Yesterday, Upon the Stair CC Malo Rated: PG13 Submitted: March 2003 (reworked and resubmitted October, 2003) note: I posted the first 14 pages of this story in March, 2001, then got bogged down, but finally posted the last parts in March of this year. But for the encouragement of the people who commented on the story as I posted it on Zoom's mbs, I would not have finished it. A huge thank- you, too, to my long-suffering betas - Gerry, Jenni, and Wendy, and also to Jeanne for editing this for the archive. :) In this story, I've played with S2's schedule, and assumed that Metallo occurred as the 6th episode in that season, following Madame Ex, Wall of Sound, The Source, Church of Metropolis, and Bolt from the Blue. Comments and feedback are very welcome. --------- Yesterday, Upon the Stair by CCMalo Yesterday, upon the stair, I met a man who wasn't there. He wasn't there again to-day; Gee, I wish he'd go away. - old nursery rhyme --- Chapter 1: The Morning After Sometimes things are not what they seem. It wasn't until it was all over that Lois understood that this was so. Sometimes, the lie is the truth. And who you thought was there is not. It started with the man whom she'd encountered in the cool crystal sunlight of a bright autumn morning. He was walking toward her, one of the many passersby on a crowded sidewalk in downtown Metropolis. Still, she'd noticed him immediately and wondered why he was looking at her. When he got closer, he paused for a fraction of a second, so brief that later she was unsure whether he had, and he smiled at her with that familiar look of someone who knows you well. Aware that she was holding her breath, she tilted her head and waited, certain he was going to speak, caught by the quizzical light in his grey eyes. But he remained silent as he continued walking past her, and, for a moment as slight as a dragonfly's breath, she sensed she'd lost something important. She felt she knew him, yet was unsure she'd ever met him before. Had she? Puzzled, she turned to stare at his retreating figure, lithe and confident as he rounded a corner, disappearing from her view as he vanished into the sunlit ravines of Metropolis's skyscrapers. A light touch on her arm tugged her back. "Hey, Lois, what is it?" "What?" Lois swiveled, turning her attention to the young man beside her. "Nothing, Jimmy. Nothing, really. I thought I saw someone I knew." She smiled at her companion, shaking her head, clearing it, and let the incident slip to the back of her mind, forgotten. "Well, what are we waiting for?" She took a deep breath. "We have a story to cover." "Yeah." Jimmy grinned, his eagerness infectious. He automatically patted the leather bag encasing his camera equipment, as though he were taking inventory of its contents. "Too bad CK couldn't make this one." "I guess... the Planet's resources are stretched so thin right now. We all have to do a bit more." "Gotta say I was really surprised when Perry OK'd my raise. I mean what with the rebuilding costs, and all. Hope the suits don't veto it." For a moment, Lois was silent. Yeah--the Planet had started publishing again, just two months ago, but it was running on a shoestring, scrambling to recapture its circulation figures as it struggled to put out a quality newspaper using a much reduced workforce in a workplace which still showed the scars of Luthor's bomb. And she had played a part in all that, in the destruction of the Daily Planet. If only she hadn't... "They won't, Jimmy. Perry won't let 'em. And we can do it! We can make the Daily Planet number one again." "Well, one of my convention shots is gonna be front page, and it'll have my name under it." Jimmy's enthusiasm was contagious. Playfully, Lois jabbed his arm. "Right beside my big story on the breakthrough in world trade, Jimmy." She hoped, anyway. Privately she thought that the convention they were on their way to cover was the political equivalent of a dog show, the delegates all sleekly groomed, house broken, and skillfully handled. Well, look for the new angle--wasn't that what Perry always said? Thirty minutes later, Lois, along with a battalion of other reporters, was sitting in the Hamilton Salon of the Lexor Hotel, listening to the predictably empty speeches of middle-aged men. As she observed each one trotting up to the microphone, her impression that she was covering a dog show returned. Looking at the Foreign Trade Minister of she had forgotten what obscure country, maybe Canada, mouthing hollow phrases at the podium, she suddenly saw a Russian wolfhound, its silky silver-brown hair framing a narrow, patronising face. Gazing at the other delegates, all waiting obediently for their turn to show, she watched, fascinated as their faces did a canine morph: a couple of eager, antsy terriers, a stolid bulldog, and one elegant but slightly embarrassed standard poodle. A few lap dogs, too. But not an honest working dog in the group, she thought sadly, remembering the border collie she'd played with as a child during those two wonderful summers at the seashore. Struggling, not too successfully, to suppress a sneak attack of giggles, she continued scribbling notes. That was the story she wrote for Perry White--'World Trade Meeting: Dog Show in Metropolis'. In it, she had even decided on the 'Best in Show': that very athletic, young South American who looked like he might be a soccer player. Probably a good retriever. After sending the article to Perry, she leaned back in her chair, very satisfied. She smiled. Yes, she thought. Her report was pretty decent. "Lane! My office! Now!" Perry's bellow rolled over the newsroom buzz, silencing it, and stopping time as all heads snapped up in a synchronized ripple. Lois walked the long yards to Perry's office and the buzz returned, its frequency intensified. Why did she always feel like she was being watched these days? Was she? But that didn't make any sense. Perry sounded impatient; maybe he had something new for her. He didn't. He rose from behind his desk, eyes ominous, body in full bluster and blood pressure rising, as he pointed at the story on his computer. "Now what in Sam Hill is that?" "My World Trade article, Chief." "No, it's not--it's a dog story." "Perry, I was making a point. Satire--using some humour." Shocked, Perry looked at her, his mouth slack-jawed for a second. Then he spoke. "Lois... darlin', you don't have a sense of humour." Lois's dark eyes flashed indignantly. "I do so." Perry came from behind his desk. "You've got one hour to clean it up for tomorrow's edition." Nevertheless, his voice gentled as he added, "Now, Lois, you know we can't go comparing the Secretary of Trade to an overbred pit bull with distemper." "Why not, Perry? That's how the man comes across--a bully with no tolerance for the needs of weaker countries." Now she was angry, defending her story. "Then write that, Lois." Turning, he indicated his computer screen again. "But clean it up." He paused. "The dog show... well... it just don't hunt." Lois sighed. "Okay, Chief." Subdued, she left Perry's office and returned to her desk where she gazed unfocused at the story still haunting her computer monitor. Then, for some reason, she looked up, and was surprised to see, standing in front of her desk, the grey-eyed man whom she'd encountered that morning. Of course, she thought, this is where I've seen him. He must be a new hire at the Planet. "I'm all right, aren't I?" she asked him, her voice barely audible. He smiled enigmatically and was about to speak just as a tall, dark-suited man, his tie a little askew, entered the newsroom. He smiled in Lois's direction as he proceeded toward her desk. Turning, the grey-eyed man slipped quietly away, leaving Lois alone with Clark Kent, her colleague and sometimes partner at the Planet. "Got a minute, Lois?" "Sure," she said, quickly closing her story on the monitor. "Need my help?" Her voice was half-teasing, half-hopeful. These days she wasn't quite sure where she fit, a new sensation for Lois Lane. Last year the question would never have crossed her mind. If someone had asked her, she would have answered without thinking--where I decide I fit. But now... she didn't seem to fit here, although god knows, she was trying. Way too much had happened in the last year. Maybe that guy was right when he wrote you could never go home again. Home. Yeah. The place where she kept her fish. It looked like she didn't fit with Clark Kent, either; he was making that pretty clear these days, she thought. So were the altered conditions at the Planet which meant they were working on their own as often they worked together. And Superman--wasn't there. Was he? Not for her. Not in any way that counted. Lately, she'd begun to wonder if he had been playing a game with her all along: sometimes showing up at her apartment, flirting with her; other times pushing her away, even misleading her. Confusing her. And now Clark was doing the same. "Lois?" Clark's tentative repetition of her name brought her back. She raised her eyes to his face, and he smiled. "Thought you'd gone missing there for a sec," he teased. "You just haven't got my attention yet, Kent." He grinned as he extended an arm to grab his chair, and pulled it, casters clattering across the vinyl floor, beside her desk. "There was a jewellery theft early this morning. 'Dimitri's'--his new flagship store in the Metropolis Tower. They got quite a haul." He paused, then continued, his words now careful. "I think you've met the owner, Dimitri MacAdam?" "Yes, a few times." She hoped her tone was cool, professional, minimizing how it was that she had met the man. "Lex bought my engagement ring from him. Lex knew him socially as well. I mean, we're not talking 'Diamonds 'r Us' here." She flashed a weak grin at Clark, but got only a polite smile in return. "He was at Lex's apartment sometimes as a guest." "What was your impression of him?" "Impression? I don't know that I had one. Why?" "Did you like him?" "Sure." She smiled, recalling the dapper man who had distracted her with his frivolous wit. "He was smooth, a charming man. But you know I'm a sucker for a European accent. I never could figure out exactly what his was, though," she added as she remembered teasing Dimitri once about the fact that his name provided little help in figuring him out at all. "Yeah, I liked him." Clark searched her eyes for a second, and held them with his own. "Do you trust him?" The question surprised her. "Of course--he's one of the most reputable jewellers in the country. Of course I trust him. Lex always..." Her voice trailed off--yeah, she'd trusted Lex, too. Why was Clark even bothering to ask her opinion? "Which means, for some reason you're not quite sure about, Clark, that you don't trust him, doesn't it?" she asked softly, intrigued now by what Clark might be on to. He smiled, acknowledging her take on his perception of the man. "I thought MacAdam was just a little evasive about some of the details when I talked to him." "Maybe he thought you were asking more than you should about his business." "Yeah, I know. He wouldn't be the first guy to think a reporter had asked one question too many." "Dimitri could get prickly, especially if someone rubbed him the wrong way." "Me?" Clark raised his eyebrows innocently and grinned at her. "But you could be right... See, Lois Lane, I count on *you* to ask the pushy question. Then, after I calm the guy down, he gives *me* the answer." "Clark!" Lois was shocked. "I am never pushy." His eyes widened as his face took on the expression of a saint straining for politeness. "Hardly ever. Rarely. Only..." She stopped to fix him with a steely glare. "Only in the interests of getting the truth," she finished virtuously. "And anyway, we'd never get anywhere if we used your mild-mannered Smallville approach." He let that one go by--she was right, in a way. They worked well together; neither of them perfect, but together unbeatable. At least, that's how it had been once. But these days, he was never quite sure how things were between them. "So there's probably nothing to my feeling that MacAdam's hiding something?" "Probably nothing. Dimitri's a decent man." Pausing, she met his eyes, and a wry smile twisted one corner of her mouth. "But this is the woman who thought Lex was a decent guy, too," she added lightly. Her words caught him off guard. It was the closest she'd come in the almost four months since the aborted wedding to admitting to him that she'd been wrong about Luthor. Trust her to choose the busy newsroom for her confession, he thought as he let out a slow breath. Count on Lois Lane to pick somewhere she was safe from reprisals and from where she could easily retreat. But still, it was quite an admission, and, right now, especially, he desperately needed this sign from her. Gently, without thinking, he touched her hand, his eyes meeting hers. "Lois, he fooled a lot of people." "Not you. Not Perry. Not Jimmy. Not Jack." She clipped out the words, each one an indictment. Clark averted his eyes as he listened. Unbidden, the bitterness he'd felt back then when he'd finally grasped how little she valued his warnings about Lex Luthor, and, more damning, how she didn't want Clark Kent, slashed through his mind and pierced his heart. How could he deny what Lois was saying now? Her instincts, always so good, had failed her when she'd decided to marry Luthor. How could Clark explain her decision? So that his explanation comforted her and made sense to him? Yet, hearing the coldness in her voice, he understood now that she had not yet forgiven herself for what had happened. Not after all these months. For the first time, he wondered if he truly had either. "Maybe you were too close to see," he said, his voice a whisper as his mouth became inexplicably dry. She slipped her hand away from his, pulling away from him, and leaned back in her chair. "So what I'm saying, Clark, is, I guess I could be wrong about Dimitri. What was he so evasive about?" He let her retreat. "Well, for one thing, he didn't seem too interested in finding out who the thief was." "The insurance payout could have dampened his curiosity." "Maybe." Clark was skeptical. "Anyway, besides a few high end pieces of jewellery, the thief also took a small quantity of rough cut emeralds. I asked MacAdam where they'd come from but he was pretty vague. He changed the subject--gave a detailed description of a necklace which had been stolen instead." "Maybe he thought that was more interesting. Was it the most valuable piece? Did he have a buyer lined up for it?" "Probably the most valuable, but those uncut emeralds must've been worth big bucks, too. The necklace, by the way, was in to repair a couple of loose stones next to the clasp. It belongs to Francesca Albertini." "Well, that explains Dimitri's reaction, then." Lois grinned at him. "She has to be his biggest worry. I mean, Clark, would you want to give bad news to Francesca Albertini? She's only one of the most prominent women in Metropolis." She paused, then added thoughtfully, "But you'd think he'd be more interested in finding out who broke in so he could get it back to her." "Yeah, you'd think. And I'd still like to find out more about those loose emeralds." "I do know Dimitri made frequent trips to Colombia to buy gems. Once, when I'd showed up a little too early at Lex's, I went into the library while he and Dimitri were talking