a move on if you're to get to the 
courthouse before the trial starts?"

Lois sighed and nodded. As she left his office, she threw Perry 
one last, slightly reproachful glance. She was only slightly 
mollified when he said, "I'm sorry, honey. I really am."

"I know," she answered him softly. He hated Luthor almost as 
much as she did; he was just much better at not letting it 
cloud his judgement.

*****

Perry's warning notwithstanding, Lois arrived early at the 
courtroom, and she applauded herself for managing to get a seat 
in the front row of the gallery. From there she had a good view 
of the benches below. She made herself comfortable and, to fill 
in time before the trial began, decided to browse through that 
morning's edition of the Daily Planet. However, after scanning 
the first few pages, she found her thoughts beginning to 
wander.

She didn't usually bother to follow the legal process beyond 
the indictment of malefactors; she preferred to tell the story 
of how people were caught rather than to cover the drier 
aspects of the trial process. That, she felt, was beneath her 
dignity; she usually left such stories to her more junior 
colleagues. Today, however, she had been forced to make an 
exception to that rule, not just -- or even mainly -- because 
it wasn't often that anyone as prominent as Sean Allen found 
himself in the dock. No, she was here because Perry thought 
that keeping her in the courtroom would keep her out of 
mischief. The trial would undoubtedly run for a few days, by 
which time the anniversary would have passed and with it the 
last vestiges of Lois's hopes of writing her story.

At least it was, as she'd hinted, a better option than writing 
about declining fish stocks and the poor health of the aquatic 
life in the rivers and bays around Metropolis. Moreover, with 
Assistant District Attorney Kent prosecuting, the trial 
promised to be good theatre.

Lois gave up on the paper, folded it, and laid it aside. Then 
she focused her mind on Kent. There had been a time when she 
had been firmly convinced of his corruption, and that bias had 
been reflected in some of the articles she had written soon 
after Elyse's death. Over time, though, her opinion of him had 
become increasingly ambivalent. Now she was no longer quite so 
sure about his dishonesty.

Lois Lane knew quite a lot about Clark "CJ" Kent, partly due to 
the things that Elyse had told her, but mostly because of 
things she had learned subsequently in the course of her 
research. She knew, for example, that his lifestyle was not 
what one would expect from a lawyer in receipt of bribes. She 
was also aware that the man she bumped into from time to time 
in the course of her work was not the same man who had 
graduated from Harvard. It had only taken a few phone calls to 
find that out. Lois bit on her lip thoughtfully. According to 
her information, Kent had been a popular student: confident, 
outgoing and sociable. He had been a hard worker with a lot of 
friends and even more admirers. Yet, despite the opportunities 
that presented themselves, he had always stayed a little aloof; 
he had treated relationships as he had done anything else: with 
a measure of humour that belied the seriousness he attached to 
them.

None of this accorded with his current reputation. These days 
Kent gave the impression that he was someone who worked too 
hard and had a dour personality.

And therein lay the paradox, thought Lois. She had all the 
facts she could muster about Kent, but she couldn't make them 
mesh into any kind of sense. He worked hard. He looked honest. 
And yet...

The Luthor trial had fallen to pieces on a technicality. A 
mistake had meant that the monster walked free. Since then 
other cases Kent had been involved in had similarly fallen 
apart or had not even made it to trial. The acquittal rate of 
those cases that *were* completed was astonishing also. So, 
either Kent was a far worse lawyer than his performances in 
court would suggest, or he was supremely unlucky. Or he was, as 
she had once believed, an actor, whose performances masked a 
wicked duplicity.

"Hello, Lois."

Lois suppressed a grimace as she recognised the mellifluous 
voice, coming from a point about six inches behind her right 
ear, as belonging to Robby Roberts. She slowly turned her head 
towards him. "Robby," she said coolly. "I didn't expect to see 
you today. What are you doing here?"

"Same as you. Covering the trial." He rearranged his lips into 
an approximation of a smile. However, there was no sincerity to 
it; all it served to do was reveal a row of perfect white teeth 
-- which Lois knew for a fact were the result of cosmetic 
dentistry. "This isn't your usual kind of story, is it? You 
wouldn't be in Perry's doghouse, by any chance, would you?"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, Robby?" she said, her tone 
rendered even chillier than it had been before because his gibe 
cut perilously close to the truth.

"Now, now," he chided her. "No need to be unfriendly, is there? 
After all, we are colleagues."

Lois tilted her chin fractionally upwards. "We *were* 
colleagues, Robby. As I recall, you jumped ship." She had never 
liked Roberts much -- he was too smooth and full of his own 
self- importance for her taste -- but her opinion of him had 
dropped precipitously when he'd decided to hand Perry his 
resignation. To her mind, Robby's actions smacked of 
disloyalty, something she hated.

"I didn't see any reason to wait for the ship to sink. By the 
way, how *is* the advertising revenue at the Planet these 
days?" When Lois didn't deign to answer, Robby asked snidely, 
"Want me to put a word in for you at LNN before you all drown?"

Lois's eyes narrowed. "No, thanks, Robby. I don't need any 
favours from you or from anyone else." She wondered what he 
would say if she told him that LNN had approached her first and 
had only gone to him after she'd turned the job down; probably 
he would think she was lying. *She* hadn't believed it herself 
when she'd first received the offer. Given her outspoken 
dislike of LNN's proprietor, she'd been more inclined to think 
it was an elaborate practical joke. If she hadn't been able to 
take the offer seriously, how could she expect anyone else to?

The fact remained, though, that, second choice or not, with his 
perfect cheekbones, expensive coiffure and carefully cultivated 
voice, Roberts had quickly carved himself a niche at the news 
station. Now he was on prime time every evening and media 
pundits were tipping him to be the next anchorman.

"I see you made the front page again," he said.

Lois quirked an eyebrow, surprised not because her story was 
the morning's lead -- she'd known that already, of course -- 
but because he had noticed. She had assumed that he had given 
up reading printed news when he'd made the sideways move into 
television.

She felt a momentary satisfaction that her story about Myerson 
Construction had been given the treatment it deserved. Somehow 
she doubted that she was going to be on the company's Christmas 
card list this year, always supposing that there would still be 
a company come December. Hopefully Myerson would be making 
license plates by then. Lois didn't dwell on the satisfaction 
the story's prominence engendered, however. She had had it 
drummed into her that a reporter was only as good as his or her 
next story. Myerson Construction was the past; Sean Allen was 
the future.

And her Lex Luthor story was nowhere. She pursed up her lips 
with frustration and turned away from Roberts before he could 
pick up on her emotions. Dammit, but Luthor was the biggest 
story in the city, and she couldn't write about him! In fact, 
she was fairly surprised that Perry was allowing her near 
Allen; he was, after all, allegedly one of Luthor's associates.

It crossed her mind to wonder why LNN would see the need to 
follow the trial in the first place, let alone give it the high 
profile that Roberts' presence suggested. Why would a LexCorp 
company want to give bad publicity to one of its own? Suddenly 
the trial seemed vastly more interesting than before.

Her musings were interrupted as silence descended. She cast her 
eyes around, finally letting them alight on the clerk of the 
court.

"All rise! Court is now in session! The Honourable Angela Diggs 
presiding!"

As one, all those present scrambled to their feet as the judge 
entered from a door set off to the rear and towards one side of 
the bench. Lois smiled involuntarily as she stood up. At least 
she didn't have to wonder about the morals of the judge: Diggs 
was as straight as they came. Lois both respected and liked 
her.

The command "Be seated!" was followed by a loud rustling of 
fabric and scuffing of feet as everyone hustled to obey.

The clerk remained standing just long enough to call out, "Case 
number 97-67361! State of New Troy versus Sean Allen!"

Peering over her glasses, Judge Diggs asked, "Is counsel ready 
to proceed?"

Lois watched as Kent stood up and indicated that, yes, he was. 
Looking down on the proceedings below her, it crossed Lois's 
mind to question whether three defence attorneys against one 
prosecutor made for a very fair fight. Then she found herself 
wondering whether it was preference or necessity that made Kent 
work alone.

"Very well," said Diggs, pulling Lois's attention back towards 
the unfolding action. "Counsellor Kent. You may present your 
opening statement."

"Thank you, your honour." Kent stepped around the table and 
looked around the room. Then he began to speak. "Your Honour, 
members of the jury. My name is CJ Kent. I will be representing 
the people of the state of New Troy in the prosecution of Sean 
Allen for kidnapping, corruption and first-degree murder. Over 
the next few days you will hear..."

Lois was a journalist, not a lawyer. In a perverse way, maybe 
it was that fact which allowed her to realise as quickly as she 
did that Kent's performance lacked something. Her brow furrowed 
as she groped around for an appropriate word and eventually 
came up with one: theatricality. It lacked theatricality. Was 
that, Lois wondered, why Roberts was there? Luthor -- through 
LNN -- would be more than happy to propagate the fiction that 
Allen was an honest man. Roberts was here to cover the 
acquittal. And Kent was going to make sure that he got it. 
Kent, the showman, wasn't even bothering to go through the 
motions of giving a performance. He was presenting, in a very 
bland way, the mere facts of the case. He was making no effort 
to explain why the crime had been a heinous one, or why the 
perpetrator ought to be punished to the full extent of the law.

So much for her earlier doubts about his dishonesty!

By contrast, when it was the turn of the defence, their lead 
lawyer, Rosemary Tierney, turned in a polished performance. 
Speaking slowly at first but building up into an impassioned 
crescendo, she explained how she and her three associates would 
illuminate the weaknesses in the prosecution's case and would 
force the jury to acquit "this fine, upstanding member of our 
community". At that last phrase, Lois almost choked from 
holding back her laughter; from what she knew of Allen, he was 
more of a devil than the angel the defence were portraying him 
to be.

Rosemary Tierney sat down.

CJ stood up.

Diggs said, "You may call your first witness."

CJ nodded. "The prosecution would like to call Debbie Morgan to 
the stand..."

*****

Lois deliberately stepped into Kent's path as he exited the 
courtroom, making it impossible for him to ignore her. She 
planted her feet six inches apart, placed her left hand upon 
her hip, and thrust a tape recorder under his nose with her 
right. "Counsellor Kent!" She was meanly satisfied to notice 
that he flinched in response to her salutation. "Would you care 
to--"

"No comment," he said sharply, cutting her off as he pushed 
past.

"Now, just you wait a darn minute!" she called after him. 
"Don't ignore me!"

Lois's irritation blossomed into anger as Kent carried on 
moving towards the exit. He pushed through the rotating door 
and began the long walk down the majestic steps to the plaza 
below. Lois, muttering softly under her breath, ran after him.

"Wait!" Lois cried after him desperately, fearing that, in her 
heels, she wouldn't stand a chance of catching him up.

To her surprise, however, he stopped short, spun around on his 
heel to face her and angrily asked, "What, exactly, should I 
wait for? For you to ask me about my links to organised crime 
again?"

"No. I... Look. I need a quote for the afternoon edition."

CJ shook his head and glowered at her. "Why should I give you a 
quote when I know full well what happened last time I was 
stupid enough to allow myself to be interviewed by you?"

"That was almost four years ago, Kent!" protested Lois. 
"Besides... I'm sorry about that."

"Are you? Somehow I doubt it, given what you've written about 
me since."

"Yes, actually I am." And she was. It wasn't just that she 
feared she might have been wrong about him; she knew that she 
hadn't been fair. She'd tried and convicted him without even 
attempting to see things from his point of view, and that 
realisation never ceased to gall and grate. Lois, who took 
great pride in her work, found it hard to live with the self- 
knowledge that she had been anything less than professional in 
her dealings with him. It was odd, she thought, how he had the 
power to bring out the worst in her; that thought made her feel 
guilty, and her guilt brought her anger to the fore again. 
"Okay, Kent," she said, suddenly. "Let me be frank."

"Go ahead. I'm not stopping you."

"I think that Allen should pay for what happened to that poor 
woman. But that's never going to happen so long as you're 
prosecuting the case. You didn't put any effort into your 
opening statement in there. You didn't even try to sound 
convincing. And your questioning was a joke!"

His eyes narrowed and he said, "As it happens, I agree with 
you. Allen should pay for Melissa Keene's death. And you're 
right; that's never going to happen inside that courtroom. Not 
when the jury's been bought off!"

Lois was taken aback by his response. "Already?" said Lois 
sceptically. "Even before the first witness took the stand?"

"Yes. Justice is not going to be done here, and it's gotten to 
the point where I'm fed up with even trying to see that it is!"

Lois shook her head, stunned. "You're incredible," she said 
quietly, disbelieving. "At least before you've always made some 
pretence of prosecuting your cases. I can't believe that you 
are being so... so... blatant..."

She stepped away still shaking her head, wondering what, 
precisely, was going on. Kent's behaviour was making no sense 
to her. She'd thought he had deliberately set out to be 
ineffectual, wanting Allen to be acquitted, but the man she had 
just talked to didn't seem like someone who was happy that his 
trial was going to heck in a hand-basket. Rather, he seemed 
genuinely frustrated with his failures; he had been angry, as 
much, she suspected, with himself as with her. And if she was 
right about that, that meant...

She wasn't sure what it meant.

She moved off down the steps, putting distance between herself 
and Kent, but glancing back once or twice.

She didn't understand what had happened in the courtroom and, 
given their past history, she thought it most unlikely that 
Kent would explain if she pursued the matter further. Were it 
not for his anger, she doubted he would have told her anything 
at all. He didn't trust her motives. That was fair enough, she 
supposed. After all, she wasn't sure that she trusted him.

