May 3, 1949, TELCORP Center, Meredith Island, Metropolis Bay
Luthor observed intently as the trio of scientists carefully maneuvered the guide. The needle slowly penetrated through a small opening they had managed to create in the capsule housing the Kryptonian known as CRONOS. Unlike his possible progeny, ICARUS, who had been almost entirely disassembled and studied for medical and biological research, CRONOS remained sealed within his peculiar sarcophagus. The casing, which bore a striking resemblance to gold, was adorned with crystalline panels that shimmered under the laboratory lights. Inside, his body was held in place by an intricate network of metallic clamps, seemingly enhanced with nanotechnology and coated in a mysterious layer of blue frost. The exact mechanics of the device remained an enigma, yet the sarcophagus appeared to draw power wirelessly, sustaining the Kryptonian in a state of cryogenic stasis. An uninterrupted process that had persisted for 12,000 years. To maintain the capsule's energy supply, Luthor had installed a high-powered generator. Meanwhile, a peculiar black liquid display, embedded with metallic particles, continuously showed a series of symbols in one corner of the capsule. Though undeciphered, the inscriptions bore a striking resemblance to a mix of Egyptian and early Sumerian script.
Six months had passed since the sarcophagus, also known as "the pod", had arrived in Metropolis, concealed as nothing more than agricultural machinery. For half a year, it had lain dormant in the depths of the TELCORP Center on Meredith Island, hidden away in what was supposed to be a secure vault for static electricity research. Encased in lead and surrounded by the last fragments of kryptonite that Luthor had managed to gather, it rested, guarded yet ominous. A team of twenty scientists, handpicked for their loyalty to Luthor or secretly working for the USSR under assumed identities, labored tirelessly on the project. Led by Norwegian scientist Peder Skarg, the group was a blend of engineers, geneticists, physicians, chemists, and biologists, all united by a single purpose…find a way to turn the Kryptonian into a weapon against Superwoman. Meanwhile, Luthor's alliance with Baroness von Gunther of the Rand Corporation was proving remarkably fruitful. Despite the Baroness's near-captive status, their joint efforts, particularly their reverse-engineering of the alien craft recovered from Death Island, had produced major breakthroughs in aircraft engine technology. Luthor, of course, was quietly passing those discoveries on to the USSR. Death Island, once a quiet enigma, was now a fortified zone, occupied by nearly five thousand American troops and ringed by naval forces. Both the USSR and the United States had nuclear flight plans drawn up, ready to erase the island from existence should it be deemed necessary.
In those six months, much had changed. The disappearance of the USS Aludra, a military cargo ship, along with a pocket submarine, had been officially attributed to a storm. Yet behind closed doors, the American government suspected Soviet interference. The president and military chiefs remained unaware of the true stakes… that a Kryptonian body had been lost. Only a small circle around Maxwell Lord and General Hardy knew the chilling truth. Hardy's sudden death, publicly dismissed as a tragic accident while cleaning his weapon, masked the reality: suicide. And now Lord was gripped by panic. The once-composed military men who had overseen this covert operation had descended into paranoia, seeing spies and traitors in every shadow, and pushing relentlessly for escalation in the simmering Cold War with the USSR.
Tensions continued to rise. The government was taking advantage of Superwoman's presence in the skies around the world as she helped and rescued civilians of all nations. Yes, she was creating a sense of invulnerability for her country of origin. The U.S. had succeeded in sweeping away the Communists in Greece and forcing plebiscites in Poland, Hungary, and Czechoslovakia, which had been demilitarized and removed from the Soviet bloc. East Germany remained socialist but was surrounded, and civil war was about to break out in Romania. The Soviets responded with increased threats, nuclear tests, and aid to the Communists in China, Korea, and Indochina. Peace talks were going nowhere, while the USSR was developing the same missiles reverse-engineered from alien remains that were also being built at Area 51.
We may not win the first round, but in my hands rests the end of Superwoman, the path to strategic balance and worldwide peace. Luthor felt nearly invulnerable. The incipient witch hunts and the Un-American Activities Committee had not touched him. He was still a man trusted by the government. No one knew. No one suspected anything. Only Baroness Von Gunther knew, and, thanks to blackmail and false yet hopeful news about her brother, she had become just another Soviet agent, completely subservient to Luthor.
Luthor now knew who Clara Kent was, yet he remained conflicted about her true nature. He wondered whether Clara Kent was merely a sophisticated ruse: a superhuman from another planet adopting the guise of a benevolent, ordinary woman. Did she espouse visionary beliefs about the future, like a modern-day fake messiah who had chosen journalism over carpentry? Or had this being, potentially the most formidable being in the cosmos, truly chosen to embrace a mundane human existence after being raised on a farm?
However, this contemplation did not deter him from his objectives. Time was of the essence for Luthor. He needed to make his move before the geopolitical climate spiraled beyond either side's control, particularly Stalin's, with which Luthor was aligned but he despised so much. All of this unfolded in Metropolis, the epicenter of American capitalism, where Luthor was regarded as one of its most brilliant minds.