about his latest buying trip." "Do you remember anything about their conversation?" "No... they changed the subject when I came in. I remember that because I was fascinated by what they were saying--I mean, emeralds, Clark! I asked a few questions, of course. Tried to ask," she amended. "But Lex hinted that they were discussing something he was planning for me, and it would ruin the surprise." "What was so fascinating?" "You know, I'd never much thought about *how* they actually *get* emeralds. I mean who ever gets past Tiffany's window?" She grinned at him. "Or Dimitri's? But, Clark, there's so much adventure in it--mining in dangerous places, risky trading in Colombia, and then getting the emeralds to market here. Dimitri called them 'green fire'." She looked at her colleague thoughtfully. "You know, that could make a good sidebar to your story on the robbery." "Perfect." He flashed her a quick smile. "Let's do it." Lois enthusiastically outlined what little she knew about emeralds; then, together, they roughed out a few questions to pursue in her companion piece. For a few moments, they were once again a team, even if it was a little ad hoc. Neither of them thought of checking with their editor-in- Chief. They were lost, all else forgotten, in the pleasure of working together, of finishing each other's thoughts, and anticipating a story that now was developing real potential. They were interrupted by a copy of that morning's Daily Planet as it was snapped crisply open, then deposited onto Lois's desk, its front page photo facing toward them. Taken by Jimmy Olsen, it captured, in stark detail, the last moments of a dying man and his girlfriend, Lucy Lane. It was a full body shot, but below the man's knees, there was nothing but grey liquid, which had pooled and spilled over the pavement. Johnny Corbin. Metallo. Petty thief and thug who had been an unwitting subject in a ghoulish experiment by Rollie and Emmett Vale to build their own personal bionic thief to grab whatever they wanted. "Lois, you were a witness to this. Were you too, Clark?" a husky, yet feminine, voice asked. Neither Lois nor Clark answered immediately. "No, he wasn't." Lois finally answered for her partner who appeared to be tongue-tied in the presence of Mayson Drake whom, Lois speculated, a few desperate men might possibly find attractive. At any rate, Clark Kent clearly lost his power of speech when the assistant District Attorney was around. The thought flattened her brief euphoria of the last half hour. But Lois was wrong. Oblivious now to those around him, Clark looked at the picture, reliving again the shock of the moment when he had understood precisely what had happened. What he had done. Metallo was dying, and he was dying because Superman had, without thinking, used one of his arsenal of tricks, had even made a flippant remark before using the heat vision, like some kid trying to be cool in the schoolyard. Then, with an intense blast of heat vision, he had liquefied Johnny's robotic legs, disabling him so that he could not move and so making it possible for Rollie Vale to complete what Superman had started: to end Corbin's life. Automatically, as soon as he understood what was happening to Corbin, Superman had looked to Lois, seeking her reaction, and had met the sorrow in her dark eyes. And heard Lucy's heart-breaking sobs as she sank to her knees and bowed over her dying boyfriend. Then, as Lois had rushed to her sister, Superman had fled upward, seeking refuge in the cloudless sky. He was appalled at what had just happened. He had acted impulsively. Had there been no other way to stop Corbin? Since the man's robotic body was powered by kryptonite, he probably could have defeated Superman, just as he had done a couple of days earlier in that brief back alley skirmish. But Superman had been caught off guard then, Clark countered, had not expected to feel the sudden pain and the weakening of his body which the kryptonite caused. Was it that beating to which he had reacted when he'd blasted Corbin's legs? Had he instinctively taken revenge? Superman didn't work like that. Yes, he did. He answered his own question. Metallo had embarrassed and humiliated him. He'd even admitted that to Lois the next day at the Planet. And so, like a street thug, Superman had overreacted, not thought about what he was doing. Metallo.... It was a comic book name pinned on a human being by the tabloids, he reminded himself. The man's name was Johnny Corbin. And now he was dead. The death penalty for a petty criminal. Could Superman have stopped Corbin some other way? Clark asked himself. Although the kryptonite inside Corbin's robotic chest cavity would have made Superman progressively weaker, he had nevertheless quickly discovered, as he dodged and sparred with his awkward opponent, that the mineral's effect was limited when he kept a certain distance away. Perhaps there had been some lead in the alloy which encased the robotic body. Superman also had the advantage of being able to fly, so he had leapt upward, then hovered overhead, and blasted Corbin with his superbreath keeping him at bay and knocking him off balance. Corbin's lumbering robotic body lacked agility; sooner or later he would have fallen and Superman could have used his superbreath to keep him on his back until the police arrived. And there was no way Rollie Vale would've been able to get past those flailing bionic arms and legs to get at the chest cavity to grab that power source. So why had Superman given up on that tactic so soon? Couldn't he have continued to distract Corbin until the police showed? The MPD knew of Metallo's strength. Did Superman think they were too stupid to be prepared to handle it? Why did Superman never think of waiting for the police? Did he always have to be the hero? Clark took a deep breath as he recalled all this, but still he could not clear it from his mind, could not focus on what Mayson was saying. Superman had to accept that it was his arrogance and his impulsiveness that had led to Johnny Corbin's death, as surely as if he had made a conscious decision to kill his opponent. That he never intended to kill Corbin, that he abhorred all killing didn't count. What counted was not what he thought, but what he had done--like a good-natured drunk who kills when he climbs behind the steering wheel of a car. Superman had disappeared from Metropolis for the rest of the evening, escaping across the continent. Not to Smallville. He could not bring himself to admit to Martha and Jonathan Kent what he had done, could not face the disappointment that would flicker in their eyes before they comforted him. Instead he'd sped north, to the Arctic. But its icy silence echoed his accusations, rejecting the man who had come there in times of pain before. Springing upward from its unending whiteness, he had returned to Metropolis. To Lois Lane's apartment. And caught her as she was tying her robe after emerging from a bath. More than anything, at that moment, he had needed her comfort, had ached to feel her arms around him. He needed to talk with her about what had happened, to confess. But he'd been stopped, immobile, by the sight of her, bare-legged and fresh-scrubbed, dark hair tied back, and that softness in her eyes that was only ever there for Superman. Finding his voice, he'd made some inane remark, apologizing for losing track of the time, and for making her worry about him. It had been the wrong thing to say. Lois had come to him, sliding her slender hands seductively over his arms and along his shoulders, and he knew, as he met her luminous gaze, that she had misread his intentions. Part of him had longed to submit, to lose himself in her softness, to forget everything; but, somewhere, the stronger part of him knew that to do so would be wrong. How could she want to be with Superman after what he had done? And he had been dismayed. It was obvious Lois still cared for Superman. Stricken, he'd gently pulled her hands away and reminded her of Clark Kent, thanking her for what she'd done for his real self, distancing himself from her. Then she'd said those amazing words, her eyes dark with feeling. "I guess there isn't anything I wouldn't do for him." Confused and off balance, he had confessed his dream to her then, the one he'd abandoned on that night when she'd accepted Luthor's ring and he'd watched, a voyeur, through Luthor's window. "You two are lucky to have each other." Then, as he always did, he disappeared quickly into the night, more bewildered than ever about Lois Lane, and about himself. There had been no sleep that night, only the restless search for distraction as he sped across the continent from one flash point to another, searching for any place where people facing a fire or flood or other catastrophe needed help, trying to escape the images of Lois Lane and Johnny Corbin flickering in his mind. He hadn't bothered to return to his apartment. Instead, when morning came, he'd gone straight to the Planet, immersing himself in his job, and then had left as soon as he'd heard the police report on the MacAdam robbery. Now, that afternoon, as he sat with Lois behind her desk in the busy newsroom of the Daily Planet, he confronted the accusation in Mayson Drake's angry face and knew that she, more than Lois Lane, understood exactly what Superman had become. As if from a distance, he heard Lois reply to Mayson's question. "No, Clark wasn't there." "Where were you, then, Clark?" Mayson repeated. "You'd just escaped from the Vales so you couldn't have been far away." Again, in the remote part of his mind, he heard Lois answer. "He'd gone for help. Superman came while he was gone." God, Clark thought, that sounds so feeble. Doesn't Lois get it? No, she doesn't. That had been clear at her apartment last night. "Clark?" Mayson's tone was insistent. "Like Lois said." "Mayson, why is the DA's office so interested in this anyway?" "Lois, Superman is a vigilante, and this photo proves it. Would Johnny Corbin be dead if Superman hadn't done this?" Mayson leaned forward, tapping her index finger on Metallo's picture, just below where his knees should have been. "Superman, of all people, had no need to go that far. Given his powers--" She spoke the word derisively. "- -he could have easily immobilized him and waited for the police. He used excessive force." She enunciated the last two words slowly, her precision giving them emphasis. "When he did so, he must have understood that death was a probable consequence of his action, and so that action was criminally negligent." "Metallo was a thug, Mayson. He'd stolen, he'd threatened my sister. He had to be stopped." "I figured you'd defend Superman, Lois. But what about you, Clark? You're awfully quiet. Don't tell me you're not having some doubts." "Mayson, I... I..." Clark hesitated and was relieved when Lois again jumped in. "Of course he's not having doubts. He's just can't believe what you're saying!" Mayson looked directly at Lois. "Lois, a couple of weeks ago you gave the MPD a hard time over what you called 'excessive use of force'. Different rules for Superman? Is he above the law?" "No." Clark rose from his chair and spoke decisively. "Superman is not above the law." The suggestion of a smile softened Mayson's intensity. "I knew you'd agree, Clark." Then she shifted her gaze to Lois. "The DA's office will need to talk to you, Lois, and to Lucy, and also to Jimmy Olsen." Shocked, Lois met the other woman's eyes. "You're not serious. You can't press charges against Superman!" "We're waiting for the autopsy results on Corbin before deciding exactly how to proceed." Lois had no idea how to respond to Mayson. She understood only too well the logic of the woman's argument. Hadn't she, too, watched in horror as the grey metal of Johnny's artificial legs dissolved beneath him, bringing him to his knees? The terror on his face as he understood exactly what was happening to him and the pain in Lucy's sobs had haunted Lois last night, keeping her from sleep. After having talked to the police and comforting her sister, she'd returned to the Planet to write up the story of the Vale brothers, attaching Clark's name to it as well as her own even though he hadn't reappeared at the Planet by the time she left. Exhausted and on edge, she'd finally got back to her apartment a couple of hours later, and had headed immediately for the amniotic security of a warm bath. She'd even put on a romantic, distancing, fantasy CD in an attempt to forget what had happened. Then, just after she'd emerged from her soak, Superman had come, entering through the tall living room window which she always kept unlatched. God, she'd made a pass at him. Given the turmoil in her mind, she'd had no idea she was behaving so bizarrely, until after it was all over. It was as though somebody else were in control of her body. As though the lyrics she'd listened to during her bath had brainwashed her... "I've got a crush on you..." He had rebuffed her, of course. Then he had told her how brave she was for helping Clark when he'd been kidnapped by the Vales. She'd replied with a truth she only half realized, that there wasn't anything that she wouldn't do for Clark, surprised that Superman would even think it necessary to mention how she and Jimmy had rescued Clark from the Vale brothers' lab. And why, she wondered, had Superman looked at her like that, as though he had been searching for something important, when he'd said she and Clark were lucky to have each other? Then he'd turned, striding away from her, and left her apartment without a backward glance. Confused and stricken, Lois had phoned Clark, needing to talk to him, to see him, but she'd got only the impersonal voice of his answering machine. She'd replaced the phone without leaving a message, feeling more alone than she'd ever felt before. They didn't have each other, did they? Then, unsure of just about everything, she had curled up in a fetal position on her bed, numb, unable to sleep. Now, as she looked across her desk at Mayson Drake, she remembered Rollie Vale's dash across the pavement to grab the kryptonite which powered Johnny's bionic body. She had been shocked to see the green crystal. So what had happened to it? Did the police have it now? And what would they make of it? The public didn't know that kryptonite could kill Superman; she had kept that information a secret last month when he'd been shot by Arianna Carlin. So there was no way Mayson could possibly know that Superman had no choice but to take down Johnny. Lois herself had not understood that until she'd seen Vale take the kryptonite. Surely, there hadn't been any other way for Superman. Had there? Why did she even have that doubt? Why that vague feeling that somehow Superman had acted less than super? Less than heroic. Lois darted a quick look at Clark. Did he know that kryptonite could kill Superman? He must. He was Superman's friend. Surely Superman must have told him. Did Clark know that Metallo's battery pack was kryptonite? She must ask him. He hadn't been there to see Vale pull it from Johnny's chest cavity so, unless something had happened while Clark had been held hostage, then he might not know. Why was he so quiet? He'd barely said anything. She sensed, without asking, that he was deeply upset. But about what exactly? That his friend was in trouble? Or because, deep down, he agreed with