Even so... Maybe she should go back.

She turned around, only to see that Kent was now locked in 
conversation with a small man who was wearing, of all 
incongruous things, a bowler hat. She shook her head, decided 
that her impulse to go back was foolish, and began to walk down 
the steps once again.

"Lois!" A panicked cry behind her made her twist around towards 
Kent. Then she turned forwards to see what had prompted him to 
yell like that.

"No!"

She didn't know who was responsible for that last cry. Before 
she could look around to identify its source, she caught sight 
of the gun pointed towards her. She tried to throw herself to 
the ground but it was already too late. Far, far, too late.

The crack of the gunshot echoed around the square. The punch of 
impact pushed her and she screamed. She scarcely had time to 
realise that it was not the bullet which had hit her body, but 
an arm pulling her to... safety? The ground rushed away from 
her. Instinctively, she screamed again, this time louder than 
before. Then, with indignation, she cried, "Let me go!"

"I don't think you'd want me to do that," a warm voice said 
lightly. "We're fifty feet off the ground. Besides, you 
wouldn't really want our friendly neighbourhood assassin to 
finish off what he started, would you?"

Fifty feet!

Instinctively she glanced down, towards her feet. She took in 
the way they were flailing about in the air, the way the trees 
and tarmac below were rushing past in a grey and green blur. 
For a moment she was too stunned to think, let alone to do or 
say anything. However, her paralysis was fleeting and soon 
thoughts were tumbling through her head. She was in the arms of 
someone who could fly! Who was it? Why was he doing it? How had 
he known to grab her at that critical moment? *How* was he 
doing it?

Lois tried to twist in her rescuer's grip, wanting to see his 
face. However, the way she was being held, her back to his 
chest, prevented that. All she could make out was the sleeve 
and trouser legs of a charcoal grey suit and a pair of polished 
black shoes, and she was not really in any state of mind to 
take in the details of either of those.

Her rescuer deposited her on the flat roof of a nearby high-
rise. Then, after saying, "Don't move. I'll be right back," he 
took off again. He moved in a blur, but not quite so fast that 
she didn't get a general impression of dark hair and olive 
skin.

"Stay here?" Lois muttered to herself. "I don't think so!"

CHAPTER TWO

CJ punched the air with his fist and arrowed upwards in an 
unwitting copy of one of Clark's favourite flying poses -- 
right arm extended above his head, in line with his body, left 
arm down by his side. When he was about a hundred feet above 
the buildings, he paused to look down at the square. Nobody had 
noticed him. The sensible members of the crowd were too busy 
scurrying for cover in case the shooter decided to renew his 
attack. The remainder of the crowd was rubber-necking, 
alternately staring at the building from where the shots had 
come and at the empty space where, seconds earlier, Lois had 
been standing.

CJ pulled down his glasses and concentrated, willing himself to 
peel back the layers of brick and concrete so that he could see 
into the room where the gunman had lain in wait. He wanted to 
crow with success as he found himself looking into an almost 
empty living room, which evidently was in the process of being 
refurbished. However, when he took in the two workmen -- 
electricians, he guessed -- and their paraphernalia, he 
realised he'd got the wrong place. He muttered darkly and 
forced himself to try again.

When he looked into the next floor down, he realised he'd got 
things right this time. The gunman was struggling to take his 
weapon apart, trying, and failing in his haste, to fit the 
various pieces into the correct slots inside the gun's case. 
Odd, thought CJ. He'd always assumed that assassins were more 
efficient than that. However, he didn't have the luxury of time 
to dwell on the thought. Instead, he needed to figure out how 
he was going to catch the man without leaving too many clues as 
to his identity. Another thought flitted across the edge of his 
consciousness: why hadn't he thought this through before, back 
in the other world when he'd had the luxury of time to do so? 
Maybe it wouldn't have been such a bad idea to have brought 
back one of the Superman suits with him, after all.

Whatever, it was too late to worry about it now: the gunman had 
finally managed to ram the last components home and was 
snapping the case's catches shut. CJ frowned. If it weren't so 
completely ridiculous, he would have sworn that the man's hands 
were shaking.

CJ had to think of something quickly. Then, in the manner of an 
Olympic swimmer executing a turn at the end of the pool, he 
spun in mid-air and sped through the open window into the 
apartment *above* the gunman's.

Faster than any human eye could follow, CJ snatched a length of 
electrical cable off the floor and exited the same way as he 
had entered.

Then he dived through the window into the gunman's apartment 
and caught the fleeing man just as he was about to open the 
door. CJ yanked him backwards with more force than he'd 
intended. The gunman sailed through the air and landed on his 
backside in the centre of the room. CJ hoped fervently that his 
victim's cry was one of surprise rather than one of pain. Still 
moving faster than the eye could follow, CJ flew around in 
circles, binding the gunman tightly with the stolen cable.

Satisfied that the gunman wasn't going to be able to escape, CJ 
fled, leaving the other man for Metropolis's finest to discover 
in due course.

Lois, he thought. He had to get back to Lois. He sped through 
the air and returned to the rooftop upon which he'd left her.

She was gone.

"Now what?" he muttered, frustrated. He looked out over the 
square. There was no sign of Lois, but he was pleased to see 
that some police officers had already arrived and, guns held at 
the ready, were preparing to enter the building where he'd left 
the gunman.

He looked around again and spotted something else he needed to 
deal with. H G Wells was standing on the steps of the 
courthouse where, for appearances sake, CJ needed to be. He'd 
have to hurry down before anyone noticed that he'd been missing 
for... was it really less than a minute? It felt so much longer 
than that! He'd been back in his world for less than a minute, 
but already it felt as though hours had passed.

CJ flew down into an alley next to the courthouse, landed and 
then quietly walked up behind Wells. "Well," said CJ softly, "I 
saved her."

Wells gave no sign of surprise at CJ's sudden appearance. He 
turned to face CJ, smiled and said, "Yes, my boy, you did. 
Congratulations. It was a splendid effort. Now, while I 
remember, here is your brief--" He broke off abruptly, his 
attention caught by something happening on the other side of 
the square. "Oh dear! CJ, you might want to do something about 
that, before she gets a chance to talk to anyone else."

"What?"

Wells pointed surreptitiously. "Lois Lane has just emerged from 
that alley over there. Look. Next to the caf,."

CJ turned his gaze in the direction Wells indicated. There, 
indeed, was Lois, venturing onto the square, heedless of any 
possible danger. How was *she* to know that the gunman had been 
dealt with? Reckless, he thought. That was what she was. CJ 
rolled his eyes. "I told her to wait for me on the roof!"

"One thing you should learn right now, CJ, is that there isn't 
a Lois Lane on any world who likes to be told what to do."

How many Lois Lanes had Wells met? CJ wondered.

"Now, while you waylay Ms Lane, I think it is time for me to 
disappear. I have no desire to be around when the police decide 
to interview witnesses."

"But--" CJ's protestations were to no avail because Wells had 
already opened a time window and was stepping through it.

CJ sighed; he could understand why the other world's Lois found 
Wells to be so infuriating.

He couldn't blame Wells for his disappearing act, though. After 
all, he wasn't sure what he was going to say to the police, 
either, assuming, of course, that they would see the need to 
ask him anything. He rather hoped that they would not. And 
Wells was right about one thing; he *did* need to get to Lois 
before she had an opportunity to blurt out his secret to 
someone else. At least nobody else seemed to have noticed her 
yet.

*****

"Lois! I thought I told you to stay on the roof!"

She began to protest as she spun around, anger instinctively 
rising in her throat in response to the imperious comment. 
"Now, just you wait a minute! Just because you saved--" Her 
eyes widened and her jaw dropped with shock as she saw who had 
spoken to her. Then her eyes narrowed dangerously. She pointed 
a long elegant finger at him and said incredulously, "That was 
you?"

"Well, yeah," CJ replied nonplussed. "Didn't you realise?"

"Of course I didn't realise you... you..." She floundered as 
she searched for an appropriate epithet. Finally she settled on 
"... great lunkhead!"

"Lunkhead?" CJ raised his eyebrows. His lips quirked into a 
lopsided grin.

Well, glory be, Lois thought. The guy can *smile*. She wasn't 
sure whether she found the smile or the flying more amazing; 
both were completely at odds with all her preconceived ideas 
about him. She couldn't help but notice that the expression 
looked really good on him, though. Discomfited by the direction 
her thoughts were taking her, she glanced at the ground, 
shuffled her feet and forced herself to remember that, even if 
he had just saved her life, she didn't like CJ very much.

"Lois?" he asked, sounding rather worried. "Are you all right? 
You look..."

Lois nodded -- unwisely as it turned out. Her head swam with 
delayed reaction even as she muttered, her voice replete with 
irritation, "Yeah. Yeah. I'm fine... except that I think I want 
to *faint*!"

"Here. Let me help you." He gently grasped her elbow with his 
right hand and guided her towards one of the caf,'s pavement 
tables. He settled her into a dark, shady corner and gave her a 
couple of minutes to catch her breath. Then he asked again, 
"*Are* you all right?"

This time, when she answered, she did so with more honesty and 
more anger than before. "No, I'm *not* all right! And it's all 
your fault, Kent!"

"*My* fault? What did *I* do?"

That was a good question, Lois decided. What *had* he done? Why 
was she so mad at him? It wasn't as though he'd done anything 
wrong. In fact, he'd saved her life, for goodness sake! That 
was about as far from wrong as a person could get! Of course, 
the way he'd done it was pretty incredible. Actually, now that 
she thought about it, it was downright unbelievable. CJ Kent 
could *fly*? How come? Since when? Had Elyse known about this? 
Lois put a palm to her swimming head and forced herself to take 
a couple of deep breaths on the off chance that they might 
help.

Just then an eagle-eyed waitress came out to grab their custom 
before they could change their minds and move away. Lois let CJ 
order for them both while she continued to try to sort through 
her thoughts. She supposed she was mad at him because that was 
how she reacted to anything she didn't understand or felt 
uncomfortable about. She was aware that it wasn't one of her 
more appealing personality traits, but no matter how hard she 
tried to get over it, she couldn't. Still... As the waitress 
disappeared back inside the caf,, Lois tentatively said, "So... 
You saved my life."

"Yes," he said. "I did." He sounded shyly satisfied about that 
and almost surprised.

Somewhat grudgingly, she said, "I suppose I ought to thank you, 
Kent."

"You're welcome." She noticed that he was smiling at her again. 
"And... my name is CJ."

Lois's head jerked up and her eyes met his. She'd known that, 
of course. But his encouraging her to *use* his nickname... 
That was new, and she wasn't sure what it meant.

She reached across the table and fiddled around with the menu 
card and a dish crammed full to bursting with pepper, salt and 
sugar sachets, allowing time for her scattered wits to begin to 
reassemble. When, a few seconds later, she tried to ask him 
some important questions, she was pleased to discover that she 
sounded vaguely -- but only vaguely -- coherent. "You... I 
honestly had no idea that it was you... How did you...? I 
mean..."

CJ shrugged and smiled faintly. Self- deprecatingly, he said, 
"If I told you, you wouldn't believe me."

"Don't you tell me what I would or wouldn't believe!" Lois felt 
her anger rising again, and she did her best to tamp it down. 
Suddenly disconcerted, she said, "I... I mean..."

"It's okay," CJ said gently. "I know what you mean. And, 
believe it or not, I also know how you feel."

Lois looked at him, a slight frown marring her forehead. 
Something about him was different from the way it had been just 
a few minutes ago. She tried to figure out what it was. Her 
frown deepened as she stared at him. If it weren't impossible, 
she would have said that he had suddenly acquired a tan. More 
than that, though, he had lost the angry, haunted look he'd 
left the courtroom with. He looked far more relaxed for some 
reason. Not so wound up. Then it crossed her mind that CJ 
wasn't objecting to her close scrutiny. He wasn't ignoring her, 
or arguing with her, or walking away, or doing any of the other 
things he usually did when they ran into each other. Instead he 
was looking at her with an almost gentle expression in his 
eyes. It was most peculiar.

Again, her thoughts were interrupted as the waitress returned. 
Lois glanced at the drink that was placed in front of her and 
she asked, "What is this?"

"Tea with plenty of milk and sugar," said CJ with a shrug. 
"I've always been told that it's what you should give people 
suffering from shock. I thought it might do you some good."

She nodded, picked up the mug and took a sip. She grimaced and 
said, "It tastes disgusting so I guess it must be good for me, 
right?" Where, she wondered, had that comment come from? What 
was she thinking? She was *joking* with him?! It had to be 
nerves, she thought. She ducked her head, devoted her attention 
to the mug and began toying with its handle.

"Lois..." he said a few moments later, sounding rather 
tentative. She glanced at him; she could see him summoning up 
the courage to say something else. He tried again. "Lois..." 
She was slightly alarmed to realise that she felt a pleasant 
tingle at the way he said her name. "I was wondering... I know 
that we don't have a happy track record, and I've no right to 
ask it of you... And I know what I said before, about not 
wanting to talk to you, but... Could we, well, talk?"

"Now you *want* to talk to me?"

"Sounds crazy, doesn't it?"

She raised her eyebrows at his reply. "You realise, don't you, 
that after your little stunt just now yours is going to be the 
hottest story in town. You could take it to anyone you liked. 
Given our past history, I have to admit to being surprised that 
you'd *choose* to come to me."

"Lois, I don't want to talk to you about that... about me. At 
least, not on the record."