The guide and the kryptonite needle of extraordinary fineness, the product of months of work, carefully pierced the glass and entered the pod. There was no sound and no reaction. The symbols on the display in the corner of the capsule turned reddish, but nothing else happened.
"Gently, millimeter by millimeter."
"Yes, Mr. Luthor."
"On my command, slow down."
The kryptonite needle touched the blue frost covering the body and pierced it. Soon it reached the body itself, in the arm. They had calculated that there should be a vein there. ICARUS had shown that Kryptonian physiology was identical to human physiology, even if their genetics seemed to be slightly different. The needle entered the body as a syringe was pressed against the capsule.
"Let's hope not all the blood is frozen."
A small motor began to draw the contents into the syringe. At first, only tiny clots of blood emerged, but soon liquid blood, as red as human blood, began to flow. After several hours, they managed to extract one tablespoon.
Luthor was ecstatic. "This is a real success, comrades, a real success."
His small team applauded enthusiastically. The small vial containing one tablespoon of Kryptonian blood was treated like the Holy Grail. Some of them cried.
Luthor leaned against the wall with a sigh. Finally, we will be able to study the Pathogen's reaction to living Kryptonian organisms. We have little time and few options, but we are so close…
To raise the group's spirits, Luthor read aloud Rudyard Kipling's poem "If," knowing that their supposed Soviet overlords would censor it if they heard it.
***
Fifteen miles from Meredith Island, at the Planet Building, Louis Lane leaned out the window in his shirtsleeves, adjusting his tie. The evening breeze was cool, carrying the scent of the city. He inhaled deeply. The past seven months had been a whirlwind of change. He was finally with Clara. Since college, he had forgotten what it meant to give and receive love every day. Living with Clara changed everything. He was happier than ever, even increasingly lost in his own world. The wreckage of his marriage, a lingering sense of loneliness, and the ghosts of war had begun to fade. Now Clara and his daughter filled his time and thoughts. When Emily wasn't staying with him, he was with Clara, at his place or hers, with Krypto curled up at the foot of the bed. Clara was loving and attentive, and Emily adored her. His parents approved, even his mother, who hoped for an annulment rather than a full divorce from Pat. Last month, Clara's mother had visited Metropolis; a kind, unassuming woman. Though uneasy about the situation, she stood by them, bound by an unshakable closeness to her daughter.
Despite their discretion, the entire paper knew about their relationship. It had been far less scandalous than expected, and Pat had begun to be seen in public with the defeated Republican mayoral candidate, Mason Norris. If Louis could get an annulment, he could marry Clara. If not, despite the weight of what he considered a sin, she would be his partner, the second mother of his daughter, and, hopefully, the mother of other children. They fought sometimes. Clara had forced him to give up smoking and nearly to stop drinking, and he had become clumsy and distracted in his work as a journalist… A consequence of his new and long-awaited happiness. But nothing else mattered. For the time being, he was moving away from local reporting and returning almost entirely to international political reporting, which had always been his ambition.
Suddenly, he saw a stylized blur of red and blue streaking across the sky. Louis looked up distrustfully. The red-and-blue blur soon took the form of a woman in a long red cape and began to descend slowly, vertically. Some applause could be heard, and many heads appeared at the windows of the skyscrapers. Whatever good Superwoman had done for the United States and the fight against communism, directly or indirectly, that was never what Louis had wanted… Not like this. We cannot make democracy depend on an uncontrollable superpowered being. It is not humane. It is not civilized. There is no way to enforce our laws on her. He insisted on this in columns and lectures that were increasingly criticized, and to which Clara reacted with enormous coldness. The physical resemblance between the two kept him awake at night, especially on nights when they did not sleep together. Clara's absences and her resemblance to Superwoman sometimes rose like the shadow of a guillotine over his happiness, tormenting him for hours until he convinced himself for the umpteenth time, with dozens of rational arguments, that Superwoman and Clara Kent were not the same person. The red-caped superheroine seemed to wave to the cars and the crowd below before disappearing into the sky at full speed. If only she would disappear from our lives, if only she weren't so necessary… We are her hostages.
Within seconds, Clara Kent appeared radiantly through the door, wearing a very elegant light-gray suit jacket with a rhinestone brooch and displaying her usual tic of adjusting her eyeglasses. There were quite a few things about her that had not changed since she had shown up four years earlier in her small-town schoolteacher look and her Navy nurse's uniform.
Louis greeted her. "Hi, my dear! How was your afternoon?"
"I already finished the interviews I had to do! Now all I have to do is type them up and I'll be done." Clara entered the room, trotting happily like a little girl. The reporter approached Louis without closing the door, pulled him close, and kissed him on the lips.
"Did you miss me?" she asked.
"Quite a lot."
"Any news?"
Louis held out a teletype with a sigh.