Mayson? She shifted her gaze back to Mayson. "The DA's office is premature then, Mayson. Hostility to Superman isn't enough to build a case on." Mayson flushed, then her eyes flashed. "Nor does the quality of a victim's character determine whether the law is enforced. Lois, the law is what protects us. You and me. But we have to protect the law, too. When we disregard it, when we flout it, even if we feel it's for the right reason, then we weaken both it and what we are. That goes for Superman, too. Especially Superman. I'll be back." Abruptly, she turned, then strode toward the elevator, her staccato heels telegraphing her determination. "Clark!" "I know, Lois." "They won't do this. Superman is too popular." "Listen to what you're saying, Lois." His voice was harsh. She averted her eyes. Popularity was no defense. "So maybe this time we have no choice but to wait for the DA to make the next move." "We wait," he agreed. "I hate waiting, Clark." That made him smile at last, and, he reached for the ghost of his former self, willing himself to block what Mayson had said. "It'll be character building, Lois. Patience." She made a face at him, then turned to her computer with a sigh. "And I have exactly half an hour to rewrite a dog show." * * * Inside Perry White's office Franklin Stern the new owner of the Daily Planet, Franklin Stern, and Perry White were arguing, bass voices rumbling over point and counterpoint. Both were large, dominant men, but Stern's deeply resonant voice, his higher executive power, and the fact that he had, by virtue of being the visitor, gained control of the small office's territory, meant that the force was with him and not with Perry White. Immobile, the editor-in-Chief of the best newspaper in the country sat sandwiched between his desk and the wall of books behind him. "Perry, we've got to cut staff. There's no other way." "Dammit, Franklin. We've just cut staff. This place is gutted, emptier than a church the week after Christmas. Our reporters are stretched thinner than a see-through band-aid as it is." "They can work smarter. Hell, we all can. The Planet's still hemorrhaging red ink." "Capital costs from rebuilding, Franklin. Luthor's bomb ripped the guts out of this paper. We can absorb those costs, but it'll take time." "An accountant's shell game, Perry," Stern said as he paced the office. "Money is money--I don't care what envelope it's in." "Just look at these circulation figures." Perry pulled a print-out from a pile of loose paper on his desk and brandished it before Stern. "Climbing steadily. Today's numbers are gonna be the highest we've had since Luthor's takeover." Stern picked up a copy of the Planet from Perry's desk. "Great shot by Olsen, Perry. There's your circulation boost right there. Kent's article is good too. That young man impresses me." He dropped the paper back on Perry's desk. "*Lane* and Kent," Perry firmly corrected him. "They are both impressive." Stern shot him a critical look. "Sentiment has no place in business, Perry. I know she was your protege but she's not a sure bet anymore. She takes far too many unreasonable risks." "That young woman's got the best instincts of anyone I've ever worked with. She's the finest investigative reporter in the country. Let's be absolutely clear on that." "Not this past couple of months, she hasn't been. Look at the fiasco with Viologic. Looked like she'd managed to get her source, what's his name, killed. Fluke that she didn't. She almost managed to get herself killed, too. But what she did manage to do was get the Planet sued." Stern stopped in mid rant to look directly at Perry. "Do you know how much insurance premiums for the Planet have increased this year? Accounting showed me this morning. The notice said the increase was to cover 'the consequences of excessive risk-taking by reporters and the increased potential for lawsuits'." "Bullshit!" Perry exploded, as he rose from behind his desk. "Sure Lane took a risk on the Viologic story, but it paid off. That's good reporting! And she's got the Kerths to prove it. She's the youngest triple award winner in its history. She doesn't wait for some spin doctor's press release to drop in her lap. She goes out and gets the story. Besides, you think the Star doesn't have these costs? You and I both know insurance guys'll use any excuse they can to raise premiums." "Look, Perry. You know I had my doubts about rehiring Lane when the Planet reopened. That's why I insisted on the short term contract. She's supposed to be an investigative reporter, yet, look how easily Lex Luthor conned her. That man nearly destroyed the Planet, one of the greatest institutions in this city--in this country! But Lois Lane, award winning investigative reporter, was duped by the guy. Even when she was on the inside, in a position to know more about him than anyone else was. There must have been clues. Hell, I knew the man was shady. Where were her instincts then? Where was her initiative then? Where were her smarts? The biggest crime story in the country, right in her lap, and she missed it!" "She's not the first person nor the last one, either, to trip over a matter of the heart, Franklin. But she's on the ball again. Just look at what she's done since we've reopened--that Carlin woman's plot against Superman, the Intergang expose..." "Both written with Kent. What has she done on her own since she's been back?" Stern finished his third circuit of Perry's office as he spoke, coming to a stop beside the editor's desk where he was momentarily distracted by Perry's new computer. Then he noticed the story still on its monitor. He read the heading: "World Trade Conference: Dog Show in Metropolis"; he skimmed the rest. "This is what she does on her own," he said. His deep voice amplified his disapproval and made it more ominous. "It was just a joke, Franklin." "A joke?" he rumbled. "Kent's carrying her. He's the one who won the Kerth last month. She wasn't even nominated." "Kent is good," Perry said, his pride in his other star reporter evident. "Absolutely no doubt about that. But Lois Lane is damn good. There's no doubt about that either," he finished, emphasizing his last words. "None. She's done some fine work this year, and especially," he paused to lock eyes with Stern, "especially in the last two months. Make no mistake, Franklin--Kent does not carry her." Silence smothered the room as the two faced off. Then Stern spoke. "We need to cut staff." He reached for the door. "Lane has three weeks left on her contract to prove herself." * * * * * * "Sorry, Jim. It took a little longer to finish up than I thought," Clark apologized as he met up with Jimmy Olsen. He'd spotted his friend waiting by the massive front entrance of the Metropolis Dome where, that night, the Metro Marvels were slated to take on the Toronto Raptors. A quick diversion of an out of control dual transport truck had made Clark a few minutes late, and he hoped the game had not yet started. "No problem. I just got here myself. The Chief sure has us running right now. Hope the financials pick up soon so we get some slack." Jimmy handed his ticket to the attendant as he spoke and the two men made their way along the grey concrete corridor to gate six. "Stern was in with him late this afternoon." "I didn't notice him," Clark said as he checked the row number on his ticket. Jimmy grinned at his friend. "You never do when you're talking to Lois." Clark's eyes acknowledged Jimmy's hit. "So what were they talking about?" Jimmy grimaced as they began the ascent to the Dome's peak. "Expenses, I guess. The quarterly report's out tomorrow and rumour says it's gonna be bad. Hope I get to keep that raise I just got." "You will. It was long overdue, Jim." "My Metallo shot boosted circulation," he added proudly. "The Chief showed me the numbers this afternoon before I left." "That's great." But it was hard for Clark to muster enthusiasm for the one-day circulation boost when it had been achieved by a photo of a distraught Lucy Lane comforting her dying boyfriend. Jimmy's face sobered as he looked at Clark. "CK, Lois isn't going to lose her job, is she?" "What? What makes you think that?" "Something I overheard this afternoon." "Yeah?" "I was waiting outside Perry's office. He and Stern were hassling about something but I'm not sure what. When Stern opened the door to leave the office, the last thing he said to Perry was, 'Lane has three weeks to prove herself'." Clark's face registered his shock. "You must have heard it wrong, Jim." "I don't know. Perry wasn't too pleased with me when I didn't get that picture of Superman." "What picture?" Clark asked, wondering where Jimmy was going with this tangent. "A few days ago. Of Superman, after Metallo... uh kinda roughed him up. I had the shot lined up but Lois stopped me--she didn't want anyone to see Superman vulnerable, she said. Perry was pretty cheesed that I missed it. He called it a 'once in a century defining moment' shot. You know how he gets." Jimmy grimaced. "He spoke to Lois after about it. I figure he must've chewed her out, too, because when I started to take that shot yesterday, at first she went to stop me but then she backed off." "I see," Clark said grimly. So Lois had covered for Superman and the Planet had lost a great shot. "Jim, Perry chews us all out regularly--it's his idea of a management style." "But what if Perry mentioned it to Stern?" "Relax, Jimmy. He wouldn't do that." But Clark was worried by what Stern had said to Perry about Lois. He knew, deep down, that she wasn't yet back in full 'Lane' mode. When they'd first started back at the Planet, after it had reopened, she'd been brittle, tightly wound, yet somehow not really focused either. She'd admitted to him that she hadn't been sleeping well. At times, there'd be these awkward silences between them, something that had never been there before, even back when he'd first started at the Planet and they were both trying to score points to impress the other. At least he had been. Still, most of the time she was on her game--it was just sometimes she took these risks ... was she taking more than she had before? He'd been shocked when he'd fished her, gasping for breath, out of a barrel in the river during the Viologic mess. And what had possessed her to break into Gretchen Kelly's chamber of horrors to get Waldecker? She could have been killed. After the Luthor disaster, he'd taken to reading Freud to try to figure out what Lois might be going through. It hadn't helped. Maybe he should try Jung or Adler or... His thoughts were interrupted by a huge roar from the crowd. The anthem had ended and the game begun. He forced himself to concentrate on it, on the intricate weaving of skilled athletes as they manoeuvred, dodged, then triumphed. * * * * * Chapter 2: When in Disgrace with Fortune The next morning began with one of those routine planning meetings--the ones with the hidden agenda. But since Perry White was as good at concealing agendas as a cat with an exposed tail was at hiding under a sofa, everyone got the message by the end of the meeting. Cut expenses. Fifteen minutes later, the rumour was out that there would be job cuts and that if the paper wasn't in the black by the next quarter, it would be sold. Stern stuff. Lois tried to ignore all this. She couldn't lose her job, could she? What job? she reminded herself--your contract is up soon. A dark wave of anxiety lapped at the fringes of her soul. The only safety, security she'd ever known had been here, at the Planet. The place she'd helped to destroy last spring... She took a deep breath. She could do this, help the Planet rebuild, keep her job. Don't think about anything else, focus, she told herself. As she absently sorted through her e-mails, she wished she had something more spectacular to show for the previous couple of months... If only she'd won a Kerth last month. No, no, she blocked that thought, deeply ashamed as she recalled her petty, self-centred reaction to Clark's nomination. He deserved that award, and she had been fiercely proud of him as she'd listened to his acceptance speech. But, right now, she would feel a little more secure with at least a nomination to point to. She had written some good pieces last year, before Lex. Why hadn't at least one of them been acknowledged? Were her colleagues sending her a message that she had to bear some of the responsibility for nearly wrecking one of the best newspapers in the country--no make that the world-- when Lex had so casually blown it up? She hadn't written a resume in five years. The new guy, the one with the grey eyes, stopped by her desk and she smiled at him. Those grey eyes seemed so familiar. He was younger than she had at first supposed, about the same age as she was. "Maybe I'm not stretching enough," she said to him. "I need to get my edge back. Take some risks." "Mad Dog Lane," he teased. "They think I never knew they called me that, but I did. I loved it. It was a great nick. I'd kill to hear them call me that again." "Where, oh where, did Mad Dog go?" Lois grinned. "Ran away?" "When was the last time you saw Mad Dog?" "Just before I got engaged to Lex." She spoke the words softly, musing, forgetting the man she was talking to, as she gazed unseeingly at the large window which formed much of the north wall of the newsroom. "Hey, Lois, talking to yourself?" Lois snapped back, found herself facing Jimmy, the new hire nowhere to be seen. Maybe he would come back later. "Jimmy, what's the new guy's name?" "The new guy? Don't think I've..." He stopped speaking as he noticed the image of a woman on one of the several TVs which hung suspended from apertures fixed on the nearest wall. The sets were constantly tuned to different news channels, there as a perpetual reminder of what the competition was finding newsworthy. "Hey, isn't that the new Assistant DA?" Lois turned to look at the screen, noticing, out of the corner of her eye, that Clark Kent was just entering the bullpen, his right hand tugging at his tie. For some reason she found herself distracted by that nervous mannerism of his. Why was he adjusting his tie so often? If he was uncomfortable in it, why did he wear one? Clark came to stand by her desk and all three watched in silence as two reporters, mikes thrust out aggressively, pursued Mayson Drake as she mounted the steps of the courthouse. "Ms. Drake, is it true the DA's office plans to charge Superman with criminal negligence in the death of Johnny Corbin?" Mastering a flicker of annoyance, Mayson stopped, then spoke clearly. "Not at this time. The Coroner's report will be out tomorrow. The Vale brothers are facing charges, but the MPD is still investigating the full circumstances around Mr. Corbin's initial disappearance, his involvement in the robberies, and his death." "Ms. Drake, you're on record accusing Superman of vigilantism. Did he cross the line this time?" "Gentleman, I'm always concerned when undue force is used in the apprehension of alleged criminals." With that she turned from the reporters and walked briskly into the courthouse. "Smooth," Jimmy smiled appreciatively. "Jimmy, what are you saying? She didn't say 'no'!" "Take it easy, Lois. There's no way they're gonna charge Superman. I can't figure why they even sent those two guys down to the courthouse." "Didn't you read the Star this morning, Jim?" "No." The reply came from both Jimmy