"You're asking me to spike the article before it's even 
written?"

"I guess so, yes."

She opened her mouth to object, but before she managed to say 
anything, CJ raised his hand, forestalling her, and said, 
"Please... Lois... Just hear me out, okay?"

There was something compelling about the intensity with which 
he spoke. "All right," said Lois guardedly. "I'll play along 
for now. So, what *do* you want to talk about?"

Clark sighed. "A couple of things, I guess. But mostly I want 
to talk about Luthor."

Whatever she'd been expecting, it wasn't that. "Luthor?" she 
asked, nonplussed.

"Yeah. I've got some leads that might take me to him, but I'm 
going to need the help of someone I can trust to follow them 
up, and that more or less rules out anyone in my department. 
But you... I do at least trust your honesty."

That sounded suspiciously like a compliment to Lois, backhanded 
though it was. Moreover, the thought of getting closer to 
Luthor... That was a bait she couldn't refuse. Plus, she was 
fascinated by this incarnation of CJ Kent; she wanted to know 
more. However, she decided it wouldn't hurt to test his resolve 
for just a little longer. She leant back in her chair, crossed 
her arms over her chest and said, "And why should I go along 
with you? Why should I ignore the story in front of me for 
something that might -- only might -- turn out to be printable 
somewhere down the line?"

"Because... Because you hate Luthor more than you hate me. 
Because I'm going to be a seven day wonder -- no more -- 
whereas bringing down Luthor will be the story of the century, 
always assuming we can pull it off. Kerth material, for sure. 
Maybe even worth a Pulitzer."

Lois chewed on her lower lip for a moment as she mulled over 
what he had said. She had to admire the way he knew which of 
her buttons to push. Actually, she thought, what he'd said was 
rather amazing on a couple of counts; first, it was unusual for 
someone not in the business to have heard of the Kerths and, 
second, when had he come to understand her so well, anyway?

There was something he hadn't mentioned in his sales pitch, 
though. Just as CJ couldn't rely on people in his department to 
help him, she could never count on her Daily Planet colleagues 
to give her support in her campaign against Luthor. Perry's 
actions just that morning were evidence enough of that. But 
what if she -- if *they* -- could put enough material together 
so that she could go to Perry with a *fait accompli*? Not only 
would it be a great story, it would also remove Luthor's 
stranglehold on the paper. It just might prove to be the 
paper's salvation. That was something worth fighting for, 
wasn't it?

Bringing Luthor down... She nodded thoughtfully. CJ had baited 
his hook well, and she knew that he was already reeling her in.

CJ's head whipped around, as though his attention had been 
caught by something only he could hear. That impression was 
reinforced when he said, in suddenly hushed tones, "The police 
are coming over. But before they get here... Tell me... You 
won't *write* anything about me, will you?"

To Lois, he sounded anxious. She, unaccountably eager to allay 
his concerns, found herself shaking her head even as she cast 
around, looking for the police presence CJ had predicted. "No, 
I won't write anything, at least not until I've heard you out, 
anyway. That's the best promise I can make."

CJ nodded. "That's fair enough, I suppose."

She belatedly spotted one officer and one plain clothes 
detective talking to each other some two hundred feet away. 
How, she wondered, had CJ, who had his back to the square, 
known that they were there? It wasn't humanly possible that he 
could have heard them. Then again, flying wasn't possible, and 
he'd done that, too. She pushed the thoughts aside and said in 
a hurried whisper, "If you're free, come over to my place 
tonight. Eight o'clock."

He nodded again, already rising to his feet, preparing to make 
his escape. "Okay. Eight o'clock. I'll see you then. And... 
thanks for promising to keep quiet."

To her surprise, she found herself smiling at his retreating 
back. Then, under her breath, she muttered, "Who would I tell 
about you, anyway? It's not as though anyone would actually 
believe me!"

*****

CJ made a strategic retreat as the police bore down on Lois. It 
wasn't that he thought they would have any reason to suspect 
him of having played any part in the afternoon's activities so 
much as he didn't want to have to dissemble in front of them. 
Since he was a lousy liar, he reckoned it was far better, if at 
all possible, to completely avoid situations where it might be 
necessary to do so. He hoped Lois would understand his need to 
fade into the shadows and that she wouldn't feel as though he 
had abandoned her.

He headed back to his office, driven as much by habit as need. 
It was, of course, what he would be expected to do; it was part 
of his routine. Even if conditions were about as far from 
normal as they could get, he ought to try to at least appear as 
normal as he could.

As he walked along a corridor, Mayson, a colleague who seemed 
to have inveigled her way into the DA's favour and was, 
therefore, automatically suspect, poked her head around her 
office door and asked, "Okay, so what happened?"

CJ stopped and, stalling, asked warily, "How do you mean?" 
Could she really have heard about Lois already? Of course, 
media coverage was inevitable; he had not, however, given any 
thought as to how, if at all, he would deal with any casual 
questions that were pointed his way.

Mayson's next words, however, showed that Lois was nowhere in 
her thoughts. "What happened in the courtroom? I've just had 
Rosemary on the phone asking what you thought you were playing 
at!"

Another mark against Mayson, CJ thought. She was on social 
terms with the "enemy" and made no secret of the fact that they 
went to the same gym and occasionally even to movies together.

Mayson was continuing. "She said you were quite useless. 
Ineffectual. She said you were pitiful."

The caustic criticism stung CJ into remembering what had 
happened prior to his departure to the other world. When he'd 
left, he hadn't been in any frame of mind to care about his 
behaviour in court. Now, though, it ate at him because he 
hadn't been very professional and he knew that all the 
criticisms were justified. Still, there was no way he was 
prepared to admit as much to Mayson -- he had his pride -- so 
he simply shook his head and shrugged uncomfortably before 
proceeding onwards to his own office.

Five minutes later, CJ had still not made it back to his desk. 
Instead, he was standing at his office window, watching the 
rush hour traffic beginning to pile up on the street below. He 
sighed.

In all the excitement of the last ten days, he'd almost 
forgotten about the Allen case, yet it was an issue he needed 
to address, and soon. If he was going to prosecute, he would 
need to be more convincing than he had been thus far, if only 
so that he could escape with his career and reputation intact. 
And yet... Was there really any point in going on with the 
trial when he knew that the result was already a foregone 
conclusion?

Although CJ trusted Diggs' integrity -- she was one of the few 
judges he did trust -- and she would probably be more receptive 
than most to the idea of corruption in her court, CJ knew that 
he couldn't go to her without evidence. The problem was that he 
didn't have any. In the short term, he decided, he'd just have 
to do his best. He'd have to prosecute the case to the best of 
his ability and hope that, in amongst all the other extra-
curricula activities he had planned for the next few days, he'd 
find a solution to this particular dilemma.

And thinking about his plans... Now that the adrenaline rush of 
saving Lois was wearing off, the burden he'd taken on suddenly 
weighed heavily on his shoulders. Reaction, he thought, was 
setting in.

CJ picked up his briefcase, opened it, and peeked inside. All 
the files and disks he'd brought back from the other world were 
safely tucked away. He flicked through them and stumbled across 
a photograph he couldn't remember having seen before.

It was a picture of Superman -- not Clark, but Superman -- and 
Lois together. One of them, he guessed, must have slipped it 
into the case when he wasn't looking.

He wondered why they had chosen to give him such a picture, 
especially since they didn't let other people see any. Maybe, 
though, that was the question's own answer. They'd given him 
the photograph because they *could*. They'd shared their secret 
with him, and the photograph was tacit recognition of that 
fact.

Suddenly he felt very alone. He wished that they were there so 
that he could have asked them about it. And maybe, at the same 
time, he could have asked what he should do about the Allen 
trial... and Luthor... CJ felt a bittersweet ache well up in 
his chest. He missed his new friends with an intensity that 
shocked him. He missed their support. He missed their 
encouragement and advice. Most of all, though, he missed them.

CJ turned the photograph over and recognised Lois's 
handwriting. "Dear CJ," she'd written. "It was a pleasure to 
meet you. Have faith in yourself and do your best; no-one can 
ask more of you than that. Good luck." She'd signed off for 
both of them with the words, "You'll always be in our hearts. 
Love from us both, Lois and Clark."

He read the message again, and it was as though he could hear 
her across the dimensional divide, the words on the picture 
complementing the ones Clark had said to him in Kamchatka: 
"Whatever you can do, that's enough."

"All right, Lois," he whispered softly, making a solemn vow, "I 
will have faith. I'll make you proud of me. I'll make both of 
you proud."

How odd, he thought; he was talking to the memory of a woman he 
would almost certainly never see again and yet that realisation 
made him feel neither lonely or foolish. Instead, it made him 
feel good, perhaps because he had taken them, along with the 
many things they'd taught him, to his heart. There they 
offered, and would continue to offer, him strength whenever he 
needed it. He had needed some of that strength just now, he 
thought.

He smiled as he slid the photograph into a side pocket of the 
briefcase. Then he went over to his filing cabinet, unlocked it 
and dug around under the suspension files, looking for the 
folder he'd secreted there, away from casual view. This was 
*his* Luthor file. It was thinner than Lois and Clark's, but 
then he only added scraps of information and speculation to it 
when they came his way, on a case-by-case basis. Still, it 
might be useful to have it with him when he went to visit Lois. 
It might help to cross-check some of Lois and Clark's 
information, but, more importantly, it might complement any 
information his Lois had to offer.

Feeling more optimistic than he had just minutes before, CJ 
decided it was time to head home.

CHAPTER THREE

Perry must have been looking out for Lois because he waylaid 
her moments after she stepped out of the elevator. "So," he 
asked, "what happened down at the courthouse?"

"Before or after the trial was adjourned?" she asked vaguely, 
her mind still reeling in the aftermath of recent events.

"I was asking about the trial. Why? Is there something else I 
should know about?"

"I think I'd have to answer 'yes' to that one," said Lois. Even 
though she had promised to keep CJ out of it, she knew she 
couldn't pretend nothing had happened. There had been too many 
witnesses to her abrupt disappearance for that. "I was shot at 
and someone swooped down, scooped me up and dumped me on the 
roof of a nearby sky--"

"Chief!" Jimmy Olsen, who, upon Roberts' departure, had been 
promoted from general gopher to the post of reporter, broke 
into the conversation. "I think you're going to want to take a 
look at LN--" He broke off when he belatedly noticed who Perry 
was talking to. "Oh... Hi, Lois." He turned back to Perry and 
said, "So, I guess you already know all about it, then."

"Know about what? Lois was just funning me with some cockamamie 
tale about--"

"It's *not* cockamamie!" exclaimed Lois indignantly. "I tell 
you, it happened!"

"Chief," ventured Jimmy again, "if you're talking about what I 
think you're talking about, you really ought to take a look at 
LNN."

Lois noticed that Perry rolled his eyes. Then, as much to 
humour Jimmy as anything else, he said, "Okay. But this had 
better be worth it, Olsen."

Two minutes later, as they stood staring at the television 
screen, Perry murmured, "I see it, but I don't believe it."

The news report had started with Roberts standing on the 
courthouse steps, microphone in hand, recounting the miraculous 
events that had taken place "in this very place". Odd, thought 
Lois obliquely, how the word "pontificate" always popped into 
her head when she saw one of Roberts' pieces.

"... Nobody knows quite what happened. Even the heroine of the 
piece, Daily Planet reporter Lois Lane -- who was snatched from 
the jaws of death -- could not shed any light on the 
incident..."

"Snatched from the jaws of death?" exclaimed Lois. "Who writes 
this lame-brained stuff for him? Surely not even Roberts would 
write something that... bad!"

Perry, who was paying no attention to her outburst merely 
mumbled, "Uh, huh," and nodded with approval. "So, you didn't 
tell them anything. That's good. Very good. Saving the 
exclusive for us, huh? Excellent."

"Actually," she said, "there's nothing else I *can* tell you." 
Lois felt uncomfortable then. She hated lying -- or, to be more 
exact, she hated lying to *Perry*. However, she told herself 
sternly, strictly speaking what she had just said wasn't a lie. 
She couldn't tell Perry everything she knew because she'd given 
her word to CJ that she wouldn't. Of course, that was splitting 
hairs, but she refused to think about that...

By the time she tuned back into the report, the footage had 
changed to an interview with someone a caption at the bottom of 
the screen identified as David Popovic. "... I was workin' in 
the fourth floor condo, along wiv Baz. We wuz just workin' away 
when sudden like there was this... well... It felt like a gust 
of wind, but that's impossible, right? I said to Baz, 'Didja 
feel that?' an' he said, 'Yeah,' and that wuz when we saw it 
wuz gone." Popovic paused dramatically.

Obligingly, Roberts, off camera, asked, "What was gone?"

"Three metres of electrical cable! Just gone. Vanished. At 
least that's what we thought until--"

This time Roberts cut in to discourage further comment, 
preferring to tell the next part of the story himself rather 
than have someone else upstage him. "The police found Lois 
Lane's would be assailant trussed up with the missing cable in 
a third-floor apartment. Police sources say that, like the 
other witnesses, he could give no clear account as to what had 
happened to him. Ms Lane herself was not available for comment. 
Now, back to Molly Richmond in the news room."

Molly's Barbie-doll face appeared on the screen. "Thank you, 
Robby," she simpered. "And this just in: the gunman has been 
named as Clive Myerson. As readers of the Daily Planet will 
know, Lois Lane yesterday--"

Perry muted the sound. "They're recycling your story now. We 
don't need to hear that."

"Myerson? Clive *Myerson* tried to kill me?"