"Gheorghe Tătărescu, the Prime Minister of Romania, has just killed himself. Shot himself in the temple. The opposition and his own party have called for a general strike, and so have the communists. There are troop movements all along the soviet border. We should get more information from the State Department once they know what's happening. I may have to go get Emily and bring her back to the office. Perry wants everyone on this."
"No way. Don't worry. I'll stay with her at home if necessary… What do you think is going to happen? Do you think there's a danger of war or violence?" There was a certain note of anxiety in Clara's voice.
"I think our government has accepted that they're not going to be as lucky as they were in Czechoslovakia, Hungary, and Poland. There's no way the communists are going to let Romania remain neutral. We may have no choice but to accept that the communists will take power and establish a bloody dictatorship."
"And what will happen in the neighboring countries? What will our troops do?"
"Probably not much. Maybe nothing at all. Pressure from the communists to return to the government in Poland, even if only in a government of national unity with the right wing, so the USSR will have its border secured. But that will be more difficult. The USSR is not going to support a Finnish model for the Eastern European countries."
"Will people die?"
Clara asked in an anguished, sad, almost sorrowful tone. Louis looked into her blue eyes.
"Clara, don't be naïve. People are going to die in Romania in the coming days."
"Why don't we negotiate the arrest or expulsion of former Nazi collaborators from those governments? At least it would give the Soviets some assurance that we're serious about peace."
"Clara, that's not what this is about. It's left-wing propaganda. There are no war criminals running the governments of Germany, Austria, Czechoslovakia, or Hungary. And Stalin doesn't give a damn about a few former Nazis. Getting rid of them wouldn't change a thing."
"You know that isn't true, Louis. We are supporting people who collaborated with the Nazis."
Louis narrowed his eyes as Clara bit her lip and looked at him with a yearning expression. The reporter snorted and grabbed his arm. She looked at him with love and desire.
"Louis, do you think I could come tonight with Krypto to sleep at your place with you and Emily, and tell her stories?"
"Only if you want to."
"Why do you think I'm asking?"
Clara hugged him tightly, as Louis sank his fingers into her bun.
Clara looked tenderly at Louis. What a crazy few months… She did not even know whether she was the happiest woman on Earth or the most miserable. She could swing from one feeling to the other in a matter of seconds. The happiest moments of her life were unfolding alongside her worst fears.
Seven months of love and life with Louis, the man she loved, who gave her strength, confidence, and happiness. Seven months of mounting political pressure and the drumbeat of war growing louder all around her, all around Superwoman. Seven months of flying free and happy, devoted to her mission, feeling liberated and resolute beneath the sweep of her red cape. Seven months of lying to Louis, who, to her astonishment, was growing happier and more affectionate with Clara even as he became increasingly critical and aggressive toward Superwoman. Seven months of slipping the sleeping pills Bruce Wayne had given her into Louis's drink every night they shared a bed, so he would sleep soundly while she went out each night to save the world beneath her red cape, as the Woman of Steel.
Seven months in which President Truman had admitted to her that the government possessed Kryptonian technology and shown her a capsule that had lain buried for 12,000 years on an island in the Aleutians. Superwoman had begged the President to destroy it, with a smiling Lex Luthor standing beside her, a man she still could not publicly denounce. She could no longer bear to keep lying to Louis. And she had a growing suspicion that something terrible was coming.
Clara's thoughts were interrupted by Louis's voice. "I'll ask Katz to stay tonight and cover for me. I'll come in early in the morning to find out what finally happens with Romania."
Clara stroked his face, and Louis kissed her hands.
"Krypto and I will be at your house around six."
When Louis left, she sat down and buried her head in her hands. No matter what happened, she would not waver one inch from her duty to help civilians and from the protocol she had explained at the UN. Superwoman would come to the aid of anyone in peril, whether threatened by an armed robber on a Metropolis street corner, targeted by a politically motivated armed gang, or trapped in the aftermath of a devastating earthquake.
Jimmy opened the office door. "Clara, you have a visitor."
"Hello, Miss Kent!" A slender, vivacious teenage girl in a red jacket bounded into the office.
"Roberta!"
Clara stood up smiling. Roberta Lee was a teenager whose Chinese-born family had been haunted by a Klu Klux Klan cell a few months earlier... Superwoman had captured the gang, and Clara Kent and Louis Lane had written a four-handed article about it. Roberta and Clara had hit it off; the girl wanted to be a journalist and go to college.
"I was in the neighborhood and wanted to stop by and say hello."
Roberta walked through Louis and Clara's office as if it were her home and sat down at Louis' desk.
"Thank you for coming, honey. How is school going? And your writing essays?" Clara asked affectionately.
"Do you think I could finally work here in the summer?" The teenager asked quickly, ignoring Clara's question.
Roberta had shown great courage and insight. At the same time, she didn't quite fit in; Clara had seen herself reflected in her at her age.
"I think Mr. Lane and I will find you a corner."
"Even if it's just to sort papers, Miss Kent!"
Clara was about to answer her when she heard in the distance the cries for help. The first storms of a hurricane began to make landfall along the coast of Honduras and Nicaragua.