and Lois. "I did," Clark said grimly. Looking around he spotted a copy of the Star on Lois's desk, unopened. That was odd, he thought--she usually began her day with a quick look at the opposition. He opened the newspaper to the front page. It was dominated by a blow-up of Jimmy's photograph and, beside it, a headline shouted: Man of Steel's Laser Vision Lethal What followed was a brief recap of Corbin's death, questioning whether Superman had used his powerful heat vision responsibly. The article included a quote from Mayson Drake, saying much the same thing she had said to Lois and Clark the day before. Lois scanned it quickly. "Over-exaggerated sensationalist garbage," she snapped indignantly. "They can't get away with this!" She stood up quickly. "Come on, Clark." "Come on, where, Lois? Just what are you going to do?" "We're going across to the Chief Pathologist's office." "You heard Mayson. They're not ready yet. Besides what are you hoping to prove--that Superman had nothing to do with Corbin's death, that Superman did not destroy his legs? That the whole thing did not happen?" His tone was derisive. Their eyes locked for a second, and Lois had this momentary flash that she did not know this man, that he was as remote from her as any stranger on the street. Then she saw the defiance fade from his dark eyes and felt his hand touch her arm. "Look, Lois. Let this one go. Wait until that report comes out. Let's go follow up on those stolen emeralds. Perry thinks we're onto something there and..." "And we could use a good story," she finished for him, not happy to put aside her impulse to defend the superhero. But she knew Clark was right. Until the coroner was finished his work, there was nothing concrete for them to use in Superman's defense. Still... "If we don't defend him, who will?" "What if he can't be defended?" he countered. "Clark, you can't possibly believe that!" "A man is dead, Lois." Brutally, he continued, "Just because you've got a crush on him doesn't make what Superman did right." She snatched her arm away, her eyes blazing, but she said nothing. Clark's accusation stung--did he now have so little respect for her as a professional that he thought she'd base her reporting on her emotions? He'd made her feel like a hero-worshipping adolescent. She turned away from him, reaching for the purse on her desk. "Why don't we split up this morning? One of us see MacAdam and the other Francesca Albertini?" "We need to follow up with the police too. Maybe a call to Henderson?" Clark added, relieved she hadn't exploded after his crack about the crush. What had he been thinking? The last thing he wanted was to hurt her, let alone cause a scene in the newsroom. World War III he didn't need. "Look, I'm sorry, Lois." When she didn't respond he added, "So... what about we meet for lunch to compare notes?" "Sounds good." But she didn't meet his eyes. "OK, then--Capelli's at noon?" "Sure." He stood for a moment waiting for her to look at him but she was busy stuffing things into her purse. He had upset her he knew, and he realized he had let his bitterness about her feelings for Superman get to him. He'd controlled that resentment for so long. Why can't I do it now? he thought. Why can't I let her go, why can't I stop loving her? Then he remembered her words two nights ago. "I guess there isn't anything I wouldn't do for him." He turned and walked toward the elevator. * * * Lois watched him walk away, trying to figure out what had just happened. Something was wrong; it wasn't like Clark to lash out like that. Was it that article in the Star? He must be more upset about Superman than he had been willing to admit. Or was it her? But why? She frowned; this was getting her nowhere. Impatiently, she grabbed the offending newspaper, strode quickly to Perry's office and placed one foot across the threshold of his open door. "Come on in, Lois." Perry looked up from his computer monitor. "Have you read this, Chief?" She waved the front section of the Star as she spoke. "By this, I'm guessing you don't mean the item about the Congressman and his missing girlfriend," Perry said dryly. "Perry, the Planet has to take a stand on this." "We are, Lois. I'm working on an editorial right now." He motioned her to take a look at his monitor. She read silently for a moment, then said, "That's fine, Perry, but shouldn't it be stronger? The Star's piece is pretty inflammatory." He narrowed his eyes. "Yellow journalists, each and every one of 'em. Bottom feeding mudslingers. What in tarnation did they expect Superman to do?" Lois smiled, then read a sentence from his editorial: "Superman acted, as he always has, in the defense of our city. This time his actions prevented the escape of a man with a record of petty crime who had been cruelly transformed by the Vale brothers into a lethal machine which no mere mortal could stop." "I like that, Chief. He did, you know--they'd kidnapped Clark and threatened Lucy." "That'll be in there, too. Now you do *your* job and bring me the best darn story you've ever written." "You've got it, Chief." He watched her leave, troubled. * * * * * Clark stopped by police headquarters first, hoping to catch Henderson. He was in luck. Henderson acknowledged Clark's presence with a sardonic raise of his right eyebrow, a greeting which some who knew the man would have described as effusive. "What can I do for you, Kent?" "An update on the MacAdam break-in. Any suspects yet?" "No. Forensics has been all over that place--clean job. The perp didn't waste time on any display pieces. Went straight for what he wanted, and was in and out in the time the alarm sounded and security got to the scene." "How long would that be?" "Maximum five minutes. That's how long it takes the security company to get on site once the alarm triggers." "How long before your guys arrive?" "On a good day, ten minutes after the security company alerts us." "A bit slow?" Henderson shrugged his shoulders, his bony frame lending the gesture an awkward grace. "We're not supermen." Clark smiled. "Sometimes, maybe." "Now that type of comment is not something you learned from that partner of yours." Henderson grabbed a fax which was just emerging like a newborn from the groaning womb of an old machine close to his desk. "You two not working much together these days, though," he commented as he quickly scanned the fax. "No. We're short-staffed. Are you certain that it was only one man?" "Pretty much. Tape from the surveillance camera shows just one figure which the infrared motion detectors located throughout the premises corroborate." He grabbed a photograph from the corner of his desk and rotated it so that it was visible to Clark right side up, a courtesy he wouldn't have shown to most other reporters. The picture showed a man in dark pants and sweater, wearing a balaclava hood. Judging by his height compared to that of the display counter which he was passing, Clark thought the man to be of medium height and build, perhaps a couple inches shorter than himself. "He leave any clues?" "No prints, nothing we can find. He knew what he was doing. He went directly to the safe at the back of the work-room, took the loose emeralds, the Albertini necklace, and a couple other items. He didn't touch the cheap stuff- -you know, the stuff that's only marginally more expensive than you or I would ever be able to afford." Clark grinned at the image of Henderson actually buying jewellery for someone. Then he asked the obvious question. "So he had some knowledge of the layout?" "Must've, to get in and out that quickly. But that's all we've got right now." "He forced entry though. So he didn't know the security code." "That's right." It was then that Clark noticed the morning papers on Henderson's desk, the Star on top with its lead article ringed in black marker. He gestured toward it. "You working on that one, too?" "The DA's office is riding it right now." Henderson's tone was non-committal. "What do you think?" "Doesn't matter what I think, Kent--I'm just a foot soldier around here." "The police got to the scene pretty quickly." "Yeah. That trap Lane and her sister had set up for Corbin. Olsen called us just as Lucy got there. Why she couldn't have come to us earlier with the plan beats me." "Because you would have talked her out of it?" Clark suggested. "Would have tried," Henderson amended. "Has anyone ever talked her out of anything? But the plan worked," he added grudgingly. "You were freed and we got the Vales." "And Corbin." Clark repeated his question. He needed to know what Henderson, whom he respected, thought about what had happened. "Is Superman negligent in his death, Bill?" His words came out slowly and with a quiet intensity which he had not intended. Henderson looked at him closely. "At this point, I'm not sure. That's the legal answer." He paused for a second. "The Vales played Frankenstein with Corbin. But that's not the issue, either. "The real question is this: did Superman have an alternative way of stopping Corbin? That's the dilemma police officers deal with routinely. How do I apprehend this guy without using undue force? Without violating his rights? I have to make the right decision in a split second, often when emotions are running high." Henderson leaned forward as he continued. "Now is Superman like the rest of us? Does he ever panic? Does he have emotions? I raise these points because they may suggest that, for Superman, the circumstances can never be extenuating. It should be easier for him to do the right thing because he has no emotions to block his making a logical decision. Plus, he's invulnerable which also has to be taken into account. Self-defense is not an arguable defense because Superman can't be killed." "So he is negligent, then?" Henderson sighed wearily. "I'm not sure. Same answer as before. Remember Corbin was super-strong too. We knew from the earlier robberies that an ordinary man could not stop him. So we'd worked out a response for the next encounter. Essentially, Corbin had become a low grade tank, and just as it's possible for a soldier to destabilize a tank, we had developed a way to destabilize Corbin. Nevertheless, we would have appreciated Superman's input on the problem." Clark looked surprised. "Why?" "Apparently, a few days ago, Corbin had gone a couple of rounds with Superman and come out the winner. At least, according to your paper Superman was roughed up, but the story was worded so vaguely we weren't sure exactly what happened. Lane wrote it--ambiguous, not quite her old stuff. Anyway, we would like to have talked to Superman about how it happened." Clark grimaced at Henderson's criticism, understanding why Lois had blunted her report, but to defend her was to argue her lack of objectivity and that was a poor defense to make for a reporter. "So how does the dusting up Corbin gave Superman make a difference?" "It could provide a context for Superman's action--help us decide if he overreacted or responded reasonably." "So the DA's office is on the mark then?" "Officially, Drake has a point. Off the record--" He shot Clark a warning glance. "--I'm not losing sleep. Corbin wasn't your average respectable citizen, even before the Vales got hold of him. Plus this city owes Superman. Besides, it's election season again, and the DA's not going to win any votes bashing Superman. Look what happened the last time the city did that, during the heat wave last year--they came out looking like fools." "You've never once called Corbin 'Metallo', Bill." "I may not be one of his chief mourners, but he wasn't a freak. He was a man. What the Vales did to him was unspeakable." * * * * * Outside, on the pavement, Clark decided to walk the few blocks to Dimitri MacAdam's place of business. As he walked, he mulled over what Henderson had said. It hadn't made him feel any better about what had happened with Corbin. But if Henderson had trouble with the ethics of the situation, they clearly took a back seat to more pragmatic concerns. Not too surprising, Clark thought, given what Henderson faced every day on the street. However, Clark was chilled by Henderson's belief that Superman had no emotions, and yet as he thought about it, wasn't that the image he had been so carefully trying to construct ever since he'd first appeared in Metropolis? He'd played the role; done everything he could to keep the world from guessing the truth, to keep himself remote and apart. The man who didn't need... need to feel, to laugh, to sleep, to eat for god's sake, that ridiculous little lie he'd told Lois last year, when he'd been under house arrest during the heat wave that he was supposed to have caused. Fearful of what would happen if he were alone with her for any length of time as Superman, he'd tried to keep her at bay, to keep his distance from her. Anything to prevent her from suspecting that he was Clark Kent. He sighed and looked up to the sky, seeing nothing. The man who didn't need to feel... to love. Super Man. Able to leap tall buildings. So why was Henderson's observation bothering him? His ruse had worked. * * * * * Francesca Albertini's upper west side townhouse was situated on a narrow street where the pinnate leaves of locust trees filtered the autumn sun, scattering patterns of light and shadow on the pale pavement. The graceful four story building sat back from the street, aloof behind the black swirls and bars of a delicate wrought iron fence. The mansion had been in Francesca's family for over a hundred years, built by her great-grandfather, and two years ago, after the death of her powerful second husband, she had returned from Italy to make it her permanent residence. Feeling a little nervous, Lois walked across the small brick courtyard to the front entrance and eyed the brass buzzer set in the dark brickwork beside the doorframe. She had been here before, but she'd come then as a guest, the fiancee of the third wealthiest man in the world. She remembered her excitement that evening at getting to go behind one of those doors which were closed to ordinary people, to her. She had felt that night as if she were on the verge of discovery, of understanding something important that had always eluded her. Was that one of the reasons why she had accepted that first date with Lex Luthor? Then kept seeing him? Then agreed to marry him? When all along she knew that she did not love him. Was that the kind of woman her ambition had made her? She had not found what she was seeking behind those closed doors. Still, that evening hadn't been boring. The Governor of New Troy had been there, as had the Vice-President of the United States and the heads of three of the largest corporations in the world. Make that four, if you counted Lex. And the corporation that Francesca had inherited on her husband's death was not inconsequential, either. In fact, the current buzz in the financial district was that Albertini Inc was one of the key players in a bid to take over and restructure what was left of the legitimate side of Lex's empire. However, this morning Lois was here as a reporter for the Daily Planet, not as someone who any longer held automatic entree behind these substantial doors. That thought pleased her and her nervousness disappeared. She was here in her own right--because she was Lois Lane of the Daily Planet. She jabbed the buzzer. A middle-aged woman, conservatively attired in a navy woollen