"I take it," said Jimmy, "you didn't know that already."

"No, I most certainly *didn't*! The police didn't say a word to 
me about it!. Myerson! I knew he wasn't going to like me very 
much, but to kill me...!"

"Well, we've got our lead for the evening edition. Now, Lois, 
honey, after everything that's happened to you today, do you 
feel up to writing it?"

"Of course I do, Perry. It's *my* story."

"All right, then. Now... Are you sure you can't remember 
anything more about your rescuer? I mean, what did he -- she? 
it? -- look like? Did you get a good look?"

Lois's mind raced. If the other witnesses hadn't *seen* 
anything, then did she even need to reveal the little she had 
noticed at the time? Maybe she was taking a risk by keeping 
quiet, but she hoped not. She shook her head. "Sorry, Perry, 
but like everyone else has said... It just happened too fast."

He looked disappointed, but he didn't look sceptical, a detail 
which caused Lois to feel a pang of remorse. She kept quiet as 
Jimmy and Perry began to speculate as to what, precisely *had* 
saved her. A miracle? A freak of nature?

"Hey," Jimmy suddenly said brightly. "You think that maybe 
Metropolis has its very own Batman?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" snapped Lois with even more acid in her 
tone than was usual. Jimmy's joking suggestion, she thought, 
just might have come perilously close to the truth; her saviour 
had been a man at pains to keep his identity a secret. "You 
know as well as I do that Batman and his kind only exist in 
comic books... or in New York City." There was a pause before 
she added, "Besides, Batman can't fly."

*****

Although Lois wasn't altogether satisfied with her story, Perry 
seemed happy enough with it, and for that she was grateful. She 
couldn't help feeling, however, that she had sacrificed her 
journalistic integrity. She just hoped any future pay-off would 
make her current actions worthwhile. Was she being stupid, 
placing so much hope on CJ?

Given their past history, she found it almost incredible that 
she and CJ had managed to reach an... "Agreement" was too 
strong a term, she thought, for what they'd shared. Maybe 
"understanding" or "truce" were better words. Whatever it was, 
they'd managed to reach it surprisingly easily. Lois found it a 
little disquieting just how quickly CJ had slipped beneath her 
guard, but she couldn't bring herself to regret that fact.

Lois nibbled on her knuckle as she thought about her upcoming 
meeting with CJ. She frowned as she felt a flutter of 
anticipation in the pit of her stomach. It was an odd sensation 
and it took her a while to remember where and, more 
importantly, why she'd felt it before. The first time had been 
when she'd met that footballer -- what was his name again? -- 
back in high school. She'd felt it on several occasions since, 
too -- when she'd met that French reporter, Claude, for 
instance. And then there had been that time, at Elyse's 
memorial service... The fluttering in her stomach was quickly 
replaced by a flip-flop sense of unease as she realised what 
she was feeling now was attraction. Attraction for... *CJ 
Kent*!

She pushed the treacherous thoughts away and found herself 
muttering under her breath, "Remember, Lois. This meeting is 
purely professional. Just business. Nothing more."

And thinking of business...

Subsequent events had forced her to push thoughts of the Allen 
trial to one side, but now that she had time to think about it 
again, she realised that CJ had dangled a tantalising lead in 
front of her. She knew she had to grab it.

"Jack!" Lois hollered across the news room. Her newest and most 
junior colleague ambled over to her. As usual, his studiedly 
bored expression and earring made him look more like a 
delinquent than the eager-to-learn reporter- wannabe he 
actually was. Intelligent and keen to please, Jack was proving 
himself to be a more than adequate substitute for Jimmy.

"Yeah?" he asked as he came to a stop beside her.

"I need you to do something for me." She handed a list of names 
to him. "I want you to do background checks on these people."

"Are you looking for anything in particular?" Jack asked.

Lois considered that for a moment. "Can you hack into their 
bank accounts?" she asked.

"You know that's illegal, don't you?" The twinkle in Jack's eye 
and the enthusiasm evident on his face suggested that he wasn't 
too concerned about that fact; rather, he looked as though he 
was already warming up to the challenge.

"That doesn't answer my question," said Lois lightly.

More seriously, Jack said, "Who are these guys, anyway?"

Lois looked at him sombrely. "The jury on the Allen trial."

"The jury!"

She nodded.

"What are you interested in them for?"

Lois leaned in and, speaking quietly but intensely, drawing 
Jack into her confidence, said, "I've a... source... who says 
that someone has gotten to the jury. I want to know if it's 
true."

Jack's grin widened at that piece of information. "Okay, Lois. 
I'll see what I can find out for you."

"Thanks," she said. "I'm heading home now. Call me there if you 
find out anything."

"Sure thing, Lois."

*****

Lois was casting critical eyes around her apartment when the 
intercom buzzed. She lifted the handset that would connect her 
with her visitor, who, she knew, would be standing, ear jammed 
against the tinny speaker in the doorway below. "Hello?"

"Hi, Lois. It's CJ. Can I come up?" The poor connection made 
his words crackle in her ear.

She didn't bother to make any verbal reply, knowing that any 
response she made would be drowned out by the street noise and 
the angry rasping of the door release.

Lois began to fill the thirty-odd seconds she guessed it would 
take for CJ to reach her apartment by unnecessarily plumping 
cushions and straightening various knickknacks.

What was she so excited about? she wondered before she realised 
just how stupid a question that actually was. A better question 
might have been, what *wasn't* she excited about? She wanted to 
know everything there was to know about CJ Kent: how had he 
acquired his powers? Could he do anything else other than fly, 
move faster than the eye could see and listen in on other 
people's conversations? What was he going to tell her about 
Luthor?

She began to pace to and fro across the living room as she 
wondered how she was going to get the most out of this 
upcoming... interview?

Maybe *that* was what she was excited about, she suddenly 
thought. No, "excited" wasn't the right word, at least not 
entirely. She was... she was *nervous*. That was it; she was 
nervous. She wasn't going to be working on a story this 
evening. Her meeting with CJ wasn't going to be an interview; 
but interviews were the kind of social encounter she was most 
familiar with. This was going to be a... A what? An exploratory 
conversation. Lois nodded to herself. Yes, that sounded good. 
She took a deep breath to steady herself.

She glanced around the room again and spotted a romance novel -
- one of her few secret vices -- lying on an occasional table. 
She whipped it away, opened her coat closet and threw it 
carelessly inside.

Just in time, too, because the knock on her door told her that 
CJ had arrived. "Coming!" she called. She ran her hands down 
her body, smoothing the lines of her freshly laundered blouse 
and trousers, straightened her shoulders, took another deep 
breath and unbolted the door.

CJ, she immediately noticed, had changed out of the charcoal 
grey business suit he had been wearing earlier into something 
more casual. As she cast her eyes over him, she realised that 
he had taken care over his choice of clothing for the evening. 
His navy shirt was freshly ironed and crisp, the creases still 
evident along the length of his arms and torso. His black 
jeans, which were painted around his thighs, looked smart 
enough to be nearly new and his sneakers were almost spotless. 
The briefcase he was carrying added a businesslike touch that 
was at odds with his otherwise casual appearance.

She thought it was rather flattering that he had made an effort 
for her, but then again, why shouldn't he have done so? After 
all, she'd done something similar for him, although she wasn't 
altogether sure what had compelled her to do so. If the warm 
regard she read in his brown eyes was anything to go by, he 
appreciated her efforts every bit as much as she appreciated 
his.

CJ moved his left hand from behind his back to reveal a bunch 
of flowers. He held them out to her, smiled nervously and said, 
"I brought you these."

"Roses?" Lois asked, hoping that she managed to sound at least 
a little sceptical.

"The florist told me that red and white roses are for 
partnership. And that's what we are, right? Partners?"

"Not yet... CJ. Maybe not ever. It depends on what you've got 
to offer me." However, as she reached out to take the flowers 
from him, she was uncomfortably aware that her soft tone and 
the almost shy smile playing around her mouth were in direct 
contradiction to her discouraging words. "Come on in, else the 
neighbours'll come out to see what's going on. I don't want to 
be the topic of tomorrow's Laundromat gossip."

"You dish it out, but can't receive. Is that it?" he asked 
good-naturedly.

"I don't write *gossip*," replied Lois perhaps more archly than 
she had any right to. After all, some of the scurrilous things 
she had written about CJ in the past had been little more than 
unsubstantiated supposition. "I write the *news*. There's a big 
difference."

"But isn't the news simply gossip backed up by hard evidence?" 
CJ queried.

"And a trial would be what? Gossip backed up by *conflicting* 
evidence?"

"Touch,," answered CJ, refusing to take offence at her 
comeback.

She pulled the door open more widely and stepped back. Waving a 
hand in the direction of her living room, she said, "Come in."

CJ stepped over the threshold and glanced around. Aware of his 
appraisal of her apartment, she saw it through fresh eyes, 
taking in the decor and the carefully assembled mass of 
treasures that meant a great deal to her but which probably 
looked austere to a stranger. The walls alternated between 
naked brick and a combination of wood panelling and painted 
plaster. There were few pictures or soft touches. The love 
seats were elegant but uncomfortable, not designed for 
relaxation. Then again, Lois didn't have much time for 
relaxation. For her, work had always come first. It was her 
home, but it wasn't homey.

To Lois's surprise, CJ said, "Nice place you've got here," in a 
tone which suggested genuine approval.

"Thank you. Make yourself comfortable. I'll just put these in 
water." Even though it was unnecessary, she raised the roses in 
a vague salute to make it clear what she was talking about.

CJ nodded and moved off in the general direction of the love 
seats while Lois went into the kitchen alcove.

When she returned she placed the flowers, now carelessly 
arranged in a glass vase, down on the coffee table. Then, her 
back rigid with nervous anticipation, she sat down opposite CJ. 
"So..." she said, getting down to business. "Luthor, huh." It 
was a vague opening, but it would serve to get the conversation 
started.

CJ took a deep breath and rubbed his hands on his thighs. 
"Yeah. Luthor." Then he stood up, ran a hand through his hair, 
and sat down again. Lois could see he was nervous. Finally he 
said, "I'm not sure where to begin, here. I mean, I don't have 
any proof, but..." He trailed off, at a loss as to how to 
continue.

"But you have ideas, right? Hunches?" asked Lois hopefully.

CJ nodded. "Actually, it's a bit more than that. At least, I 
think it is. But... You know that stuff I said you wouldn't 
believe earlier?"

Lois nodded.

"Well, it has to do with that. Maybe if I tell you the 
story..."

Lois nodded again, this time almost smiling. There was 
something oddly beguiling about the edgy man in front of her. 
He was almost skittish, she mused. In an attempt to give him a 
chance to relax and compose himself, she said, "I'd like to 
hear it. But, if this is going to take some time, perhaps I'd 
better make some coffee first."

CHAPTER FOUR

CJ watched Lois carefully, searching for any signs of 
scepticism, as he told her about Mr Wells and his visit to 
another dimension, to another Metropolis. Once or twice he saw 
her mouth open, only to snap closed again as she forced herself 
to keep from protesting at the absurdity of his tale. He was 
certain that, had she not witnessed the fact of his powers at 
first hand, she would not have practised such restraint. Heck, 
if their positions had been reversed, he doubted that he would 
have shown any restraint at all!

Bearing that in mind, CJ was determined to convey the full 
import of his words to her as convincingly as possible. In his 
desperation to do so, he leaned forward, punctuating all his 
explanations with hand gestures as he spoke.

He told her that, in the other world, there was another Clark 
Kent and another Lois Lane, and that they were partners in 
every sense of the word. When she heard that, she looked at him 
with an expression on her face he was unable to interpret. Was 
the look she gave him scepticism or cynicism, or was it 
something else? he wondered. He wasn't sure.

He explained how the brighter sun of the other world had given 
him his powers. For a minute, he considered telling her about 
his extra- terrestrial origins, too, but he could see that Lois 
was already struggling to take in all the information that he 
had given her; that last piece of information could, he 
decided, wait for another day. After all, he had come to her 
apartment to discuss Luthor, not himself, and he had yet to 
address that particular issue. So he didn't tell her about 
Krypton. Instead, he moved on tell her that the other world 
also had a Lex Luthor, only that Luthor had died.

Finally he drew to a close, saying, "Their Luthor killed 
himself about three years ago. This material, even if it's 
accurate on this world, will be out of date, but it's a place 
to start. Right?"

Lois said weakly, "Right."

"And we both want the same thing here? I mean, I would like 
nothing better than to see Luthor behind bars. Forever. And you 
want that too?"

Again Lois agreed but CJ could see caution in her eyes. 
Nonetheless, she said, "Okay, so show me precisely what you've 
got."

CJ nodded and swung the briefcase effortlessly onto his thighs. 
Then he undid the combination lock and popped its catches open. 
Lois shifted along the love seat so that she could peek inside 
as soon as he lifted the lid.

Did she realise, CJ wondered, that their thighs were now almost 
touching? That he could feel the warmth of her body beating 
against his own? Or that the scent of her citrus shampoo, 
underlain by the scent of *her*, was filling his nostrils? He 
felt pleasantly light-headed and wondered whether this was what 
being tipsy felt like.

He resolutely pushed the thoughts away, determined to stick to 
business. That was, after all, why he was there. He began 
lifting things out, stacking them neatly into piles on the 
glass coffee table. "Okay. The computer disks contain every 
article Lane and Kent have written about Lex Luthor. This pile 
contains biographical notes on Luthor's known associates. I've 
got a summary of who they are somewhere."