"Roberta, honey, I must leave right now, I'm late to an appointment in…uh…Hoboken, I'm really sorry, please forgive me…"
"Could you write me a letter of recommendation for college? Actually, I need several."
"As many as you need!" Clara said while exiting the office at full speed.
Roberta turned to Jimmy.
"She left her purse."
"Sometimes it happens" Jimmy answered.
***
Superwoman spent several hours flying at super speed over the Caribbean in all directions, generating whirlwinds at high altitudes and using both her heat vision and her freezing breath to break up the hurricane and turn it into a series of softer storms that soon dissipated. It was among the most taxing feats she could perform, one that demanded almost the full measure of her superpowers and absolute concentration. Yet whenever she managed to break a storm, she was filled with pride and an exhilarating sense of being alive. Then she flew back to the United States, but a couple of criminals in Dallas didn't stop her from darker duties. She was forced to intervene in Romania, where the first shots had been fired against civilians in a square in Bucharest. The Woman of Steel melted the bullets in midair, tore the weapons from the guards' hands, and flew away. What else could I do? This will be in the papers tomorrow, she thought sorrowfully.
She flew back to Metropolis, picked up Krypto, and landed with him on the roof of Louis's building. Now dressed as Clara Kent, she knocked on the door of Louis and his daughter's apartment. As usual, Krypto pounced on Louis, and Clara went straight to kiss Emily. The little girl was bouncing on the couch with a red cape tied behind her back.
Clara turned amusedly to Louis, who raised his eyebrows.
"I'm not going to scold her for that," he replied quietly.
They had dinner, put the girl to bed, and pretended to go to separate rooms. Then Clara slipped into Louis's room, and they shared their love, trying to combine silence and passion until they were exhausted. The intensity of the love they shared still astonished Clara. Despite his outward façade, Louis was no puritan, and still less was she. He had not cared that she was not a virgin. She had feared that a man as old-fashioned as Louis could sometimes be, would judge her harshly. Words poured out of them in torrents, almost embarrassingly sentimental, as though the long silence of three years had forced them into a kind of compensation. And their bodies sought each other with even greater urgency.
Yet every act of undressing was torment for Clara. She always needed a second of darkness to remove the Superwoman suit and cape she wore beneath her clothes. The old fantasy that Louis might discover her secret identity in the midst of passion and accept it now seemed ridiculous to her. The weight of the lie grew heavier and more suffocating with each passing day, but she could find no way out. The more deeply they loved each other, the more virulent Louis became toward Superwoman.
Clara brought Louis a glass of water with the sleeping pill already dissolved in it. She waited for him to fall asleep... Hopefully one day you will understand, Louis. Please forgive me. When she was sure he was asleep, she put on the Superwoman costume in a fraction of a second and flew out the window at super speed, making no noise but leaving the curtains fluttering as if caught in a hurricane wind.
May 17th, 1949, TELCORP Center, Meredith Island, Metropolis Bay
In a soundproof room bathed in a strange bluish half-light that turned the cigar smoke an unnatural hue, Luthor and Peder Skarg reviewed the results of the previous two weeks of tests on CRONOS's body. Their team had performed additional blood draws and taken small tissue samples. The results were not encouraging.
"Luthor, our time is running out… Our experiments, the minor breaches we've created in the capsule, the siphoning of his blood... Now the cryogenic systems are malfunctioning, and the specimen is deteriorating. It's defrosting bit by bit, and I suspect it is not following standard Kryptonian procedure. CRONOS could revive or begin to decompose at any moment. We estimate that within two weeks, he will likely defrost in a way that will cause him to degrade irreparably. We won't be able to further investigate the Pathogen's impact on a living Kryptonian."
Luthor's response was one of cold, furious detachment. His anger was not directed at Skarg personally; he held him in high regard, a committed communist who excelled at his work. Rather, Luthor's frustration was directed at himself. He had assumed that the clamps attached to CRONOS's body would keep it in its frozen state, and that making small incisions before resealing the capsule would not interfere with the cryogenic process. Their initial analysis had shown that the pod's atmosphere was almost identical to Earth's, consisting primarily of oxygen and hydrogen, with trace amounts of arsenic. After the samples were taken, they had restored the gaseous mixture in exactly the same proportions. It had been a grave mistake, perhaps the worst of his life. A mistake born of urgency, pressure from the Soviet Union, and his hatred of Superwoman. He had allowed himself to be influenced by men less capable than he was and, for once, had let his emotions override hisjudgment.
"Luthor... Either we lose the body, or we will be forced to launch Cadmus I."
Cadmus I was the code name Skarg and Luthor used when discussing one of their strategies with their Soviet superiors: the mutation of CRONOS through the Pathogen. Their research into CRONOS's blood and the effects of both the original and refined Pathogens indicated their potential as weapons against Superwoman. The standard Pathogen caused living Kryptonian cells and tissues to become stronger, mutate, grow, and absorb more energy. Heat accelerated and intensified these effects, yet at extremely high temperatures, the Kryptonian cells and tissues rapidly degraded and ultimately perished. It was like a curve of empowerment followed by decay. The refined Pathogen triggered similar effects, but to a lesser extent; the mutations were less pronounced, though the cells and tissues deteriorated more quickly and more severely under intense heat.