skirt and sweater, opened the door. Lois explained that she had an appointment and, seconds later, she was following the woman down a spacious hall and into a small conservatory which overlooked the back garden, an urban oasis ablaze with a broad ribbon of late blooming crimson and purple asters. Francesca Albertini sat at a small antique table which had been placed in front of the window so that anyone who sat there could catch the morning sun. Slender and very beautiful, she was the type of woman who could be any age between thirty-five and fifty but who Lois knew was closer to the latter. She smiled. "How good to see you again, Lois. Please sit down." She gestured to a chair opposite her. "How are you doing, my dear? Such an unpleasant time you've had since we first met." Her voice was a rich contralto, suggestive of warm cognac and intimate conversation. "I'm doing fine," Lois responded, hoping it was not too much of a lie. "And you? And your children?" "We're all very well. Andrea has just started her studies at the Sorbonne--she's so excited--and Alastair graduated from Harvard last spring," she added proudly. A maid entered, bearing a coffee pot and cups on a silver tray which she quietly set on the table in front of Francesca, then left as unobtrusively as she had entered. "Do you take cream and sugar, Lois?" "Just black. Thanks." She accepted the coffee and took a sip. "Do you mind if I ask you a few questions about your stolen necklace, Francesca?" She wondered why she had phrased the question so deferentially. For a moment Francesca's calm retreated, replaced by a flash of anger in her green eyes. "How could Dimitri be so careless? I had confidence in that man, Lois. I entrusted my precious necklace to him. My husband gave it to me on our wedding day, and his father gave it to his mother on their wedding day, and his grandfather on his. It has been in his family for generations, a gift from Napoleon. It's irreplaceable. It must be found!" "I know it's very valuable, Francesca, but I had no idea about its history." Francesca proceeded to tell Lois the story of how the great Emperor Napoleon had been so entranced by the ethereal beauty of the young wife of Count Albertini that he had felt compelled to present her with the necklace in tribute. "Why did you take it to Dimitri's?" "It needed a repair. I had worn it to the Metropolis Opera gala last week and noticed, when I took it off afterwards, that the stone set next to the clasp was loose. When I checked the necklace more closely, a couple of the other stones felt wobbly, too. So I took it to Dimitri, asked him to inspect the stones and tighten the claws of any which were in danger of coming loose." "Did anyone know you had taken it in?" "Not really. Mary, my housekeeper knew of course, because it was she who actually took the necklace across town to Dimitri's. I may have mentioned it at breakfast, so perhaps Janine knew." "Janine?" "The young woman who brought us coffee." "Oh," Lois said. "Has she worked with you long?" Francesca smiled. "Now you're sounding like that intriguing man from the police department. I have no reason to doubt Janine--she has been with us for two years, ever since we returned to Metropolis." "Who did you breakfast with..." Lois's question was interrupted by the appearance in the doorway of two young men. "Alastair! You're back!" "Hi, Mama. It's great to be home." The two men entered the room, and suddenly it seemed charged with energy. Alastair, a darker and decidedly masculine version of his mother, stooped and kissed that lady's cheek. Straightening up, he said, "Mama, this is Jake Lamont, the best tennis player in the universe and also the skipper of the coolest little sloop in Metropolis Harbour." Francesca beamed--there was no other word for it, Lois thought--at the two young men, both of whom were, in Lois's opinion, just about the most gorgeous examples of male youth this side of a movie screen, or at least this side of an Armani ad. But as Francesca introduced her, it was clear to Lois that her brief interview was over; the woman was now clearly interested only in hearing about her son's week away. * * * * * Lois had been waiting for Clark Kent in front of Capelli's- -well, more truthfully pacing the street on which Capelli's was located--for the last twenty minutes. She feared Clark was going to stand her up. It wouldn't be the first time. As she ranged up and down the block, she thought back to that morning, to his crack about her crush on Superman. It had stung and she'd wanted to lash back at him. It'd been like that this fall between them, since the Planet had reopened. Hot and cold--actually, more like warm and cold. At times, it was like nothing had changed--they were best friends and, at times, she even suspected maybe a bit more. Then, just as she was daydreaming about what that 'more' would be like, he was making sarcastic cracks about coins in phone booths, believing that people who looked like her were actually her even though they were doing and saying things that were so not her, holding out on her--that scoop on the runaway roller coaster at the Metro fair grounds-- *and* making chocolate eyes at blonde DAs! Lois took a deep breath and calmed down. Thank god she hadn't lashed back at him. The newsroom was no place for soap op hysterics and she'd already put on enough of a show last spring--the Lex and Lois show. Can a ditzy girl reporter with a secret passion for a superhero find happiness among the ruins of the Daily Planet with the world's wealthiest master criminal? She sighed. Maybe Clark had a point. A small, nano-point, perhaps, but still--a point. Besides, she'd sensed that he'd regretted his crack the moment he'd said it. She was about a block away from Capelli's when she looked across the street and finally spotted Clark coming out of the narrow alley, which ran alongside the old Dow Building across from the restaurant. That was odd, she thought. Why would he have been in that alley? She smiled as he raised his hand to straighten the knot of his tie. Maybe that was the explanation, she speculated. He takes his ties off when he's not in public and he uses alleys as a place to put them back on again. No--that was too weird. Maybe he gets his ties in dumpsters in alleys! Yeah, that was more like it. She watched him now as he crossed the road, admiring the athletic grace in his stride and the broad line of his shoulders. He wasn't the best looking guy in the universe, certainly not in the same smooth league as Alastair Albertini and Jake Lamont, but he was pretty close, she thought. Besides, there was something about Clark Kent that gave her pleasure whenever she saw him. He had caught sight of her now, smiling in recognition, and her heart did a small dance of joy. It's the weather, she told herself, the sunshine. Don't kid yourself about Clark Kent. Remember what he told you last spring. He's not in love with you. Besides, he's seeing Mayson Drake. This lunch is just business. "What's wrong, Lois? I'm not that late, am I?" "No, no. Sun got in my eyes." He grinned. "It's a great day for cutting the corn stalks back." "What!?" "Sorry. Kansas reference." He grinned. "What we do in the fall, after harvesting." She laughed. "I keep forgetting you're not from around here." "No, Lois, I'm not." Why did she get the feeling he was teasing her when he said that? And that she somehow was not getting the joke. Well, who knew farm humour? She gave him a sidelong glance. "You do know, don't you, Kent, that that's still real obvious, even after over a year in the big city? Well, just to show you that I too can appreciate the great outdoors, why don't we skip Capelli's and walk in the park instead?" "Deal. We can grab a hotdog at the stand on the corner." Catching a green light, they crossed the broad avenue which separated them from Centennial Park. "So was the staff meeting as brutal as Jim said?" Clark asked. "Yeah, I guess." "He said something about job cuts." They reached the sidewalk on the other side of Centennial Park Avenue, and Clark halted his stride to look at the woman beside him. "Perry didn't actually say that--just came down pretty heavy about the need to improve circulation, cut costs--the usual Perry rant. I don't listen to rumours." It was a lie, and she knew he knew it was a lie. Why was it so hard to lie to Clark Kent? Because she knew he would never lie to her? She did listen to rumours, and he knew that she did--the trick in being a good reporter was in knowing which rumours to follow. She could even hear her voice saying that to Clark a couple of weeks after he'd started at the Planet. Clark searched her eyes. "Are you worried, Lois?" "No!" She quickened her pace, walking ahead of him. She wasn't worried. Why would he ask that? She had never even told him about her short term contract. Had he heard something? Rumours? "So how'd the interviews with Henderson and Dimitri go?" Clark sighed. "Henderson confirmed what we already suspected--the robbery was carefully planned, probably a one-man job. They got a surveillance camera capture we can run with the article." He reached into the inner pocket of his suit coat, withdrew the picture, and showed it to her as they walked. "Very generic looking guy," Lois commented. "Yeah, isn't he? Average height, weight." "That balaclava is a nice distinguishing feature, too. There haven't been any other same-type robberies recently, have there?" "Nope, this is a one of a kind event--at the moment, anyway." "So the guy likely knew about and wanted those emeralds. I talked to Francesca..." "Francesca... on a first name basis with the great lady are you?" he teased. "I'd met her before... when I was engaged." "Yeah, I guess your paths would have crossed then." Clark's voice was restrained, tight. Lois flushed, but continued. "Anyway, the necklace has quite a history--would you believe it was a gift from Napoleon to the Albertini family?" "No kidding!" As he spoke, Clark instinctively reached out to pull Lois out of the path of a speeding taxi as she started to jaywalk across the street which led to the park. "They have lights for a reason, Lois." "That cab was speeding!" "Two wrongs, Lois..." "Clark, this is Metropolis--people jaywalk. Every cabby knows that. The man is clearly homicidal!" "The driver was a woman, Lois." "How could you tell? She was driving so fast, she went by in a blur." By this time they had safely crossed the street and were walking toward the hot dog vendor whose cart was habitually stationed at that particular entry to the park. The aroma of hotdogs rotating on a spit curled in the air, enticing disciplined pedestrians off the path of dietary asceticism and onto the comforting freeway of junk food excess. Clark ordered the king-sized extra spicy Polish version of the traditional dog, with extra mustard, while Lois bypassed the opportunity entirely once she noticed that the vendor also carried quality ice cream bars, the sinful ones coated with a thick layer of dark chocolate. They paid for their lunch, then took a broad asphalt path which meandered through the tall trees of Centennial Park. "So what happened at Dimitri's?" Lois asked as she carefully removed the top half of the ice cream bar wrapper. "He has no idea who it could have been. No one in the store, aside from the two jewellers who do the repair work- -and they've worked for MacAdam for over a decade--knew MacAdam had the necklace." "What about the emeralds? How valuable were they?" "Probably about two million, Lois." He sounded astonished by the sum. "So likely it was the loose stones he was after, and the necklace was just a bonus." "Probably. MacAdam hadn't had the emeralds long. He got them two weeks ago." "Now I wonder who buys stolen emeralds." "Me too--I asked Dimitri that and he said high quality stones like those would probably resurface in Europe or the mid-East. They've been rough cut and catalogued, and he has a record of the weight and shape of each stone. He figures they'll be recut into smaller stones to avoid being traced." "Did he still seem more concerned about the necklace?" "No doubt on that score." Clark grinned. "I heard more about your friend, Francesca Albertini, and the havoc she would wreak if she didn't get her necklace back than about the loose gems." By this time they were well inside the park, wandering slowly in the afternoon sun past a grassy field where a couple of impromptu teams were playing lunch hour Frisbee. A badly directed disc soared their way and, in a quick graceful movement, Clark leaped high, caught it, then sent it sailing back towards the man who had fired it in the first place. "Nice one," Lois said admiringly. "Thank you kindly, ma'am," Clark replied, a gleam in his eye. "So how'd things go for you this morning?" "After I left Francesca's I wasted way too much time talking to Mayson Drake. Me and Lucy." "Oh?" Clark's tone changed. "And...?" "That woman has an appallingly rigid mind set," she blurted out, then stopped to look at Clark closely. "Lo-is..." How could he be interested in Mayson Drake, anyway? Mayson disliked Superman, and Clark was Superman's friend. Didn't that make him feel just a tad uncomfortable? A flicker of annoyance crossed her face. "Well, really, Clark, here's Superman giving his all to this city, even putting his life on the line when the Nightfall asteroid threatened us, and what does she do--she tries to charge him like he's some common criminal scuzzbag. She's got this ridiculous, paranoid mistrust of Superman, she..." "So what did she want to know?" Clark cut her off in mid rant. "She just went over the statements Lucy and I gave to the police after the Corbin incident. Having to go over it all again, so soon after it happened, was rough on Lucy," Lois added, remembering how her sister had gulped out what she had witnessed. "She's taking it pretty hard, I guess," Clark said. "Yes, she is. Clark, I wish I could make it better for her. Even though she'd decided to break up with him, there's still the horror, you know?" "I know," Clark said quietly. "I know, Lois. I would give anything... There had to have been some other way for Superman to stop Corbin. I keep going over it, trying to figure out how..." He stopped speaking as he became aware of how closely Lois was watching him. He'd been getting careless around her lately. "You sound like Mayson, Clark." "She does have a point." His eyes had narrowed and his face become a mask. Lois was silent for a few seconds. When she spoke, she lowered her voice so that it was barely audible. "I've been thinking about that, too, Clark. When you were being held hostage by the Vales, did you see anything... ah... did you get any impression of what it was that powered Corbin's robotics?" "Yes." He spoke slowly. "It was a kryptonite crystal, Lois." Lois hesitated, then said carefully. "Kryptonite has some unusual properties." "I know, Lois. It can kill Superman." Lois let out her breath, relieved. So Superman had told him. "I wasn't sure if you knew. But the thing is, no one else knows and they can't know either. Can you imagine how dangerous it would be for him if every crook out there had that information? We have to keep this secret, Clark; we have to protect Superman. It's bad enough we published that story last year about the kryptonite found at Wayne Irig's." "Yeah, I've thought about that, too, Lois." "But the problem is, the DA's