"Let's see it," said Lois. CJ scrabbled around, found it and 
passed it over to her. While he continued dealing files into 
each of the stacks, she scanned the list, mumbling names under 
her breath. "Nigel St John; Asabi... No, never heard of them... 
Alan Morris, Dr Fabian Leek, Dr Mamba, Miranda..." She glanced 
up. "This Luthor really had a thing for scientists, didn't he?"

CJ glanced across at her and nodded. "I got the impression that 
if anyone was doing any unethical research, Luthor either was 
funding it, or wanted a piece of it."

Lois grunted an acknowledgement, then went back to her reading. 
"Women: Ariana Carlin; Gretchen Kelly; Mrs Cox; Miranda 
again... Oh, here's one you can cross off the list 
immediately."

"Which one? And why?"

"Toni Taylor. She's dead."

"Dead?"

"Yeah. I wrote a story about it for the Planet a while back."

CJ's hands stilled temporarily and he said, "What happened?"

"Ever heard of the Metro Club?"

CJ's brow furrowed as he tried to remember the name. "No... I 
don't think so? Should I have?"

"It was a club down in the West River district before 
everything got bulldozed to make way for Lex Harbour."

CJ nodded. Over the last year or so, he, like everyone else in 
Metropolis, had seen the area undergo a startling 
transformation from a rundown neighbourhood into a Mecca for 
big business interests. The regeneration project was widely 
reported to be providing a boost for the city, both 
economically and in terms of the image Metropolis projected to 
the rest of the world. Only the Daily Planet had seen fit to 
criticise the project on the grounds that the area's original 
community had been decimated in the process.

"Go on," he said.

"Her father used to run the club, along with all the rackets. 
When he died, her brother Johnny inherited everything. Toni 
Taylor didn't like the way her brother was running things -- 
she claimed that he was trapped in the past, and that he 
couldn't see beyond all the nickel and dime stuff. She said 
that organised crime had moved on, that to be a player you had 
to move in corporate circles."

"Any idea what she meant by that?"

Lois shook her head. "Not really. I just assumed that, like the 
economy more widely, organised crime has changed over time. 
Anyway, she staged some sort of *coup d'etat*, and Johnny was 
ousted. She took over the Metros until she was killed, 
execution style."

"So, who runs the gangs now?"

Lois raised her eyebrows. "No one, as far as I know. The whole 
area was cleared not long after that. No club. No gangs. Just 
lots of big business."

"Okay," said CJ. "Cross her off."

Lois nodded, reached for a pen, and did exactly that. Then she 
looked at the other piles CJ had created and said, "What's the 
rest of this stuff?"

CJ began doling out the information again and explained as he 
did so. "This one is Luthor's business interests. That one is 
bank accounts. That's investments and that one is hobbies and 
pastimes. And these last two are, respectively, random bits of 
information that don't neatly fit into any of the other 
categories and my own, pitifully thin, files on Luthor."

CJ was conscious that Lois's eyes were growing ever wider as 
the piles of information laid out in front of her grew. Rather 
than looking delighted, she was beginning to look dismayed - - 
overwhelmed, even -- at the sheer quantity of material. He 
watched as dismay segued into resolve. "So, where do we begin?" 
she said.

"I thought," said CJ, "that we should start by seeing how much 
of Lois and Clark's information matches up with our own world."

"In that case," said Lois, "I suggest we start by comparing 
lists of LexCorp's holdings. All that information is in the 
public domain. We should be able to get what we need quite 
easily from Dun and Bradstreet and from Who Owns Whom. I'll do 
that: we have all that information at the Planet. Tracking down 
share holdings, private investments and bank accounts is going 
to be trickier, though."

CJ nodded. "We ought, also, to look at the people. Some of 
them, at least, will be in the phone book -- we've got last 
known addresses for most of them."

"Agreed. Now, how are we going to divide up the people?"

CJ shrugged slightly. "Alphabetically?" he suggested.

Lois opened her mouth to answer but was forestalled by the 
phone, which chose that moment to ring. CJ watched as she 
scrambled to her feet and crossed the room. Not for the first 
time, he noticed that she had long legs and an attractive 
figure, and she moved with the grace of a dancer.

Lois grabbed the receiver and answered the call with a brusque, 
"Yes?" Her face quickly grew serious; for the most part she 
simply listened to whatever the person at the other end of the 
line was saying, though, at one point, she grabbed for a 
notepad and pencil and began scribbling furiously, occasionally 
asking her caller to repeat something, or merely grunting to 
indicate she was still listening.

When Lois finally put the receiver back in its cradle, she 
turned around to CJ and said, "I guess you heard all that?"

CJ shook his head.

"But the police were miles away from you in the square this 
morning, and you heard them okay," she said. "How could you not 
have heard this?"

CJ shrugged. "I don't like to eavesdrop. Not if I can help it. 
But sometimes the hearing just... switches on. I can't always 
control it. That's what happened this afternoon."

Lois raised her eyebrows, though whether it was an expression 
of surprise, approval or disapproval, CJ wasn't quite sure and 
he didn't like to ask. He was simply grateful that she wasn't 
pursuing the matter any further because he was all too aware 
that he'd only given her a partial explanation. He hadn't told 
her that just now he'd been too caught up in watching her for 
the thought of eavesdropping to even enter his head.

"Then I'd better tell you what that was about," she said. 
"Since it involves you."

"Me?" he asked blankly.

"Yeah, you. That was Jack. He works at the Daily Planet. He 
does a lot of the research. Stuff like that."

CJ nodded. "And?"

"And... After our conversation earlier -- the one about the 
jury? -- I asked him to look into a few things for me." She 
looked very pleased with herself as she went on to say, "Did 
you know that all the jurors for the Allen trial have paid 
large quantities of cash into their bank accounts over the last 
couple of days? Fifty thousand dollars each, to be precise."

"Fifty thou--" CJ could feel his mouth fall open in surprise. 
He forced it shut with an almost audible snap. "How did you 
find that out?"

She shrugged. "Jack hacked into their bank--"

"Lois!" he exclaimed, instinctively outraged by what she was 
saying.

Lois stared at him. CJ got the distinct impression that his 
reaction was not what she had been expecting. Her eyes narrowed 
slightly, her stare turning into a glare. Then she said, "Don't 
tell me that you're not pleased about my information because I 
won't believe you."

"Well, sure, I'm pleased! But that's not the point!"

Lois's enthusiastic good humour shifted into something with a 
harder edge. "Oh?" she said sharply, "and what is the point, 
then?"

"The point is... What you did? Hacking into bank records? It's 
illegal! If you'd told me what you had in mind, I'd never have-
-"

"And that's precisely why I didn't tell you, Kent!"

That brought him up short. His mouth flapped once or twice 
before he managed to get any words out. He hadn't considered 
the fact that Lois, an apparently honest person, might not be 
above flouting the law to suit her purposes. Shocked, he 
finally managed to say, "You mean you knew what you were doing 
was illegal, but you did it anyway?"

"Well, yeah," said Lois. CJ thought she seemed a little bemused 
and a lot angry by his attitude. If so, that made them quits 
because that was pretty much what he was feeling about hers.

"Why?!" he asked.

Lois shook her head and raised her eyebrows in disbelief. She 
muttered, loud enough for CJ to hear, "And to think I thought 
you were dishonest!" Struggling to sound reasonable, she 
continued, reverting back to a more normal volume. "What did 
you expect me to do? I mean, you had no hard evidence to go on, 
so you weren't going to get the warrants you needed to 
investigate the jury. I, on the other hand, work in a 
profession where..." She searched around for appropriate words.

"Where you think the law is an irrelevance? You cut corners?" 
suggested CJ sharply.

"Well," said Lois, sounding slightly embarrassed, "I wouldn't 
have put it as crudely as that, but, essentially, yes. And, 
when you get down to it, you got what you wanted: a mistrial. 
And hopefully next time you'll get an honest jury."

"So," said CJ, "what you're saying is that the end justifies 
the means?"

"Yes. No! Well, maybe." She thought for a moment, then said, 
"Okay, let's look at this another way. The jury had been bought 
off, right?"

"Right."

"The legal process was being corrupted. Right?"

"Right," said CJ again, more hesitantly this time.

"So, whose crime is worse? The one that sought to pervert the 
course of justice, or the one that would see that justice gets 
done?"

CJ stared at her. Then, very carefully, he said, "I can see 
where you're coming from, but I'm not sure that I like it. I 
stand -- try to stand -- for the truth."

"Oh, and I don't?" The bite was suddenly back in Lois's words. 
"I got you the truth!"

"Yes, you did," conceded CJ. "But through dubious means."

"Don't be such a pompous idiot, Kent!"

"Pompous?"

"Yes. Pompous! You know what your problem is?"

"No, but I'm sure you're going to tell me."

"Your problem," said Lois, accentuating "problem", "is that you 
want to live in a black and white world." Miming the weighing 
up of contrasting concepts in her two hands, she continued. 
"Good. Evil. Guilty. Innocent." Then, leaning in towards him, 
she pointed an accusatory finger at him, "But it's not a black 
and white world, CJ! It's shades of grey!"

"In an ideal world--"

"It's not an ideal world! And until you realise that, you're 
going to find it a damned difficult one to live in!"

It was the vehemence of her reply as much as her words that 
make him pause. She was right: theirs wasn't an ideal world and 
he did find it incredibly difficult to live in. Wasn't that, 
after all, at the root of his recent depression?

They sat in a stunned and strained silence for a few minutes. 
Finally, CJ said tentatively, "Lois, about the jury..."

"Yes?" She sounded wary.

"I'm sure you meant well, but I can't use your information."

"Why not?"

"Because... The information you gathered, because of *how* you 
gathered it, is inadmissible."

"Oh," she said softly.

Her voice was small and disappointed, and he couldn't resist 
saying, "Sorry," sympathetically.

She nodded her head jerkily. "I'm sorry, too, CJ. If only..."

"Yeah," he murmured. "If only."

They lapsed into silence again. This time, however, it was more 
thoughtful than uncomfortable.

"CJ," said Lois eventually, "how long did you say those powers 
of yours will last for?"

He shrugged faintly. "I'm not sure. A few days. A week at the 
most."

Lois nodded. "Then we've got no time to lose."

CJ frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"Luthor, of course. If we're going to bring him down, we need 
to get ahead of the game, and the best way we can do that is to 
use your powers. The more evidence we can gather now, the 
better. We'll build up a dossier; we can go through it later 
and build our case then. After your powers are gone; you won't 
need them for that. Just your keen legal brain."

"And your imagination."

"Yep. So... Just before the phone call, we were wondering just 
now how to split up the tasks..."

"I suggested we might do it alphabetically."

Lois shook her head. "Not a good use of resources. I suggest we 
do it geographically: you take all the out-of-towners. I'll 
take the Metropolis residents." She smiled at his look of 
questioning surprise. "Come on, CJ. It makes sense. After all, 
you're the one who can *fly*."

He nodded. She had a point.

********************* Thursday, 1 May 1997 
*********************

Lois closed the door after CJ, bolted it, then leaned against 
the cool wood for a few seconds. Eventually, however, she 
levered herself upright and padded into the kitchen. She poured 
herself a glass of orange juice, returned to the living room 
and sat sideways, with her feet up, on one of the love seats. 
She sipped her drink and idly glanced across the room at a 
little clock on a side table.

It was five past midnight. She hadn't realised that it was so 
late; time with CJ had certainly passed quickly. Did that mean 
that she'd been having fun? On balance she decided that, yes, 
it probably did. Certainly, the evening had been most... 
illuminating.

It wasn't just because of the information that CJ had provided; 
it was also because of CJ himself. The person she had met 
tonight, she thought, was the person he must have been back in 
his more carefree Harvard days. Certainly, the congenial, 
almost laid back, man who had just left was very different to 
the one she had met on previous occasions. It had been quite a 
revelation to discover that CJ, when he forgot to be uptight, 
could be excellent company. He also was as quick as she was at 
exchanging banter; inside that gorgeous body, she realised, was 
a mind that was just as appealing.

There it was again, she thought: the stomach flutter that told 
her she was attracted to CJ Kent. This time, however, she 
didn't find the realisation quite as unsettling as before. 
Instead she felt... excited? More alive than usual? What? She 
shook her head, unable to explain better, even to herself, just 
what it was that she was feeling. All she knew for sure was 
that it was a peculiarly pleasant, almost heady sensation.

She found herself wondering what the other Clark Kent was like. 
It was obvious from the things CJ had told her that the other 
world's Lois and Clark were married. She wondered what that 
meant exactly. Did it mean that she and CJ...? Were they 
supposed to be together? Was that why she felt so attracted to 
him? Was that why he'd come to her for help? Because it would 
force them together?

Did it mean that he wanted them to be together, or that he was 
going through the motions -- bringing her flowers and dressing 
up -- because he thought that they had to be together?

She shook her head, not wanting to believe the latter. She 
hated the idea of predestination, of fate. For Lois, who wanted 
nothing less than to be in full control of her life, the very 
idea of preordained destiny was anathema.

Maybe she was worrying over nothing, anyway. Spending a 
pleasant evening in the company of some gorgeous eye candy was 
a whole lot different from walking down the aisle.

Besides, hadn't CJ also told her that there were differences 
between the two worlds? That the material he had brought back 
with him might not be reliable? If they were working together, 
it was because they were choosing to do so, not because they 
were being forced into it.

If she got involved with CJ on a personal level, she vowed 
silently, it would also be because she chose to do so, not 
because he, fate, or a dapper little Englishman in a bowler hat 
decreed it.