The Pathogen… There was a sinister theory; the ancient Kryptonians, unable to devise a means of affecting both Kryptonians and humans equally, had created the Pathogen as a twisted and unfathomable tool. It was lethal to human tissue yet caused monstrous mutations in Kryptonians. Was this intended as a form of retribution against Kryptonians who coexisted with humans? Transforming them into beasts to annihilate humanity before ultimately being eradicated by nuclear weapons? Did the pathogen-engineered aberrations self-destruct over time? Was this an experiment gone awry, a bizarre ritual, or a method used to decimate 99% of the human population 12,000 years ago, as their research suggested?
"Luthor, we must make a decision. It's risky, very risky. But it is in accordance with our political directives." Skarg's voice seemed to come from a distant place.
Luthor stood and walked silently around the table as Skarg watched him. Throw the Pathogen over CRONOS's body... Turn him into an aberration, let him wreak havoc, let him take on Superwoman. It would be an equivalent of her own species, mutated to be bigger, tougher, probably irrational... And what if it wasn't violent? The creatures created with the Pathogen from the remains of dead Kryptonian bodies had been violent and aggressive. CRONOS would probably become another monster. He was sure the creature would likely injure and weaken Superwoman... Time enough to drop a nuclear bomb on Metropolis and wipe out both creatures? Release the refined Pathogen against both of them, so that both beings involved in the battle would perish? Any statistical calculations they could make about that were pure fiction.
What if the fallout in Metropolis resulted in millions of casualties? What if, instead of undermining the credibility of the U.S. government and Superwoman, his actions made her a martyr? Was simply removing her from the equation enough? And if the unleashed beast triggered a nuclear conflict, with the U.S. pointing the finger at the USSR, what then? Luthor was at a loss, unsure of his next move. Should he unleash the creature and watch events unfold? Choose to end his own life? or flee to the USSR after the nuclear attack or the superheroine's demise?
He knew of the American contingency operation, Unthinkable B, designed for a scenario in which Superwoman turned against humanity. It involved multiple nuclear strikes to limit her chances of escape. The threat of an uncontrollable situation was imminent, and Luthor now feared that his mission to defeat Superwoman might inadvertently ignite a worldwide nuclear war. Overwhelmed by these considerations, Luthor acknowledged the grim reality: proceeding with his plan carried intolerable risks. He glared at the table in frustration, a simple slab of marble resting on four plain steel legs. If only he had the strength to smash it in two.
A scientist from Skarg's team rang the bell of the soundproof room several times.
Luthor opened the door. "What's going on?"
"Peace talks in Romania have just been cancelled. There's a military alert in Moscow and Washington. The President will speak in a few minutes... Stalin's speech is expected in a few hours, probably early in the morning in the USSR."
Skarg turned to Luthor. "Luthor, the American government is going to continue to increase the pressure, counting on Superwoman to be invulnerable. This escalation will be daily. In two weeks, we will have lost CRONOS, and a dead Kryptonian body mutated with the Pathogen will be an eyesore, but Superwoman will be able to destroy it with a blow. It's now or we quit. We may miss our chance. You need to make Moscow understand. We have to proceed."
"I'll work out a plan tonight and contact Moscow."
Luthor got up and left in confusion.
***
Fate, however, had one final nudge in store for Luthor at the moment of his greatest weakness and confusion. As he arrived at TELCORP Tower, he was met by the cold stare of Mercy Graves, who quietly informed him that his secure line had received seventeen calls from untapped phone booths in San Francisco. She had ignored every one of them until the last. When she finally answered, a man's voice uttered a single word: "CROATOAN." Then the line went dead.
Luthor understood instantly and collapsed into his chair. His eyes bulged, and sweat drenched his bald head. He understood perfectly. CROATOAN meant that Karla's network had fallen in San Francisco, that somehow they had been discovered. The network had been captured or was on the run. CROATOAN also meant that, although the network was down, he was still safe and should communicate with a network in Mexico City. If Luthor had been in danger, the word would have been KUMARI KANDAM.
Luthor hesitated... What if it was a trap? What if they had all fallen and confessed? What if CROATOAN was a ruse meant to lure him into communicating with Soviet spies in Mexico City so the government could catch him? No, it was all too risky. The magnitude of his leaks and betrayal was so great that, if the government had known or suspected anything at that moment, he would already have been in an FBI or OSS basement, facing thirty panicked interrogators. He was no ordinary second-rate diplomat or science adviser who needed to be caught red-handed. It was clear that the network was down. How much time did he have? How long would it take the government to get to him? Luthor's mind insisted that his hours as a free man were numbered. He had lost, and he had only one card left to play against Superwoman.