office doesn't know about kryptonite. As far as they know, Superman was his normal self when he took on Metallo. I didn't figure it out until I saw Vale grab the crystal from his chest. I have to admit I was shocked by Superman's action until I saw Vale grab that crystal. Then I understood--the presence of kryptonite meant Superman didn't have much choice." Clark didn't reply, and they walked together in silence for a few moments. Lois wondered what he was thinking. Sometimes, she had the feeling that she could read his mind but not right now. Not for a long time, in fact. Right now, he had retreated from her, lost in his own thoughts. "Clark?" He turned to look at her, and she was dismayed by the pain and doubt she saw in his eyes. He looked deeply troubled and, all of a sudden, she understood. "You've lost faith in him, haven't you, Clark." She spoke softly, stating a fact. They were walking past a bicycle rental kiosk whose proprietor had a radio on, tuned to a popular call-in program. The host's voice droned out, all too loudly, "Superman--can he be trusted to use his powers for the common good or are those powers a threat to all of us? Call us with your thoughts, Metropolis." "Oh, great," Clark muttered. Lois stopped walking. "We should listen, Clark. I'm betting Superman will get lots of support." The radio host continued. "Here to give us some background is Professor Matthew Albany of Metro U's law department. Professor Albany, should Superman be above the law?" "Lois, let's get out of here." "Come on, Clark. Talk to me." "About what?" "About what you're thinking! Don't shut me out, Clark." "*Me* shut *you* out? Lois, do you have any idea..." He stopped. "Come on, let's get back to the Planet," he muttered, his body rigid as he quickened his pace. "Clark, don't listen to Mayson. She's wrong. She doesn't know Superman the way I do, the way..." "Lois, you don't know Superman at all!" His voice was harsh. "There are things about him you might never know." Lois snapped her head quickly to look at him. Those words- -almost exactly what Superman had said to her that painful, horrible night last spring in her apartment when she'd confessed her love to him. Dismayed, she knew he must have told Clark the whole thing. "You think he's this hero, this perfect man," he continued derisively. "That he can do no wrong--even when he is wrong, when he goes too far." "Oh, and so now you've decided that Superman's some kind of fraud. That he's a false hero." "You're blind, Lois! You were blind about Luthor, and you're blind about Superman." She gasped. Suddenly she needed to get away from him, from the accusation in his eyes. "All right, I was blind about Luthor." She was angry, and she was hurt. "Do you think I haven't asked myself how I could have made such a mess of things? How I could have been so stupid? So blind?" She spat out his word, cold anger in her dark eyes. "But how can you even think this is the same? It's not the same at all." She spoke passionately, pleading with him. "Clark, I thought Superman was your friend! Have you let Mayson influence you so much that you've given up on him?" "Mayson! Give me some credit, Lois. I *am* capable of independent thought." "What's that supposed to mean, that I'm not?" He pushed his hand through his dark hair. "No, no I didn't mean that. Lois, I..." Suddenly he stopped speaking, and cocked his head to one side as though he were listening to something, his eyes no longer focused on her. She'd seen him do that before. So often before. Here it comes she thought. He's going to take off on me. "Lois, I have to go, I'm sorry but there's, uh... uh something I forgot. Look, I'll see you back at the Planet?" Not waiting for her response, he walked briskly away from her, down the path that led away from where she was going. That's it, she thought, not for the first time; go ahead, take off on me. Why does he do that anyway? Maybe he hears voices. Maybe he's schizophrenic. That thought alarmed her--no that couldn't be it. Maybe he's possessed- -now that's a possibility. Or maybe, she told herself, maybe he just doesn't want to talk to you right now. * * * As soon as it looked safe, Clark ducked into a dense thicket of bushes where he whirled unseen into the suit, then leaped upward and blasted across the sky to the source of the piercing screams and gunshots which had commanded him away from Lois. Within seconds he reached his destination, touching down on the pavement outside the head office of New Troy Health and Life Assurance Inc where he was immediately besieged by a small crowd of bystanders, all talking at the same time. "Superman, thank God! There's a guy in there with a gun and he's taken everyone inside hostage. He won't let anyone out. He's already shot someone." "It's the fifth floor--the claims department. I just got outta there in time. I coulda been killed." "Superman, you've got to do something." In a blur, Superman shot upward, then paused to scan the fifth floor interior. Inside the vast room he saw three men, not one, and each held an assault rifle, poised and ready to fire. Two men were stationed so that they controlled each entrance to the floor, blocking any attempt to flee, while the third stood on top of the reception counter, a position which gave him an overview of the block of cubicles, the work stations of staff without enough clout in the corporate pecking order to warrant an office of their own. His position also gave him command of the three offices which lay to the other side of the reception area. The doors of those three offices were open, peppered with bullet holes. Two men, dressed in navy suits, were sitting on the floor just outside. A third person, a woman, lay huddled on the floor between them, blood slowly staining the front of her grey suit. One of the men was in the process of removing his jacket which he then placed over her. "For god's sake, let me call an ambulance." "No," one of the gunmen yelled. "What help did you give us? Now it's your bloody turn." "She needs a doctor!" "She'll get one--as quickly as my little girl got one." The other executive rose to his feet, a mistake because the gunman covering the west exit from the room quickly raised his rifle and fired, clipping the executive's shoulder. All this happened while Superman watched, hovering outside, evaluating the situation. His first instinct had been to burst through the window, then use his laser vision to melt the weapons which the men were brandishing. But instead he held back, not acting, assessing the scene. If he did force his way in, what would be the consequence? He knew he could do it almost instantaneously. Almost. Would his dramatic entrance into the room panic the gunmen and trigger a hail of bullets? Would someone else be wounded, perhaps killed? Quickly, he looked around the large room, his x-ray vision penetrating the padded walls of the small cubicles. People were crouched low, hiding; yet, for two of them, that tactic had not worked. They were wounded, but alive and conscious, sprawled limply back on the floor, needing help. He noticed a woman crawling toward one of the wounded men, crouching very low, moving quietly. She was not quiet enough, though, and she attracted the attention of the gunman standing atop the reception counter. His AK47 already trained on that area of the room, he fired and the woman sank, sprawling face down, her agonized scream piercing the silence and her blood spattering the grey industrial carpet. Without thinking, Superman burst through the sealed window, flying low across the room, directly toward the first gunman who was guarding the east exit, knocking the man off balance. As he flew, he focused on the assault rifle which the man on the counter was holding; his heat vision burned the man's hands and the rifle clattered to the counter top, then skidded to the floor. He heard gunshots from the third man's rifle and, in a blur, his hands plucked the bullets out of the air, stopping them in mid-trajectory. He landed in front of the gunman, who continued firing, but the bullets bounced off Superman's chest, ricocheting toward the wall behind the gunman. One of those bullets got him in the right shoulder, and he dropped his weapon, clutching his shoulder. Superman grabbed the hostage-taker's assault rifle, then whirled around and quickly collected the weapons of the other two men. At this point, the room erupted in action as people emerged from behind their cubicles. "Keep an eye on that one," Superman directed, his glance indicating the gunman with the wounded shoulder. He grabbed the other two, both of whom were scrambling for the exits. "Think you'd better stay right here," he said as he secured one by the arms and then dragged him quickly across the room to corral his companion. With both men firmly in hand, he looked around for some way of securing them so he could check the people who were hurt. Not a problem. The room was a nest of co-axial cables. He grabbed a few, quickly bound the hands and feet of the assailants, and then turned to give whatever assistance he could to the wounded. Police and ambulance sirens wailed in the street below, and Superman knew in a few moments he would have all the back- up he needed. He noticed that a couple of people were applying first aid to the wounded employees. Only the woman in the navy suit was unconscious. Very gently, he scooped her into his arms. "I'll fly her to Metro General," he said to the two men beside her. The paramedics and the police could take care of the others. * * * * After Superman left the hospital, he flew across the city, high above the Daily Planet with its newly installed Globe, then northward to the range of rolling hills which paralleled the sea coast. Covered now in lush green vegetation, they would, in another couple of weeks, be suffused with autumn colour. If he had looked more closely, he would have seen the first hints of that metamorphosis. Spotting an isolated ridge above the grey rounded rocks, he landed and sat on its ledge, looking outward across the land, across the indigo river which wound carelessly through the valley, separating the hills from the careful geometry of the farms beyond. He'd blown it back there, messed up badly. He looked down at his hands, examining the fingers splayed apart on his knees. The strongest hands in the world. He let out a deep breath. Worried about misusing the powers, he'd acted too slowly, and so two people had been shot who might not have been hurt if he had just acted as he always did. Acted as he finally had done. Could he have done it any differently? For the life of him, he didn't see how. And one of the perpetrators had been wounded in the course of Superman's intervention. There was no way he could have prevented that. Perhaps like he couldn't have prevented wounding Corbin? He wasn't sure. He thought about Mayson's condemnation of Superman's vigilantism and her impassioned defense of the importance of legal safeguards. She had become, in the short time he'd known her, a reminder to him that no one was above the law. What he had done, the lives he had saved in the past year were not part of the equation. They weren't some kind of credit he could draw on to mitigate tomorrow's mistakes. He knew that. What counted was how he behaved now, today and in the future. The thing was, he agreed with Mayson--it was law that offered people real protection. He believed that deeply. Frontier justice--rough, shoot first and ask questions later--was not what Superman stood for. He had to be seen to be serving the cause of justice, not just using brute force to solve all problems. He, above all others, because he was so strong, because he could do things that no one else could do, had to act responsibly and more carefully even than a cop on the street. And, always, always, he had to remember that what he did on impulse could be lethal. Mayson was right, and she alone had had the guts to call Superman on it when no one else had. Nevertheless he'd messed up back there. He'd delayed, been too careful. Again, he expelled a breath in frustration. He should get back. Do some interviews at New Troy Assurance, get background on the gunmen, write up the story. Use his insider knowledge, he thought with a grimace. Sometimes he wondered about his ethics. Some things were too easy for him, and he took advantage of that. Lois's words came back to him. Had he lost faith in Superman? He backed away from the idea. Time to get going. He rose and took to the air. As he flew back to Metropolis, his mind roamed back to the hostage situation at New Troy Assurance. Two people wounded because he had not acted quickly enough. Johnny Corbin dead because he had acted too quickly. * * * * * Lois sat on a park bench listening to the call-in show. After Clark had taken off, she'd changed her mind about returning to the Planet, too curious about caller opinion to leave the park. Instead she hurried back to where she and Clark had heard the radio, bought a bottle of juice from the sidewalk vendor, taken up a position on a nearby bench, and pulled her cell phone out of its holster, ready to fire. The host was inflammatory, of course, goading callers to take extreme positions. Lois just knew he was looking for a response which slammed Superman, making him out to be some kind of menace to people's rights as well as to national security. As she listened to the show's house expert, Marshall Albany, who of course supported the host's view, her blood boiled. Her fingers punched in the station's number. She couldn't get through. Dr. Albany continued speaking, phrasing his concerns with caution, expressing, in a circuitous way, his hope that Superman would show more respect for the civil rights of all citizens. He also wondered if it were possible to control a super man, and what might happen to humanity were that not possible. Humanity! Lois glared at the phone and kept punching in the station's number, unable to get past the busy signal. She finally gave up when it became clear that a majority of callers supported the Man of Steel. As far as most of them were concerned, what Superman had done to Corbin was no different than a cop shooting a criminal in the leg to stop him fleeing a crime scene. In the last analysis, for most callers, what mattered was that one more crook was no longer on the streets. They felt safer because Superman was there. Few callers were concerned about Corbin's rights. He was a monster, a criminal, and he had to be stopped. Superman stopped him. It was as simple as that. A couple of callers had friends or family who had been rescued by Superman; as far as they were concerned, the superhero could do no wrong. A few callers did express concern that Superman was setting a bad example by resorting to so much force. One man, who sounded two degrees on the iffy side of normal to Lois, wondered about Superman's long term intentions. The guy was pretty sure that Superman was going to set himself up as some sort of dictator once he got everyone convinced he was the people's protector. What's in it for Superman? he asked. The answer was power. Another guy said it was babes. But all in all, it didn't look like the DA's office would have much support if it charged Superman. Still, Lois reminded herself, enforcing the law shouldn't be based on whether an action or the perpetrator was popular with the public. To be honest, she