She was too keyed up to sleep. Her mind was too full of wonders 
for her to be able to relax. However, there was work to be 
done; she might as well get on and make a start with it.

Lois pulled out her laptop, plugged it into the wall socket and 
switched it on. As soon as it was ready, she accessed her ISP, 
loaded her browser software, and accessed the phone companies' 
databases, looking up numbers for Luthor's associates.

*****

CJ pummelled his pillow in frustration then rolled onto his 
back and stared wide-eyed and alert at the ceiling. He couldn't 
sleep.

It wasn't just that his thoughts were full of Lois and how much 
he had enjoyed his evening with her or because of the task 
ahead of them, although those things were churning around in 
his mind, demanding his attention. It was also because the 
sounds of the city kept intruding upon his consciousness.

As he'd explained to Lois, his super-hearing switched on from 
time to time of its own volition. If there was a way for him to 
stop that happening, he hadn't found it yet. He suspected that 
there *was* no way to stop it; he remembered the way he'd seen 
Clark tilt his head once or twice and vanish in response to 
something he had heard. Surely that meant that Clark, too, had 
been alerted to happenings across the city when his hearing had 
switched on.

CJ gave up the idea of sleep as a bad job. He groped around on 
the night stand for his glasses, put them on, climbed out of 
bed and, dressed only in his sleep shorts, wandered out onto 
the balcony. Although it was a chilly night, CJ, protected by 
his invulnerability, didn't feel cold.

The wail of a siren cut through the darkness, causing him to 
flinch. Back on the other world, he'd decided not to create a 
Superman for his own planet. He hadn't wanted to offer his 
people a symbol of hope only to be forced to snatch it away 
from them in a week's time. The decision he'd taken was 
logical. It was also, in a way, considerate.

What he hadn't realised, however, was how difficult it would be 
for him to live with.

Even though he'd felt frustration back on the other world, he'd 
never felt as bad about it as he did now. Back there, while he 
hadn't been able to help, Clark had, and that, although CJ 
hadn't been aware at the time, had undoubtedly done much to 
relieve his anguish.

Here, though, there was no Clark and, because of the decision 
CJ had taken, there was no Superman, either. CJ could tell 
himself that the things he could hear now had always been there 
and always would be -- that the world had somehow managed to 
muddle along without a superhero to meddle in its affairs 
before he'd developed his powers and that it would be forced to 
do so again when he lost them -- but it didn't help. Each siren 
was a cry for help, tearing at him, demanding his involvement.

"Help! Fire! *Fire!*" The cry, coming from five blocks away 
echoed through the night. The accompanying screams of "Call 
911!" and "Gabby! No! Gabby! Stay with me! Don't go back 
inside! *Gabby!*" made CJ shudder.

Decisions, resolutions and logic notwithstanding, he could not 
ignore the pleas for help. How would he be able to live with 
himself afterwards, if he did?

CJ sped into the apartment and, less than a second later, 
dressed in the jeans and shirt he'd worn to Lois's earlier, 
flew out.

The fire was easy to spot from the air. It was in an old 
apartment building, probably made of too much wood to be safe. 
Certainly, the flames were spreading fast, licking the exterior 
of the building as they curled out of the windows and doors. 
Beyond the panicked screams of the residents gathering in the 
street, CJ could hear the cracking of timbers and the 
shattering of over-heated glass. And beneath *that* he could 
hear the whimpers of a trapped child.

I'm coming, he thought. I'll save you. It'll be okay. 
Everything will be okay.

He cut through the air, diving into the inferno. The smoke 
billowed around him, thick, black and acrid, blinding him. He 
focused his hearing and allowed himself to be guided by the 
sound of the child's voice. "Mommy... I want my mommy... Mommy 
will save us, Suzie... Mommy..."

It was a young child, he realised, probably a girl, though 
sometimes at that age it was hard to tell. He wanted to call 
out to reassure her, but he dared not because he wasn't sure he 
had time to do so. It was more important that he concentrated 
all his energy on finding her before she succumbed to the 
smoke. He could already hear her spluttering as she struggled 
to breathe.

And then... as the smoke cleared for a split second, he saw 
her. She was right in front of him, curled into a tight, panic-
stricken ball in one corner of the room. She was crushing a 
puppy in her arms as she tried to prevent it from escaping.

"Come on," said CJ, reaching down to pick up the child and her 
beloved pet. "Let's get you out of here."

The child turned her head towards him and said, "Mommy always 
told me not to go anywhere with strange men."

Under the circumstances, the comment was absurd, and CJ had to 
suppress a desire to laugh. He forced himself to sound 
reasonable and said, "At any other time, I'd agree with your 
mom. However, I don't think it would be a good idea for you to 
stay here, do you?"

The girl shook her head emphatically and coughed. Time, CJ 
realised, was running out fast. He gathered the girl and the 
dog into his arms, prayed his aura would protect them, and 
levitated, flying them to safety.

An almost deafening sound of tearing alerted him to the 
imminent collapse of the building. Then there was a rumble 
worse than any Mid West summer thunder CJ had ever heard as the 
roof caved in.

In the eerie hush that followed, CJ heard a woman suddenly cry 
out to the heavens: "Gabby!" Then, almost hysterically, she 
began explaining to anybody and everybody. "We were almost out. 
I was carrying Mickie and she went back inside... I told her 
not to, but she said she had to get the damned *dog*! Oh... 
Gabby..."

"Mommy!" The girl in CJ's arms wriggled in response to the 
woman's voice. "Mommy!"

Wonder warring with hope, the woman's' voice echoed towards CJ. 
"Gabby? Oh, my God... Gabby?! Where are you?"

CJ landed lightly at the back of the crowd and called, "She's 
right over here, ma'am."

Heads turned in his general direction then passed over him as 
their owners searched for the little girl. As Gabby's mother, 
holding a baby -- Mickie, he guessed -- in her arms, pushed her 
way through the crowd, looking for her daughter, CJ shrank back 
into the shadows. By the time anyone thought to look for 
Gabby's saviour, he had disappeared.

CHAPTER FIVE

CJ dug himself a little indentation in the snow then sat down. 
He watched a group of penguins waddle down to the edge of the 
ice sheet then leap into the frigid water beyond and he smiled 
ruefully. It felt like a profligate use of his power reserves 
to have wantonly flown to the South Pole on a whim -- surely he 
should have saved them for something more worthwhile -- but 
he'd needed to go somewhere where he could think without being 
disturbed. That wasn't going to happen as long as he remained 
in Metropolis.

After saving Gabby, CJ had flown home, only to leave again 
almost immediately so that he could deal with a crashed car. 
The driver, who had veered off the carriageway and into a lamp 
post, had remained unconscious as CJ, using his super breath, 
cooled the fuel in the tank, preventing it from igniting. By 
the time CJ had made everything safe, an ambulance was already 
pulling up. Knowing that the paramedics could do their jobs 
better than he could, CJ had left the driver to their care.

He closed his eyes and found an image of Lois floating behind 
their lids. His smile shifted from rueful to something more 
genuine and uncomplicated. She was, he thought, bright, 
beautiful and quick-witted. Moreover, when she forgot to use 
her sharp tongue to its fullest effect, she was also fun to be 
with.

The evening with Lois had gone... He searched for a word. Well, 
he supposed. It had gone well.

He'd known before his visit, of course, that the jury had been 
rigged and he had, before his sojourn to the other world, told 
Lois that much. What he hadn't realised -- hadn't expected -- 
was that she would take him seriously enough to pursue the 
lead. She'd been right, of course; he *had* been pleased with 
her discoveries, even if they were of only limited use. He 
didn't think that even Judge Diggs would allow a mistrial on 
the grounds of illegally obtained evidence. However, if he 
could convince her to issue a warrant so that he could get 
duplicate information legally... At least he knew now that the 
evidence was there for him to find.

More than that, though, CJ and Lois had argued and talked and 
they'd come to some sort of understanding. They'd even forged 
an alliance, at least temporarily. Given Lois's less than 
orthodox techniques for getting information, he found that 
almost surprising. If he hadn't spent so much time with the 
other Lois, he wasn't sure that he would have tolerated this 
one's behaviour. Or maybe he was tolerating it because this 
*was* his Lois, and he would accept from her behaviour that he 
would find unacceptable in others. Or maybe, given that he was 
fighting Luthor, he was settling for expediency over what was 
legally acceptable. Did that, he wondered, mean that he was a 
hypocrite? Or did it mean that, under some circumstances, there 
was a good greater than the letter of the law? And, if so, did 
that mean that he was fighting for justice -- for what was 
right in the greater scheme of things -- when he flouted the 
laws he had, for so many years, struggled to uphold?

How far along that path was he prepared to go?

His thoughts drifted slightly. The two rescues he had performed 
had left him feeling exhilarated. He felt... empowered, he 
thought, grimacing at the pun. Suddenly he realised just how 
long it had been since he'd felt needed, of value. It had been 
a long time since he'd achieved a similar level of satisfaction 
from his actions in court. Still, if he and Lois succeeded then 
one impediment to his feeling that way again would be removed. 
CJ had no doubt that bringing Luthor down would do much to 
enhance the value of the role he served as a lawyer.

Luthor, he thought. How easy it would be to just crush the man! 
With his powers, CJ could do almost anything. Rather than doing 
things the proper way, why shouldn't he do things in the 
quickest and easiest manner possible? No more playing Luthor's 
power games, just fly to his penthouse, break in and kill... CJ 
felt bile rising in his throat. It *was* tempting, he conceded, 
but it was wrong. Wrong. *Wrong*!

And yet... If Lois was right, and the world was painted in 
shades of grey, at what point did the grey shift into black? He 
could bring himself to accept the idea of hacking into others' 
bank accounts. Could he likewise bring himself to commit a 
murder? Both were wrong, he thought. Maybe so, but killing 
Luthor simply because Luthor was a worse evil than the crime of 
murder went several steps too far for CJ. He realised that went 
a long way towards answering his earlier question of how far 
was he prepared to go.

CJ pushed the disconcerting thoughts away, returning to think 
of other problems -- ones which didn't carry with them such 
ethical dilemmas. Tierney had said that the jury -- all twelve 
members -- had fallen under the influence of the defence. CJ 
found himself trying to work out when that could have happened. 
Surely there hadn't been enough time since their selection for 
the defence to get to everyone on the panel! Besides, was it 
na<ve of him to find it incredible that all twelve would 
willingly be bought? He would have expected that at least a few 
of them would have had more scruples than that.

So, what if...? He stood up and began to pace, the ice 
crunching beneath his feet. What if the defence team had got to 
the jurors before selection? What if the defence had known who 
it was *safe* for them to select? Of course, that would mean 
trying to bribe the whole pool of jurors, approaching each of 
them on the off- chance...

It seemed like a huge task. Impossible for anyone to even 
contemplate, at least anyone without the ability to achieve the 
impossible.

CJ's pulse quickened.

Luthor, he thought. Maybe he was stretching here, but Luthor 
had the kind of power such a task would require. He was, as far 
as CJ was aware, about the only person in the city who did.

If the alternates had also been in receipt of a payment, might 
that not suggest that they too had been "got at" pre-selection? 
CJ would need to know about the people who both he and the 
defence had vetoed also. Had they been paid, too? And if not... 
Someone upstanding enough not to have accepted bribes might 
also be prepared to go on record and talk, thus providing 
another way to collect the evidence he would need if he were to 
ask for a mistrial.

He nodded to himself, promising to look into matters tomorrow -
- or, rather, later on today. First thing in the morning, he 
thought, he would go back to Lois and ask if she would mind 
checking out the other people he'd just added to his mental 
list.

Meanwhile, however, it would now be just after nine a.m. in 
England, and CJ had some detective work to do.

*****

From the Antarctic, CJ flew north, back to his apartment. 
There, he turned on his computer and began to investigate.

According to Lois and Clark's information, Nigel St John had 
originally hailed from London and, even while he'd involved 
himself with Metropolis's underworld, he'd retained ownership, 
albeit under an assumed name, of a flat in Cadogan Square. A 
quick consultation with British Telecom's on-line directory 
suggested that in this world St John still owned the flat, this 
time under his own name. That bothered CJ a little: did the 
fact that St John felt no need to obfuscate his presence in 
London mean that he had nothing to hide? CJ feared so. 
Nonetheless, St John still had to be investigated, just to make 
sure. CJ went to another website and called up a street map so 
that he could locate Cadogan Square on the ground. Then, on a 
last minute impulse, CJ routed around inside his desk for a 
handful of coins he had left over from a European tour he'd 
gone on about four years previously. Who knew? Maybe a little 
currency would come in handy.

*****

CJ landed behind some shrubs in Green Park. He pulled out a 
piece of paper from his pocket and reread St John's address, 
reminding himself of precisely where it was that he needed to 
go. Then he began to walk in a southerly direction. The roads 
were busy, he noticed, but the pavements fairly quiet. 
Presumably, the local work-force were already in their places 
of business, and the tourists and shoppers were yet to emerge 
for the day.

Used as he was to the gridiron layout of North American cities, 
CJ found the irregular pattern of London's streets confusing 
and he quickly discovered that he was, if not lost precisely, 
then at least disoriented. He shook his head, irritated with 
himself. He should have printed out the map, rather than 
trusting the information to memory. Oh, well, he thought 
philosophically, if he couldn't remember how to reach his 
destination, he'd just have to ask someone.