Luthor spent several hours immersed in Romantic poetry and Schelling's philosophical reflections. He was no coward. He would accept it and continue to play his part in the unfolding of history. In order to avert the risk of a nuclear conflict that Superwoman's death in a clash with CRONOS might trigger, along with the unintended loss of life, he decided to take full responsibility publicly. He would declare that he had acquired the body with the help of mercenaries, conducted the experiments alone, and released it of his own volition. He intended to absolve the USSR of any involvement.
Luthor prepared a detailed memorandum addressed to the President, making clear that his actions had been guided by his own judgment and by the government's failure to comprehend the threat posed by Superwoman. He attached a scientific report advocating a nuclear strike… preceded, if necessary, by a refined pathogen attack against both Superwoman and CRONOS should he fail to neutralize them in time. He intended to publish a confession through national and international media and surrender himself to military authorities. In the process, he found himself yearning, for the first time in decades, to believe in an afterlife. He recited forgotten prayers from his childhood, as well as fragments of Buddhist sutras and passages from the Koran he had learned during his travels. Superwoman would die, and thousands might die with her, but without her, the two great powers would be forced back to the negotiating table. The United States would have to abandon its expansion into Eastern Europe.
His confession would exonerate the USSR. The world would be free from the domination of an alien, from the domination of a false goddess. It would be a new beginning. There would be no war. Was there not a more beautiful way to renounce his prestige and his power, and embrace immortality?
Luthor sent his plan to Mexico in an urgent flight case. A call came through on a secure line, with the caller simply stating that he had received "a good book." Four days later, he received the Soviets' response from Moscow, discreetly hidden in books sent to Mercy Graves. The Soviets rejected his proposal, citing CRONOS's potential for catastrophe and military escalation. They considered it too dangerous; if the body thawed and showed no signs of life, they argued, Luthor and Skarg would have to admit defeat. Efforts to defuse the situation politically, with the goal of demilitarizing Eastern Europe, continued. The USSR was reluctant to start a war or cause a bloodbath in Metropolis. Alternative methods of countering Superwoman had to be explored. With the San Francisco network compromised and only Karla able to escape, with knowledge of Luthor's true identity, Lex's position was precarious. He was advised to prepare for extraction within three weeks.
He destroyed the answer by burning it in a brazer, his uncertainty dispelled. Amid dizziness and discomfort, he convinced himself that his plan involving the refined Pathogen and subsequent nuclear strike mitigated the primary dangers of the operation. Luthor anticipated that the confrontation between Superwoman and the entity would last for hours, possibly allowing time to evacuate Metropolis and reduce casualties. Alea iacta est. He would disobey the USSR, just as he had betrayed the U.S. government. He was the sole captain of his soul, and only he could defeat Superwoman.
***
Over the next few days, Lex Luthor fired nearly all the scientists working with him on CRONOS, pretending that he was following Soviet orders. Skarg left, grumbling that they were losing their last chance to defeat Superwoman. Luthor made several million-dollar donations to charities of his choosing and gave his employees the day off for the day on which he had planned the event. He also called a dozen people he held in high regard, advising them to leave Metropolis under bizarre political pretexts. Some Secret Service agents picked up on Luthor's activities but dismissed him as irrelevant, merely a major businessman spooked by diplomatic tensions.
Then came the hardest part: convincing his wife and daughter.
"Alice, you must leave Metropolis. Go to the countryside with Leda and our grandson."
"Alexander, I'm not leaving until you tell me what's going on."
"I'm only asking you to leave for a week. There is a real danger of serious events in Metropolis."
"What kind of events?"
"Dangerous events. The leaks have not been detailed."
"And why hasn't anybody alerted the public?"
"Because the risk level is too low to cause panic, but I'm asking you to leave."
"That is unfair, Alexander."
Eventually, Alice, Leda, his grandson, and a retinue of servants left for Luthor's country home in Virginia. Now alone at last, he hired two dozen mercenaries: wild, desperate men from Gotham and Metropolis who had been thrown out of work by the fall of the mob in recent years, thanks to Superwoman and Batman. He needed no more.
CRONOS was on Meredith Island. He had about fifty gallons of pure Pathogen and another thirty of refined Pathogen. Two boats, a plane. Luthor had circled the date on his calendar days ago. Every day that brought it closer sharpened the same question in his mind: should he confront Superwoman himself, or lure her into a conversation on terms of his own choosing? His thoughts kept returning to Louis Lane. He might prove to be the perfect pressure point, not merely a way to reach Superwoman, but a way to make her listen.
He shuffled through recent newspapers: headlines about Superwoman's heroics were everywhere… rescuing families from a fire in India, saving a hundred passengers on a de Havilland Comet from a tragic fate, protecting civilians from communist violence in Romania, apprehending thieves, averting car accidents... There was also an article about Superwoman persuading a judge to release a rehabilitated thief, arguing that everyone deserved a chance at redemption and forgiveness.
All these lies will soon come to an end.