wasn't sure what she really thought herself about what had happened to Corbin. Although she was not prepared to tolerate others criticising the Man of Steel, and would defend him publicly to her last breath, she reluctantly admitted to herself that she had some reservations about what happened a couple of days ago. She sighed as she tried to consider how he should have handled it. Maybe he should have waited for the police. For the first time, it crossed her mind that Superman was not perfect, that however well intentioned he might be, and she had no doubt that his intentions were always honourable, he might make mistakes. She'd told Clark once that it didn't matter if Superman couldn't be everywhere and save everyone. That it was impossible for him to do it all, that whatever he could do was enough. It hadn't occurred to her back then that there was a possibility that what he did do might be the wrong thing. Or at least not be quite the right thing, her reluctant mind amended. That he could make mistakes. He was not perfect. He was after all just an ordinary man. As she was musing over this insight, the call-in show finished and a brief recap of local news followed. Several people had been wounded, including one woman who had been seriously injured, when armed gunmen had taken over the offices of New Troy Life and Health Assurance. One of the gunmen had also been wounded as he was being captured by Superman. Thank god, Superman had got there, she thought. But she also knew that if she hadn't decided to spend this last hour sitting on a park bench that she would have been on site covering that story. She quickly phoned the Planet, got Jimmy, and asked him if anyone was over at New Troy Assurance. Clark, he replied. He was there right now. Lois sighed. She'd missed it. * * * * * The woman who had been wounded as she tried to reach her injured colleague was going to be fine. Clark was relieved. In fact, it looked like no one who had been shot was going to suffer any long term harm. After discovering that, he headed over to New Troy Assurance and interviewed a few of the workers who had been held hostage, capturing their impressions of what had happened. It hadn't really been clear to them at all why the three men were there until after the whole thing was over. But the police had pieced it all together: a man, bitter and resentful about the insurance company's refusal to pay for medical treatment for his seriously ill child had lost control. He and his two brothers had decided to get justice the only way they thought was left to them. It hadn't worked. By the time Clark finished talking to the police, it was late afternoon. He phoned the Planet to let them know that he would have the hostage story ready by the time the paper went to press. It was then that he learned that the Chief Coroner was about to release his report on Corbin's death. He knew Lois had been assigned to cover the briefing but he wanted to be there. Had to be there. As he walked briskly over to the Coroner's Office, he forced himself not to think about what the man might say. His mind randomly jumped around. Basketball--the game he'd seen with Jimmy the other day. Lois, meticulously unwrapping a chocolate ice cream bar. He smiled. Lois. It had been great walking with her in the park this afternoon, but 'great' hadn't lasted long. They'd begun to argue and he'd got on her back about Luthor. It had just slipped out. The sniping which their banter seemed to slide into these days. What he'd said to her had been hurtful, wrong. He'd been so careful in the weeks following Luthor's death to stay away from the issue of her relationship with the man, fearful of triggering painful memories. More than anything, he'd wanted for Lois to be her old self again and for them to get back to their old relationship. Before Luthor. He'd hoped that she would talk to him, confide in him about what she was going through, and that he could help her exorcise Luthor's ghost. He'd searched through those recently acquired psychology books, looking for enlightenment about Lois Lane. But it hadn't come. About himself either. He was beginning to think maybe his wish for Lois's confidence had as much to do with his desire to help *her* as it had with his own barely acknowledged need to confront what Lois's engagement had meant to *him*, with his resentment over her dismissal of his warnings about Luthor. That she had chosen to 'get in bed' with the devil. The thought of her in bed with Luthor had eaten at him, embittered him, and he'd said things to her while she'd been engaged that he now regretted. Yet he was still saying them. He'd been jealous of a man whom he knew was a master criminal and a murderer, and he'd been diminished by it. Worse, he'd been angry at Lois, too; he admitted that now. Last spring in Centennial Park, more nervous than he'd ever been in his life, he'd poured his heart out to her, but she'd turned her back on him and offered him the anemic love of a friend, and then had the nerve to ask him to arrange a meeting with Superman for her. Her words to Superman mocked him now--I'd love you if you were an ordinary man. Yeah, sure she would. Clark hadn't forgiven her. He understood that now. Had that been why she'd never confided in him? Had she somehow sensed that, in spite of his constant presence, he hadn't really forgiven her. And yesterday, he realized she hadn't forgiven herself either, and that tore at him. He knew she hadn't loved Luthor. Yet, she'd been willing to marry him. That ate at him, too. Decent women don't marry men they don't love; at least, that's what he'd always assumed. Not that he'd ever thought much about it until he met Lois. Why had she said yes to Luthor if she didn't love him? His money? But that wasn't the Lois he knew. He didn't get her decision at all. Did she mourn Luthor, even knowing what she now knew about him? Why had she been so easily fooled by Luthor when she was by nature suspicious of most people? What she called a big city survival skill. He'd even kidded her about it. Luthor had nearly killed him. He'd gone to see him just before the wedding, at Luthor's request, to talk about Lois, and he had walked right into a trap. And he'd known, for the second time in his life, the pain of kryptonite needling through his flesh, forcing him to his knees, as a cage with kryptonite bars had lowered around him, trapping him like an animal. The pain had been even worse than his first exposure to kryptonite in his dad's barn. At least there, he had not been imprisoned, confined in a small dark space, alone. He'd never forget lying there, despairing, and then he'd heard the first strains of Mendelssohn's Wedding March, and suddenly, for some reason, he'd felt Lois's presence. With him. Irrationally, at that moment as the processional played, he was absolutely sure that Lois Lane loved him. He'd raised himself on his forearms, willed himself to have the strength to use his superbreath to dislodge the cell key from its hook on the wall. It had fallen to the ground, and he'd managed to use the cummerbund, which Luthor had discarded contemptuously an hour earlier, to drag the key toward him. He was free. He'd struggled to stand upright, walking painfully out of the cell, and then he'd collapsed in the shadows, among the barrels in Luthor's wine cellar, gasping for breath. The heavy door at the top of the stairs banged open and Luthor appeared, took in the open cell door, and roared in rage. But he hadn't come downstairs. Instead he'd taken an axe and hacked senselessly at something which Clark hadn't been able to see, then flung frenzied out of the cellar, a mad man. Relieved that Luthor had not attempted to find him, Superman had struggled up from the cold cellar with barely enough strength to reach the street. Somehow, slowly and painfully, he'd managed to change back into his regular clothes, and then, exhausted by the mundane task of getting dressed, he'd sunk back into the shadows of the great building which housed Luthor's empire, gasping for breath and willing his strength to return. He'd believed he was going to die in that cellar, and as he'd stood in the shadows, all he could think was 'I'm alive' and then, 'Lois is his wife.' Suddenly, he'd noticed that people were pouring out of the building, talking animatedly. He spotted Jimmy and Jack, and finally a tearful, white-gowned Lois being led by Perry White. They'd managed to get Luthor! Then he heard Lois asking, 'Where's Clark?', and he stepped out of the darkness and she ran into his arms and he held her fiercely, bowing his head against hers, never wanting to let her go. It should have been easy after that, but it hadn't been. He'd been tiptoeing around her, trying to avoid hurting her feelings, afraid to tell her about his own feelings. The nightmare of his imprisonment, his fears... his anger. He had tried to be friends with her. That was what she'd said she wanted, and he'd told her that was what he wanted, too. To make it easier, he'd even taken back his declaration of love, removing the barrier which that awkward little confession of his had created between them. But it hadn't quite worked. He'd tried, too, to distance himself from her when he was in the suit, although he was not always successful. The reduced circumstances at the Planet were conspiring to keep them apart as partners, as well. And Lois seemed on edge a lot. When he'd been nominated for a Kerth she'd been, well, downright bitchy. She'd always been competitive, but she'd never been petty. Still, she'd apologized and gone as his date to the award ceremony. That evening had been wonderful. She'd made him feel, without saying a whole lot, that he was the most important guy she knew. He smiled now as he remembered how really great he'd felt as he'd walked away from the ceremony that night, holding his Kerth, that proof of his professional achievement, with Lois's arm tucked through his. He'd never been happier. Would he ever feel like that again? * * * * * The Chief Coroner's Office released what it called a preliminary autopsy report late that afternoon, ahead of schedule. Lois was part of the media crowd present in the small vestibule outside the warren of rooms in the cold basement where Dr. C.Q. Reichs, the Chief Pathologist for the city of Metropolis, conducted his work. The autopsy had taken less time, because, quite simply, they had only part of Corbin's body. The police still had not found the rest of the corpse and without that they lacked the information necessary to determine what had happened to Corbin. Dr. Reichs had as many questions as he had answers. Had Corbin's heart stopped beating before he acquired his robotic body? Had he been clinically dead for even a few seconds before the surgery? If that were so, what had caused his death? As the reporters listened to him speak, the full horror of what had happened to Johnny Corbin finally dawned on all of them. What had been implicit earlier was now graphically and hauntingly explicit. The report went beyond the merely scientific: it was an eloquent expression of the pathologist's dismay at Corbin's fate, and of his condemnation of Rollie Vale's perverted use of his extraordinary bioengineering skill and his brilliant surgical talent. "So, if we don't know whether..." a reporter from the Star began, only to be interrupted by Leo Nunk from the National Whisper. "You're saying that Metallo wasn't human." The Chief Pathologist frowned, annoyed. "I have not said that. Mr. Corbin was all too human." "How could he be if he didn't have a heart?" Nunk persisted. Lois muttered under her breath. "Nunk, speaking from experience." But what she asked was the obvious question, hoping for a straight answer. "What was the final cause of death?" "Mr. Corbin's brain stopped functioning when the battery pack from his robotics was removed. That cut the stimulus to his brain." "So he was dead then before the Vales attached the robotics?" The pathologist hesitated. "Frankly, we're not sure." He paused again. "It may be that the Vales resurrected him. Or it may be that they took advantage of the fact that he was dying and operated before actual death occurred. Regardless, John Corbin was alive two days ago." "So Vale will be charged with murder?" "That's the DA's turf, Ms. Lane, but it wouldn't be unexpected." "What about Corbin's legs, Dr. Reichs?" Lois asked, aware she was avoiding a more direct question that included Superman. "The legs were destroyed from the knees down, making it obviously impossible for the victim to escape from Vale who allegedly removed the battery which powered the robotics." It was then that Clark Kent joined the crowd, entering quietly from a side staircase, but Lois was aware of his presence, as she always was. She was surprised to see him, given that they were less often assigned to cover stories together since the cutbacks. But then Superman was Clark's friend too, so he had a personal interest in this particular report. "Would Corbin have died if his legs had not been destroyed?" This blunter question came from the Star's crime reporter. Potentially, it was a damning question but Lois was glad that it was now out in the open. She knew she should have asked it, but she had been afraid to. Mad Dog Lane, she thought derisively. She looked sideways at Clark as Dr. Reichs answered. "Vale wouldn't have been able to get at Corbin to take the battery pack if Corbin had been able to move. But there's also some evidence that the electronic stimulus to the brain began to malfunction once the legs began to melt. It appears something in the circuitry may have been cut or there may have been a chip destroyed that triggered a chain reaction which ultimately would have cut the impulses sent to the brain, thereby cutting the supply of oxygen. We've sent the prosthesis to the bioengineering department at Metropolis University for analysis. "One of the missing pieces of evidence, by the way, is that power supply. How much longer did Corbin have before it ran down? Technically, Corbin was on life support. Did he have much longer? The energy required to keep a complex system like that robotic body running would be pretty high." "So not an energizer bunny then?" quipped someone from the back. A few groans of hollow laughter rippled at the edges of the crowd. Nunk took the opportunity to fire another question. "Metallo had a girlfriend. How 'anatomically correct,'" he asked, leering, "was the Tin Man? Could he deliver the goods?" Dr. Reichs looked at the Whisper's representative like he'd just emerged out of a cesspool. "That's it, people. It's past my dinner time." He backed away from the group of reporters. The press conference was at an end. Lois made directly for Nunk. "We can always count on the Whisper for the sleazy question," she said contemptuously. Nunk laughed. "Hey, our circulation's better than the Planet's." Then he added, "At least you got in bed with a classier kind of crook, Lane, not the freakin' perp your sister fell for. You Lane girls sure got taste," he smirked. "You bastard, Nunk..." Clark quickly grabbed Lois by the shoulders and whirled her toward the nearest exit, a stairwell at the side of the room, which served as an emergency escape from that part of the building. "Not now, Lois," he whispered. He released her, but kept a firm grip on her hand, dragging her farther into the darkened stairwell. "How