Five minutes later, after being pointed in the right direction, 
he found himself at the entrance of what he hoped would be St 
John's building. Now that he was here, though, he suddenly 
wondered what he was going to do. He shrugged the doubts away, 
hoping that something would occur to him, and looked at the 
names next to the bells. St John's was not there. In its place 
was the name M. Pollack.

Hesitantly, CJ reached out and pressed the bell. There was no 
response, so he tried again, pressing slightly harder and 
longer this time.

After a minute or so, a sleepy woman's voice echoed through the 
intercom's speaker. "Yes?"

"Hi. I'm looking for Nigel St John?"

CJ could have sworn that he heard the woman yawn at him before 
she said, "Doesn't live here any more. I bought the flat off 
him two months ago."

"Do you have any idea where he went?"

"No, not really. I think he mentioned something about 
Docklands, but I could have got that wrong. Now, if you don't 
mind, I want to get back to sleep. I was working all night."

"Okay. Thank you for your help," answered CJ, but the sudden 
silence from the speaker told him he was already talking to 
himself.

Docklands, he thought. Where was that? He was, he realised, 
going to have to ask for help again. He therefore walked into a 
newsagents, located in a side street. There was a short queue 
of people waiting to be served, so CJ idly began to browse the 
shelves while he waited.

And there, staring back at him from the front cover of the 
latest edition of Hello, was the face of the very man he'd come 
to London to investigate!

CJ's mouth opened in mute astonishment. He grabbed the magazine 
off the shelf and scrutinised the cover. St John was seated on 
a sofa next to a younger man, who the magazine identified as 
Mark Bromley. Their hands were clasped together in a very 
telling way. Overlying the picture was a caption written in 
large white letters inviting CJ to "...join us inside their new 
penthouse home". CJ rifled through the pages until he found the 
article. He began to read.

*****

CJ hesitated for a moment, his finger poised lightly against 
the door bell, wondering whether six thirty was too early to 
call on Lois. However, after a few seconds, he decided that he 
could hear sounds of movement. She was, he concluded, already 
up. He smiled as he heard her singing softly under her breath 
as she walked around the apartment.

CJ caught himself guessing what she might be wearing and how 
she might be moving, perhaps swaying her hips in time to the 
music she was creating, and he felt himself flush guiltily at 
the images his brain was conjuring up for him. Fantasising 
about a beautiful woman wasn't what he had come here for!

Quite why he had come, however, he wasn't sure. While it was 
true that he had a lot to tell and ask her, he wondered whether 
that was an excuse. Did he *need* to be here so early, or was 
it that he wanted to be? Was he making excuses for himself, 
just so that he could see her again? He shook his head, told 
himself sternly that time was of the essence in this 
investigation; every hour counted, if they were to make any 
significant progress before his powers failed.

Pushing his doubts aside, he committed himself to one course of 
action and pushed the bell.

"Yes?" Her tinny voice sounded a little harried and suspicious 
as it came out of the speaker.

"Lois?" he asked tentatively, as if there were actually any 
doubt.

"CJ?! What are you doing here?"

"I've been doing some thinking, as well as some investigating, 
and I wanted to talk to you."

"Um... Okay..." The door released and he found himself 
retracing the path to her door, which now was almost familiar.

She was standing on the threshold of her apartment, waiting for 
him. Dressed in a brown towelling dressing gown that was an 
anti- fashion statement, her appearance was at odds with the 
pictures his imagination had been painting. Her hair was damp 
and, in her left hand, she held a hair dryer. She should, by 
rights, have looked unattractive, even dishevelled. However, to 
CJ, she looked as beautiful as always, and he was forcefully 
reminded of the first time he had seen her, four years earlier. 
That particular memory was an uncomfortable one. "Come in," she 
said, gesturing.

Rendered ill at ease by his intrusion at what appeared to be a 
less than convenient time, CJ automatically apologised.

Lois had, by now, swallowed the last of her surprise and asked 
wryly, "You didn't bring any flowers with you this morning?" 
She looked, he thought, almost as awkward as he felt. 
Perversely, he drew strength from that and found himself 
beginning to relax.

CJ shook his head. "Sorry. No. But I have brought breakfast, if 
you've got time for it?"

"Breakfast?" She quirked an eyebrow.

CJ held up a paper bag. "Patisserie. From France. *Pain au 
chocolat* to be precise."

The slightly wary look around Lois's eyes dissipated into a 
warmer and more open expression of welcome. "How did you know 
that I can't resist chocolate?" CJ opened his mouth to try to 
frame a reasonable-sounding response, but Lois continued before 
he had a chance to do so, and he realised that the question had 
been rhetorical. "Okay, you'd better come in. I'll tell you 
what: you make the coffee while I get dressed."

*****

"So," said CJ fifteen minutes later as they finished the last 
of the food and sipped from their mugs, "Nigel St John is a gay 
hairdresser--"

"Which is, in itself, a major clich,," interrupted Lois.

"True," acknowledged CJ, before continuing. "He's cohabiting 
happily with someone called Mark Bromley, who, apparently, is 
one of Britain's most popular actors and who can be seen four 
times a week on some prime time soap opera. Anyway, I brought 
you a copy of the magazine, if you want to read more."

"How could I resist?" asked Lois in a slightly mocking tone 
that warned CJ that she was verging on being sarcastic.

He reached over to his jacket, which he'd taken off before 
sitting down, and pulled the copy of Hello, along with a buff-
coloured envelope, out from one of his pockets. He laid both 
items on the kitchen counter then pushed the magazine across in 
her general direction. "Here," he said.

Lois slid it to one side, giving the cover a cursory once over 
as she did so, and said, "Maybe later, after you've gone." She 
picked up her mug and sipped. "Right now, though, I have things 
to tell you, too."

"Oh?" asked CJ curiously.

Lois made a thoughtful sound in the back of her throat. "H'm. 
After you left last night, I tried running a few names through 
the computer. I've still got a heap of work to do, but I made a 
little progress. Want to hear about it?"

"Sure!" said CJ.

"First, Asabi is neither mystical *nor* mysterious. In fact, 
he's married, has three kids and runs a restaurant downtown. 
Ever heard of The Eastern Star?" There was a curious note in 
her voice that somehow blended rueful with playful as she asked 
the question. CJ understood why: just about everyone in the 
city had heard of The Eastern Star. It was one of the most 
fashionable places around.

"Yeah, of course," he answered. "Who hasn't? It's supposed to 
be excellent. Pricey, but excellent."

"Just so. And it's Asabi's. You'll have to take me there 
sometime."

CJ looked at her sharply. She'd spoken lightly, making it 
difficult for him to gauge precisely what she meant by that 
last comment. Had she really almost asked him out? And, if she 
had, was it intentional or a slip of the tongue? Or was it a 
light-hearted comment that meant nothing at all? He hoped 
fervently that it wasn't the latter.

So busy was he trying to deconstruct her comment that he almost 
missed the next part of the conversation. "Miranda, your 
perfume expert, is dead. A couple of others... Jules Johnson 
and Mrs Cox... They apparently *did* live at the addresses 
you've got, but neither does now. In fact, they both seem to 
have disappeared. I'll keep digging."

CJ nodded his appreciation then said, "And while you're digging 
up information on them, I was wondering..." He trailed into an 
uncomfortable silence.

"Yes?" asked Lois.

"There's something else. In fact, it's the main reason I came 
over this morning."

"Oh? Sounds intriguing."

"I was thinking some more about the jury." Briefly, CJ ran 
through the line of reasoning he'd developed on the ice-flow. 
Then he held the envelope out to her. However, before releasing 
his hold on it, he said, "I'm sure I shouldn't be giving you 
any of this information, but, under the circumstances, it 
seemed like the best thing to do."

"What is it?" she asked, tilting her head towards the envelope, 
which they were now holding between them. She tugged lightly on 
it to reinforce the question.

"The voir dire questionnaires the prospective jurors were asked 
to fill in, as well as my selection chart."

"The voir what?" asked Lois, sounding confused.

"Voir dire." He paused thoughtfully, then said, "How much do 
you know about jury selection?"

Lois shrugged. "Not a lot. I mean I know that there's a 
selection process before swearing in, but that's about it. What 
else *is* there to know?"

CJ grinned and almost chuckled. "Quite a bit, actually. Okay, 
Jury Selection 101. How this is done varies slightly from case 
to case, but this is what happened with the Allen trial, okay?"

Lois nodded and let go of the file. CJ put it down next to him 
again. "Go on," she said.

"First of all, I was given -- as was the defence, a list of all 
the prospective jurors. It doesn't really give that much 
information: only their names and the towns they live in."

"So you know in advance who might be involved in the trial?" 
asked Lois. CJ noticed the way frown lines etched themselves 
across her forehead and between her eyes as she thought about 
the implications of what he was saying.

"Yes. That's right."

"So anyone could get access to that list?"

"Not anyone, no. But anyone connected with either the defence 
or the prosecution could. Mind you, we don't get to see it very 
much in advance, so I would have thought the information, to be 
of any use, would have had to come from the person who draws up 
the lists in the first place -- and that would be the Clerk of 
the Court."

"Interesting," murmured Lois. "Go on."

"On the day of the jury selection, all the prospective jurors 
were gathered together and Judge Diggs talked to them. She 
introduced herself, and us -- by that I mean the lawyers for 
the defence and the prosecution. Then we questioned the 
prospective jurors individually -- that's called voir dire 
questioning." Lois nodded, but with little conviction this 
time, so CJ elaborated. "The purpose of voir dire is to try to 
ensure that there are no biased people on the jury. Anyone who 
knows the attorneys, the parties involved in the case, the 
victim or any of the witnesses will be automatically eliminated 
from the panel. Then anyone who looks as though they won't be 
impartial -- and that gets picked up through the judge's 
questions as well as our own -- is disqualified from being part 
of the jury."

"Impartial, how?"

"Oh, for example..." CJ scrabbled around for a suitable 
example. "Say, if a potential juror says something like, 'The 
defendant obviously did something wrong; he wouldn't have been 
arrested otherwise'. Similarly, potential jurors who have a 
moral objection to the death penalty will be excluded from any 
trial where a death sentence might be passed. During the 
selection process, attorneys can challenge any number of jurors 
on the basis of cause, as it's called."

"I see," said Lois.

"Sometimes the questioning is done verbally. Sometimes there is 
a pro forma questionnaire. In this case, we used a mixture of 
both. What's in there," said CJ, waving his hand in the general 
direction of the envelope, "are the questionnaires the 
prospective jurors had to fill in, as well as my personal 
selection sheet. In addition to excusing jurors on the basis of 
cause, attorneys can make a limited number of what are called 
peremptory challenges. With those, they don't have to give any 
reason for excusing a juror. As you'll see, the defence in this 
case used nearly all the challenges they were allowed in this 
case -- seventeen out of a possible twenty. At the time, I 
wondered why they'd used so many; now, of course, I think I can 
guess. They were working to their own agenda. Anyway, that's 
about it. After the jury was selected, they were sworn in and 
we were able to start the case."

"I understand now, I think. And, yeah, I'll take a look for 
you."

"Thanks, Lois. I appreciate it."

This time, when he held out the envelope to her, he let her 
take it. She didn't open it immediately, however. Instead she 
held it to her chest, in her right hand. She rested her left 
elbow on the counter, cupped her chin in her left hand, and 
gazed at him speculatively. "What?" he asked, discomfited by 
her scrutiny.

"Nothing much," she answered, her eyebrows rising slightly. "I 
was just thinking that your attitude this morning is rather 
different to last night. Did you have a change of heart about 
what is acceptable behaviour or something?"

"Maybe," said CJ awkwardly, still uncertain about the choice he 
had made. It was incredible how she could get to the crux of an 
issue. Beautiful *and* intuitive, he thought. It was a heady 
combination.

CJ was grateful then, when Lois leaned back and turned her 
attention to the envelope, allowing the awkward moment to pass. 
She opened it, pulled the contents out and began leafing 
through them.

CJ saw her frown as she reached a point half way through the 
papers, her attention snagging on something she had just seen. 
Noticing her distraction, CJ asked eagerly, "What is it? What 
have you found?"

Thoughtfully, Lois said, "Maybe nothing. But one of the names 
here..." She frowned then shook her head. "Nah, it's just a 
coincidence. I thought for a moment that this one -- Judith 
Myerson -- might be Clive Myerson's wife."

"Myerson? As in the guy who shot at you?" CJ sounded 
incredulous.

"Yeah. But I just remembered: his wife is called Hannah, so it 
has to be a coincidence." She shrugged, then tapped the list 
for emphasis and said, "I'll look into it for you, anyway."

"Thank you, Lois. Now, I'd better get a move on. Corrupt jury 
or not, I'm expected in court in a couple of hours and I need 
to do some preparation first."

CHAPTER SIX

Lois found her thoughts turning towards CJ as she hurried to 
work. In part, this was because, thanks to CJ's visit, she was 
running late. Mostly, however, it was because she was concerned 
about the ramifications of everything he'd told her. To begin 
with, she thought about what he had found out. She was wryly 
amused at the idea that the Nigel St Johns from the two worlds 
could be so different; at the same time, she felt a nebulous 
sense of regret that their investigations apparently were not 
going to be resolved easily. Beyond that, there was little for 
her to dwell on, and her thoughts quickly turned towards the 
favour he had asked her to do.

She wasn't bothered by the thought of snooping into the 
backgrounds of yet more people -- it was what she did on a 
daily basis, after all. She was, however, astounded that CJ had 
been prepared to ask her to do it. Clearly, after their... 
discussion... he must have given some thought to the position 
she'd taken and decided that she had a point. If he had not 
done so, he would not have taken this step.