***
"Come on... just a little more." She didn't need to exert much force, but combining her super-breath with her super-strength demanded a level of coordination that was far from effortless. The two locomotives slowly lurched back into motion as Superwoman flew alongside the train, waving to the passengers. She had just cleared a tunnel in India of the debris that had brought rail traffic to a standstill and nearly caused a catastrophic collision. Then she shot upward through the clouds, spread her arms, drew a deep breath, and surrendered herself to the open sky wrapped in her cape.
In the last few days, it seemed that the political pressure and diplomatic tensions had eased. Whether she liked the outcome or not, the pieces seemed to be falling into place. Shanghai would be in Communist hands within days. She had helped escort refugee ships to safety, but despite the outcry of the press, she had stayed well clear of even the slightest military intervention. The Berlin Blockade was over, and unless events in Romania derailed it, an agreement between the Soviets and the Americans over the city's future seemed close at hand. There, she had indeed played a crucial role, flying in cargo containers of supplies almost every day. Yet she kept telling herself that her actions had been purely peaceful, driven only by humanitarian concern and patriotism.
Clara smiled and hurled herself through the clouds at super-speed toward Metropolis. The day before, Superwoman had dined at an orphanage in Philadelphia with a group of children who had written her a letter. Without giving too many details, she had told them a few things about her childhood. Within moments she would be at Louis's house with his daughter, sitting in silk pajamas and reading stories to Emily.
A short time later, Louis was typing furiously as he wrote about the domestic implications of the Soviet proposal for peace in Eastern Europe. He had finally returned to covering politics, leaving behind the disorder of reporting on Metropolis, Superwoman, gangsters, and monsters. From time to time, he cast a glance at Clara, wrapped in a golden silk robe, and at his daughter, his expression a mixture of nervousness and joy. Without quite knowing why, he found himself thinking of the myth of Orpheus.
"Louis, dear, your article isn't coming out for two days. Come sit with us." Clara invited him in with a sing-song voice.
"Yes, Daddy, come with us."
"What are you reading?" Louis raised his head from above the typewriter.
"Tales and Legends of Burma."
Louis snorted and smiled, sitting down next to them.
"Don't you want to read it to her?" Clara asked warmly.
"No, I'd rather you do it, Clara."
Clara smiled at him. She was extraordinarily happy at that moment. Louis was happy too. He must understand that all this is true, and that it is not incompatible with me being Superwoman.
Her work on the Rand Corporation and Luthor had stalled and was no longer of interest to the public or to her editors. However, she and Louis had finally found a publisher and illustrator for her children's stories about DeeDog,Mr. Leezard, and the Komfy Dragon. Clara was very excited about the project. She had even had the opportunity to read two stories over the radio on KBBL's children's program, which had received very good reviews.
Yet her thoughts returned to her ugly concerns once more. She had visited the White House as Superwoman, and the President had explained all the experiments with Kryptonian technology to her… and despite the Woman of Steel's pleas, he had refused to cancel the research. Instead, the President had promised to brief her regularly. Clara wondered if Lex Luthor would take advantage of these investigations to attack her.
Too many things, too many worries. She remembered the night three shootings had taken place at the same time in different corners of the country. Months ago. It had happened at the same time that a military freighter and a submarine had disappeared. Batman had been the one to connect the dots. She remembered the shooters' dilated pupils and earphones. It was the Scarecrow's modus operandi; the victims had been drugged. Had somebody staged the shootings as a diversion? To make a ship disappear?
Remember what your father said: if you think too much about your personal worries, you will lose your mind. Think more about helping others
May 26, 1949, Metropolis
The information reached Luthor through one of his investigators. Clara Kent and Louis Lane would be attending the Metropolitan Opera that evening, where they would hear Mahler's Seventh Symphony. Everything was already set. Tomorrow was the day. The final move had been planned, the pieces arranged, and yet he found himself unable to remain distant. He wanted to see them. Perhaps he wanted to unsettle them, perhaps to study them, perhaps simply to satisfy a curiosity he could no longer control. The reason hardly mattered. He knew he should stay away, preserve the advantage he had so carefully built. Instead, he opened his wardrobe, took out his tuxedo, and went to the Opera House.
***
Clara and Louis walked arm in arm through the foyer. They were elegantly dressed: Clara with a curly bun, her new glasses, a long dark green evening gown, and the pearl necklace Louis had given her a few days before; Louis in an elegant tuxedo. She tried to concentrate on enjoying the evening with Louis, the music... But soon the news came back to haunt her. What terrified her was the possibility that events would force her to abandon the strict civilian-protection protocol she had sworn to uphold.
"How do you see the diplomatic negotiations, Louis?"
"The tension seems to have eased in the last few days, but you've seen the USSR. They've threatened to withdraw from the UN Security Council if any action by Superwoman outside U.S. borders is not banned, even if it's humanitarian. Unless, of course, she has legal permission from the local government."
Clara sighed inwardly. "Legal permission to save people. My government or I will have to negotiate with other governments to let me save people from drowning or being crushed to death by a landslide… Or to stop civilians from being killed..."