dare you, Clark Kent." She was furious. "How dare I stop you and Lucy from being the centre of the story in the Whisper?" They had halted on the mid-flight landing. She let out a sigh. "Yeah... How dare you?" But a wry half-smile told him that she had calmed down. "Thanks, Clark." Without thinking he raised his right hand to touch her hair, his thumb gently caressing her temple. Then aware that his gesture was too intimate, he lowered his hand. "How's Lucy?" he asked softly. "Not good, but better than I had hoped. After the MPD questioned us the other day, they recommended a counselor, a Dr. Friskin. Lucy had her first session this afternoon. She called me afterwards, and I know she felt good about how it went." Clark smiled. Then he took a second dare. "And you? How are you, Lois?" Her eyes flashed. "Fine! Why wouldn't I be fine?" She sighed again. "Come on, Clark," she said dispiritedly. "Let's get back to the Planet." * * * * * Back at the Planet, Lois and Clark worked on their respective articles, racing against the early evening deadline to get them to Perry who'd made it clear he wanted their pieces for inclusion in the next edition of the paper. Lois found the rhythm of work soothing, and gradually her mind stopped listing, revising, and amending the list of primitive tortures that she would visit upon Leo Nunk of the National Whisper if she could get her hands on him. *When* she got her hands on him. By the time she'd finished writing the account of the Chief Pathologist's report, she'd calmed down enough to settle for letting the air out of his tires the very next time she had the opportunity. All four tires. On that beatific thought she finished her article. She and Clark discussed the stolen emeralds story, rolled around a few ideas about motives for the theft but reached no firm decision on what direction to take next. As they talked, Lois felt that Clark was preoccupied, not giving their discussion his full attention. Was it the Pathologist's report? she wondered. He shouldn't keep things bottled up like that--she'd begun to notice he had this tendency to brood sometimes. The night staff began to filter in, and so Clark and Lois took the hint and decided to call an end to their own working day. As Lois was putting her keys and her notepad into her bag, she made a decision. She stopped what she was doing and turned to look across to Clark's desk, watching him for a moment as he concentrated on his computer, finishing off what he'd been writing. Then he pushed his chair back and looked up, catching her eye. He smiled at her. His smile gave her courage. Heck, his smile did a lot more than that, she thought. She took a deep breath. "Clark, I was wondering if... maybe we could... uh..." She hesitated. "Yes?" "There's this movie; it's got kind of good reviews, and I know you've been to India, and so..." She stopped, noticing that familiar look of distraction cross his eyes and she had that odd feeling again that he was listening to something. "Uh, can you excuse me, Lois? I just, uh, remembered..." He seemed at a loss for words, she thought, and with a sinking feeling she recognized the pattern. "Remembered..." He was rising from his desk now, touching the knot of his tie, the way he always did, as though it were too tight for him. " ...that I promised to uh..." He was walking quickly toward the steps which led up from the bullpen. She never did hear what he'd promised. It didn't matter. She sat, staring at nothing for a moment, then picked up the phone. "Hi, Luce, it's me. How would you like to go to that new Indian movie tonight?" * * * The new hire, the man with the grey eyes, stopped by her desk after she got off the phone. "You'll like that movie," he said. "Why does he keep disappearing on me like that?" The young man smiled, his eyes teasing her. "Come on, Lois. Think about it. You know why." "Nope. Not a clue." She shook her head, but now she felt less distressed about it than she had a moment ago. So Clark kept disappearing... so... "Clark just being weird, again, huh?" she said. "Very weird." He laughed companionably. "You know, I don't know your name." "I thought you did." Mild disappointment lurked in his eyes, just for a second, then disappeared. "Jeff." He smiled at her. She thought he had the most comforting smile she'd ever seen. Where had she seen it before? Somewhere, a long time ago. Yes. "Jeff," she repeated. * * * * * Superman soared upward, racing against the wind toward the sound of terror, the unbearable cry of fear that always tore him away from whatever else it was that seemed important. He always heard them--the voices, the crashes, and the high- pitched scream of sirens. He knew their codes now--which ones were police, ambulance, fire department. Which were warnings and which were emergencies. Which were benign, the joy of a crowd at a baseball game or a concert. But it was the individual cries of panic, of anguish which always compelled him. Anything to stop their pain, to make it less, to help. Please, god, let him help. Let him get there before it was too late. * * * * * After their chat on the phone, Lois reflected that her sister had sounded more like her normal self, and she was cheered by that. They had decided to have a quick dinner first before the movie, and Lois was looking forward to it. She hadn't seen very much of Lucy throughout the past year, and it was time to change that. Especially now. They needed each other. As she was getting up to leave, her attention was attracted by the LNN channel, constantly blaring into the newsroom, taunting the reporters with its immediate, on the spot coverage of breaking news. Real reality TV brought to you by the people with the best hair in the universe. She turned, staring at the monitor, transfixed by a clip of Superman gliding downward, carrying in his arms the gangly frame of an adolescent boy. Carefully, at least that was how it looked to Lois, he set the boy on his feet. He looked about fifteen, maybe sixteen, she thought, still not fully grown. Instinctively, the boy looked around, then found the eye of the camera and his body slouched into nonchalance. No hint of fear or embarrassment--the kid was exultant. Microphones thrust eagerly toward him, seeking gratification. "Cool... Superman..." He paused for a second. "Like... I knew... like so freakin' cool..." Superman took off, the camera cut away, and Lois grinned. * * * * * Superman grinned, too, as he sped back across the city. He knew he should be ticked, but the kid had cheered him up, reminding him of the self-absorption, the foolishness you could get into when you were that young. He ought to be angry--the kid had pulled a stupid stunt, hoping to prove his manhood to some girl in his class. He'd wound up going too far, climbing too high along the walls of a skyscraper, pulling a Spiderman, then losing his nerve. Clark wondered if he had ever been like that when he was sixteen. So blinded by his own insecurities and besotted by the prettiest girl in his class that he could see nothing else? Maybe--but he'd grown out of it. Anyway, the kid was okay, and that was all that mattered. Maybe he would turn out to be a Nobel laureate some day. * * * * * Chapter 3: Alone Again The next morning, Lois was already at the Planet when Perry arrived. En route to his office, he stopped by her desk, and, after meandering verbosely around the weather, the mess the painters had made in his office, and the challenge facing Elvis after he got out of the army, he gave her a pointed look and stopped speaking. The message he was struggling to convey to the young woman in front of him was that good weather could be deceptive; inside it could be a mess, but even the greatest could triumph over setbacks. That done, he figured he could cut to the chase. "Lois, I want you full time on the WTO thing." "What about the stolen emeralds, Chief?" "Leave it for Clark--I can't afford to tie up my top two reporters on the same story." Ignoring her frown, Perry looked over his shoulder at the bank of TV monitors and nodded toward the one at the end. It was tuned to the local cable channel, which this morning was manned by a couple of Metropolis U TV journalism students. Using a handheld camcorder which was feeding directly into the station, they wandered through the streets outside the security perimeter of the Lexor Hotel where the WTO delegates were meeting. Occasionally, the camera panned over the waist-high concrete barriers which surrounded the hotel. They were too low to be very effective at excluding anyone, but they did serve as a reminder that spectators were not wanted at this particular party. A few policemen patrolled the periphery, silently reinforcing that message. The students provided no commentary, conducted no interviews--just captured images, some of them good, others unstable and unfocused, of protesters and demonstrators standing around in small groups in the dim predawn light. Many of them looked shaggy as though they were only half awake, while others were chatting, holding mugs of steaming coffee or busy preparing signs. A series of camps getting ready for the day. Lois searched Perry's profile for a second, prepared to object to his decision, then changed her mind. He was the boss. Shifting her gaze, she looked at the TV screen, almost mesmerized. Then she reached for her bag and stood up. "Okay, Chief. But not the delegates this morning--the story's in the streets." Her eyes glinted, reflecting her gut feeling that she was right to shift focus. Perry, now halfway across the bullpen to the coffee machine, grunted and then called out to her as she was about to mount the few steps to the elevator. "And swing by the courthouse at 2:00 this afternoon--the DA's scheduled a press conference." Lois stopped in her tracks and swerved away from the elevator back towards the coffee station. "About Superman?" "A friend called late last night--he doesn't know what's comin' down. Could be anything, but it's Drake's show, though, so I'm bettin' it's Superman, and I want you there." "...and Clark?" He was briefly silent, waiting as she came to stand before him, then he asked gruffly, "What happened to the woman who worked alone?" Lois bit the inside of her lip. "Guess I got used to a partner." "Honey, things are different now. We still have a couple of roadhouses to play before we get the Planet back on the charts. Besides, you need to fly solo, get a couple of strong pieces under your by-line." Lois took a deep breath and met his eyes directly. "Thanks, Chief, for the warning." They were alone, at least isolated enough from the few other staff present in the large newsroom so that Perry knew they could talk without being overheard. This time, he did not take the trouble to hide his concern for her from his eyes. "Lois, you're one of the best reporters in this country." "But Franklin Stern isn't so convinced?" "Then convince him, darlin'! He's new to this business. He doesn't know what really makes this place tick. Show him you're the best thing to hit the newspaper business since Nellie Bly, since Woodward and Bernstein, since..." Lois smiled as she cut him short. "Thanks, Perry. That means a lot to me." There was a brief moment of awkward silence as two people who were unaccustomed to expressing their private emotions searched for the next thing to say. Perry found his old pattern first. "So what are you waitin' for? Get outta here and get me that story." "On it, Chief." * * * * * Restless and unable to sleep, Clark Kent heaved himself out of bed just before sunrise, spun into the suit, and took to the air, hoping a quick morning patrol would settle him down and remind him of the routine of being Superman. Not long after he'd left the airspace above the inner city, he spotted a burning building at the Metropolis zoo, its flames still localized in, he saw as he swept lower, the old information centre. The overhead sprinklers appeared to have malfunctioned, which was not too surprising given the money problems the zoo was facing. He could hear the distant sirens, announcing the approach of fire trucks. Quickly, he grabbed the lone security guard, who was aggressively wielding a large fire extinguisher several feet too close to the crimson flames, and then he used a few streams of superbreath to extinguish the blaze. As easy as the candles on a birthday cake, he thought. A few words with the security guy to check if he was all right--he was, just a little singed around the edges--and then Superman lifted upward just as the first fireman was leaping from his truck. That one had been a no-brainer, he thought, like the rescue of the boy last evening. He was relieved. Deciding to do a quick patrol, he flew north out of the city as the sun rose, scanning the landscape beneath him, searching. That was when he spotted it, or rather heard it, just as he neared the shore line: the sputtering engine of a small cabin cruiser which was heading out from the marina at Metropolis Harbour. There were two men aboard. An odd time of day for them to be out, he mused. Fishing before sunrise? Probably, but given the pollution of Metropolis's waterfront, he wondered about the wisdom of eating any fish caught there. He scanned the interior of the small cabin. Nothing unusual inside--just another man covered by a blanket, asleep on one of the two bunks. No fishing gear, which was odd. He hovered high above the craft for a few seconds, watching, but as he saw that the men weren't going to get the engine started again, he drifted lower, then, paused, astonished, as the two men jumped overboard and began to swim vigorously toward the closest pier. That was foolish --why hadn't they radioed for help? The Metropolis Harbour Police could have been there within a quarter of an hour. They hadn't bothered to alert the sleeping man. Why not? Clark hesitated for a moment, not rushing to pull them out of the water as he would have done had this happened a week, before... Maybe this wasn't a job for Superman? After all, stuff happens, and you have to cope. But... at this time of year the water was cold, and this morning it was rough, white caps breaking the inky surface, making swimming more challenging. Fatal? Maybe, if these guys weren't strong swimmers, but they appeared to be doing just fine and they weren't too far from shore. Why had they abandoned the boat? Maybe he should check it first. As he was about to do that, one of the swimmers broke his stroke, gulping for air, his arms flailing against the waves. Recognizing the signs of trouble, Superman shot downward, pulled him out of the water, then, like an eagle plucking prey, grabbed the other man, and flew them both quickly to shore, towards the harbour police unit where they would be given assistance. Just as he neared the pier he heard the thunderous boom of an explosion shatter the early morning stillness, and then the fainter sounds of fiberglass hitting water. In a blur, he deposited the men on the end of the pier, then swirled quickly, and sped towards the area from which the explosion had come. Within seconds, he spotted fragments of the craft from which the men had jumped, white shards strewn across the dark water. Frantically his eyes scanned the area, looking for any sign of the person who had been sleeping inside the cabin. He could see nothing! He dove underwater searching both the murky water and the floor of the bay very