Lois found herself approving of his behaviour, not only because 
she liked to be right, but because it showed that CJ, for all 
his moral rectitude, was capable of being flexible and of 
listening to -- and learning from -- points of view other than 
his own. CJ, then, was a person who would talk *with* her, not 
just to her. She liked that; in Lois's opinion there was 
nothing worse than a wilfully stubborn person who believed in 
the rightness of their own opinions at the cost of anyone 
else's.

Finally and inevitably, her thoughts turned towards CJ, 
himself. She'd been wrong-footed by his visit; she would never 
have chosen to let him see her dressed in what she could only 
describe as a shlumpy robe. Clearly, he had not been entirely 
comfortable with the situation either; he'd seemed almost as 
uncomfortable about seeing her dressed like that as she had 
been about being seen.

However, once they'd navigated around the awkward moment, she'd 
found herself relaxing in his presence. The rapport they'd 
shared -- not just this morning, but also last night -- had 
been unexpected. Lois had never chosen to work with anyone 
before, but she was enjoying working with CJ. What was it about 
him, she wondered, that disarmed her usual impatience? There 
was something about bouncing ideas around with him that felt 
right, but she had no idea why that should be. After all, she 
hardly knew the man. Besides, why had she never before noticed 
any sense of connection when she'd bumped into him?

Because, she realised, she'd never given herself the chance 
*to* notice it before.

She glanced down at her watch. Perry would forgive her for 
being late if he thought she was working on a hot story, but 
she knew she couldn't tell him about Luthor -- not yet, anyway. 
Maybe she could drop a few hints about the jury, though. She 
just hoped that would be enough to satisfy him.

And thinking about the jury... Lois remembered the rueful way 
CJ had talked about having to spend the day in court. How would 
she feel, she asked herself, if she had to waste precious time 
pretending to see that justice was being done, while knowing 
full well that it wasn't? Frustrated, angry and impatient, she 
guessed. She found herself hoping fervently that she would find 
some way of helping him.

Lois was still thinking about CJ as she sidled through the 
conference-room door. Although Perry didn't say anything, his 
stern and disapproving glare told her that her tardy entrance 
had not gone unnoticed.

As she made her way to a vacant seat, she heard Jack say, "... 
and the police investigators said that there were signs of 
damage to the engine and bonnet of the car, but somehow the 
fire had failed to spread. It was as though it had been put 
out, but there were no signs of an extinguisher having been 
used. No foam. Nothing. It was really weird." Lois wondered 
vaguely what Jack was talking about.

"There was another weird rescue last night, Chief," said Jimmy. 
"Fire in a downtown apartment block. A child and her dog were 
rescued by a flying man. Apparently he went into the burning 
building and flew them to safety. I was wondering... could they 
both be the work of Lois's rescuer from yesterday?"

Lois glanced across at him sharply. Then, worried that her 
interest might be noted, she turned her eyes downwards towards 
the table top.

So, CJ, you were busy last night! she thought.

Why hadn't he bothered to mention his nocturnal activities to 
her when they'd talked this morning? Surely he must have known 
that she would be interested! She resented being kept in the 
dark... and it wasn't, she was disconcerted to realise, mere 
curiosity that made her feel that way. No matter that she told 
herself sternly she had no right to be so upset, the fact that 
he hadn't said anything rankled.

She quickly pushed the unsettling train of thought away, just 
in time to hear Perry protest. "Aw, Jimmy... Do you know how 
ridiculous that sounds?"

"Well, do you have any better ideas?"

Perry nodded, not because he did, but because he was conceding 
the fact that Jimmy might actually have a point. "Okay," he 
said thoughtfully. "Got any witnesses, either of you?"

Jack simply shook his head.

In the face of Perry's question, Jimmy suddenly looked a little 
reluctant. "Only the little girl, Chief."

Lois recognised the expression on his face and the tentative 
tone in his voice; she'd experienced them enough times in the 
past, herself. Jimmy was venturing well beyond publishable 
facts and into the realm of speculation, and he knew Perry 
wouldn't like what he was about to hear.

"And she's how old?" Perry asked.

"Five."

"Not credible. Anything else, Jimmy?"

Jimmy shook his head and looked decidedly uncomfortable. "A few 
people said that there was a man hanging about when the little 
girl turned up outside the building, but no one could give any 
description of him, beyond the fact that he was wearing dark 
clothing. Nobody paid him any attention until later, by which 
time he'd vanished."

"Or maybe he was never there in the first place. Or maybe he 
had nothing to do with any of this.... Your material's not 
usable, Jimmy -- you know that -- but keep an eye out in case 
our 'friend' tries anything else. Meanwhile, I want you working 
on the Portman Electronics story."

"Okay, Chief."

"Rodriguez?" said Perry. Then he did a double- take. "Where's 
Rodriguez?"

"Sick," answered Jack.

"What? *Again*?"

"Uh, huh. Called in about half an hour ago."

Perry's eyes narrowed. "I swear that man has had more sick days 
since he bought that new house over in Arcadia than the rest of 
the staff combined! What is it this time? Headache, vomiting or 
unexplained rash?"

"He didn't say," answered Jack.

Lois could hear Jimmy whisper something to his neighbour that 
sounded like, "Let's hope he finishes decorating the new place 
soon!"

Perry, too, had heard Jimmy's joke. At least, Lois thought it 
was a joke; Perry didn't seem to think it was funny. "He'd 
better, else he'll be the next to go. This paper can't afford 
to carry freeloaders. Y'all know that."

Then Perry abruptly turned his attention towards Lois, making 
her jump as she suddenly found herself at the centre of 
everyone's attention. "So what do you have planned for today?"

She shrugged infinitesimally and said, "The Allen trial. I got 
an interesting lead yesterday."

"This have anything to do with the jury?" Then, when Lois 
looked askance at him, Perry said, "Jack told me already you 
had him looking into their backgrounds. You think you might be 
on to something there?"

"Yeah, Perry. I think so. I hope so, anyway."

Perry grunted something, which Lois gratefully took to be 
approval, then, to her relief, he said, "That's it, folks. 
Meeting adjourned. Go get me those stories, guys and gals!"

Lois led the stampede out of the door.

*****

CJ plonked his briefcase down on the coffee table, shucked off 
his jacket and flung it across the arm of the sofa, and padded 
into the kitchen. He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. 
It hadn't, he supposed, been a bad day, but it hadn't been a 
good day, either. He knew that he hadn't really achieved much 
in the courtroom. His performance had been polished and 
professional; if he hadn't recognised the futility of it all, 
he might have believed he'd done a good job. The spectators in 
the gallery had hung onto his every word, leaning forward in 
their seats, knuckled fists resting against their cheeks in 
poses that specialists in human behaviour always claimed 
indicated interest in and evaluation of what was being said.

The jury, though, had been quite a different matter. He'd paid 
careful attention to the jury. Like most lawyers, CJ had 
developed the skill of being able to tell when a witness was 
lying or when his audience was engaged with whatever he was 
talking about. Today the jury had been far from engaged. Its 
members had tried to look as though they were paying attention, 
but the way they had slumped back in their seats, the way they 
-- albeit discreetly -- had propped their heads up in their 
hands and the way their eyelids had fluttered as they struggled 
to stay awake... They had, to a person, been bored. CJ knew 
their boredom had stemmed from the fact that they didn't have 
to be there or to pay attention to know what decision they 
would eventually make.

He hoped Lois would find something out that would help him.

Just as the steam began to pour out of the kettle's spout, 
there was an imperious rapping against the glass of his front 
door. Curious, he jogged across the sunken living area, up the 
few steps that took him to the door level and the door itself. 
He pulled the lace curtain aside a few inches so that he could 
see who his visitor was, then smiled as he recognised the 
object of his thoughts.

How, he wondered, had she managed to track him down? In all the 
excitement of last night and this morning, he'd not thought to 
give her his address, only his phone number. Clearly, though, 
her sources had come through for her again.

He opened the door, his smile broadening into a delighted grin 
and said, "Come in, come in! I've only just got in myself, and 
I've put the kettle on, if you want a cup of tea."

He turned back, expecting her to follow. The brief curious 
glance she cast over his apartment was not lost on him, but she 
made no comment to indicate whether or not she approved of what 
he'd done with it. "We don't have time for tea," she said, all 
business. "I need you to come with me."

CJ turned around, his expression a question. "Where to?"

"I'll explain on the way."

CJ shrugged, but didn't protest. Instead, he rushed over to the 
kettle, switched the gas underneath it off, and jogged back to 
the front door, sweeping up his jacket from where he'd left it 
hanging over the banisters en route. Pausing only to lock his 
front door after him, he followed her back down to the street.

He didn't know what he would have expected her to drive, but 
the navy blue Jeep Cherokee, which she'd parked illegally 
immediately in front of his building, wasn't it. Something 
smaller, sportier and more ostentatious, perhaps? He was less 
surprised to notice, however, that the Jeep sported a set of 
vanity plates bearing the legend "LL". He fleetingly wondered 
what Lois and Clark drove in the other world; he'd never had 
the opportunity to find out.

Although she had promised to explain things en route to 
wherever it was that they were going, CJ found that he had to 
wait for her to volunteer any information, her conversation 
restricted to muttering disparagingly about other drivers. He 
found, however, that he didn't mind; he was perfectly content 
to watch the road and occasionally glance across so that he 
could see her profile as she drove. She hunched slightly over 
the wheel, her chin thrust forward almost aggressively. Despite 
her preferred posture, CJ quickly concluded that Lois drove 
well, if a trifle impatiently.

They'd reached the suburbs before the congestion on the roads 
had eased enough for Lois to relax back in her seat and decide 
to give him the explanation she'd promised. As he listened, he 
had to admit it had been worth waiting for.

"I've had a pretty productive day," she said. "Jack ran your 
list through several databases; of the first twenty names, 
thirteen of them have had lump sums added to their bank 
accounts in the last week."

"Interesting," said CJ. He twisted slightly in his seat so that 
he was sitting at an angle, making it easier to watch her as 
she talked.

"Not half as interesting as the seven who haven't. Of those, 
three refused point-blank to talk to me and four have had... 
Well, one of them called it 'spectacularly bad luck'."

"All of them?" asked CJ.

"Yep."

"What kind of bad luck?"

Lois flashed a grin, clearly finding satisfaction in the 
discoveries she had made during the last few hours. "The kind 
where a woman and a man come to your house late at night and 
offer you a choice between making some easy money or having 
something unfortunate happen to you."

"Unfortunate, how?"

"Unfortunate like, maybe, your husband, who is a LexCorp 
employee, suddenly being made redundant. Or LexBank decides to 
call in all its loans, just when your new business venture 
needs the money most. Or where your boss tells you that you're 
being fired because you've been misusing your office computer 
and you find that someone -- and you swear it's not you -- has 
filled your hard drive with porn."

CJ silently whistled his astonishment. "You're right. You 
*have* been productive, haven't you?"

"Oh, it gets better," crowed Lois. "Everyone who *has* spoken 
to me says that they are prepared to go on the record with 
this. I've got tomorrow's front page and you, CJ, will most 
definitely get your mistrial."

CJ shook his head in disbelief. "Lois, I don't know what to 
say, except that you are a genius!"

"Oh, I know," she said in a self-mocking tone and she laughed.

"I mean it," he said sincerely. There was a brief pause before 
he said thoughtfully, "You said that there were seven people 
who hadn't received payments, but you've only told me about six 
of them."

CJ watched as Lois's expression suddenly changed to something 
more sombre. She took a deep breath, appearing to gather 
courage for whatever was about to come. "We're going to see the 
seventh person now. She didn't want to speak to me, either -- 
in fact, she put the phone down before I had a chance to even 
tell her what I was after. I can't say that I blame her for 
that, though. You see, I have a nasty feeling that I might be 
part of her bad luck story."

"So, she's not expecting us?"

"No."

"And you think you're involved somehow? *How?*"

"This morning, when I told you I thought I recognised one of 
the names...?"

"Yes? You said it was just a coincidence."

"Yes... Well... I thought it *was* a coincidence. You see, 
Clive Myerson's wife is called Hannah, so I didn't think they 
were connected in any way. However, Judith Myerson is his 
*sister*. I can't help worrying that all the evidence that so 
conveniently came my way this week might have been falsified. I 
think I might have been *used*."

"You think Myerson was framed and you were duped into helping 
set that up?"

"Something like that, yeah. And I have to tell you that I don't 
feel very good about it, particularly because..." She broke 
off, her throat closing around the words.

"Because...?" CJ prodded gently.

Lois tried to be discreet about it, but CJ could hear her 
sniffle. "I heard earlier that Myerson's wife tried to kill 
herself yesterday morning. Apparently she's always been a 
bit... unbalanced... and it sounds as if my story pushed her 
over the edge."

"And that's why Myerson saw the need to come after you with a 
gun?" asked CJ. "Because his wife couldn't cope with what you 
wrote?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, Lois... I'm sorry."

"Not half as sorry as I am. Anyway, if I *was* used, I've got, 
somehow, to make things right."

CJ watched the way Lois's hands gripped the steering wheel too 
tightly, her knuckles showing white. He wanted desperately to 
reassure her, to tell her that everything would work out. But 
he was too much of a realist to tell her such falsehoods; all 
too often things *didn't* work out, and they weren't likely to 
this time. Even if Lois could clear Myerson of all the 
corruption charges, the murder charge would