Louis continued in a tone of self-satisfaction, almost of triumph. "This was bound to happen, Clara. Superwoman couldn't be the world's police. Anyway, let's forget about it, because you and I are neither here nor there. Cat Grant will follow up on this story."
"Sure…"
"What would you like to do this weekend? Would you like to get away to some little town?"
"I don't want to go near the sea this time. Let's go to the mountains and sleep outside on Saturday." Those fleeting moments of happiness, set apart from the world, filled her with joy.
"I'll get dehydrated if you keep me away from the sea, Clara," Louis laughed.
A sharp, theatrical voice sounded behind them. "Well, hello there, the most important reporting couple in the universe… I wonder how many of the people around us can imagine your incredible significance."
Clara's heart skipped a beat as she recognized Luthor's voice. She felt a mixture of hatred and fear run through her entire body… Never hate anyone, Clara. There is nothing worse than that. Louis had already turned around and was looking at Luthor coldly. The millionaire scientist stood alone, looking at them with a strange smile.
"Nice to see you again, Mr. Lane."
Louis stood in front of Clara. She could see a look of absolute rage on his face and the way he clenched his hands.
"What do you want, Luthor?" Louis asked fiercely.
"To greet you both, that's all. It's exciting to see people like you mingling with the crowd. How does Mr. Lane feel? Do you feel like Mary Magdalene must have felt, according to some gospels? Chosen for the Messiah's greatest intimacy!"
Louis's expression changed from violence to shock and incomprehension. Clara saw Louis raise his arm to strike Luthor, and she quickly stopped him.
"Louis, please don't listen to him. He's a psychopath," she said anxiously.
"Miss Kent, we've only met once, and you're already calling me a psychopath? But actually… we've met a few more times, now that I think about it... Mr. Lane, listen to her. You know she's much stronger than you." Luthor wore a sardonic smile.
Louis stood petrified, looking at Luthor with hatred and incomprehension. Luthor looked at him intently, ignoring Clara.
"I see that you are surprised, as if you don't understand me..." He turned to Clara with a malicious smile and then back to Louis. "Mr. Lane, don't tell me you didn't know! You look at me as if you don't understand anything. Didn't you know that on the day Clara was born there was a freak meteor shower in northeastern Kansas?"
"Enough, Luthor!"
Louis tried to lunge at the tycoon, but Clara grabbed him again. Louis turned to Clara with an expression of deep pain and bewilderment, perhaps surprised by the strength with which the journalist held him back and prevented him from lunging at Lex.
"You're very calm, Miss Kent... Mr. Lane, I've always found you to be an intelligent and noble person. You've always been calm in our encounters. Do you remember Metallo? Miss Kent remembers him too." Luthor looked entertained, with an almost childlike delight.
He knows. He knows. What a disgrace. He knows. You evil monster... Oh, Louis! Clara stepped in front of Louis and spoke to Luthor in an almost inaudible tone.
"Luthor, if you don't leave, you'll regret it for the rest of your life. I swear it on my father's memory." Rage had completely overwhelmed the feeling of dread at perhaps having been discovered.
"Miss Kent, you shouldn't threaten or swear… Where are the good old manners? It's disappointing to hear that from a supposed Quaker."
Luthor smiled beatifically and slipped away through the crowd. Clara felt like crying and like disintegrating Luthor with her heat vision. She was afraid to turn to Louis, but he grabbed her hand.
"He's mentally ill. I warned you, a real sicko. Maybe we shouldn't have questioned him so openly in the past... Now he's ranting some absurd, delusional nonsense. Forget it. He just wanted to make us uncomfortable. Let's have a drink." Louis's words were reassuring, but his voice and expression were mechanical and utterly cold.
For the rest of the concert, Louis did not turn around for a single second, staring straight ahead with a completely lifeless expression. Clara knew him very well: when Louis acted with coldness and forced indifference, something very painful and violent was happening inside him. Tears came to Clara's eyes several times, and not because of the music. Luthor watched them through binoculars from his opera balcony... What a strange couple. How could he not have known? Tomorrow will be an absolutely historic day.
***
In the taxi, they did not exchange a single word. Clara was anxious, but Louis remained calm. She took his hand, and he took hers in a way that seemed strange to Clara. They went to his apartment. Emily was not there; she was with her mother. The first thing Louis did was go into the living room, take out a bottle of whiskey, and pour himself an almost full glass, which he drank in one gulp.
"Do you want anything to drink, Clara?" His tone, somewhere between exhausted and mocking, frightened Clara.
With phony elegant gestures, Louis poured himself a second glass, which he also almost drained in one gulp. The journalist sat down in an armchair with the glass and the bottle, trying not to look at Clara. She approached him.
"Give me that, please. I beg you."
Louis ignored her, but he got up and left the glass and bottle on the drinks trolley. Clara was afraid to speak or say anything, but finally she dared.
"Don't you want to talk?"
"Talk about what?" Louis's expression darkened, becoming almost hostile.
"Louis, I don't want to play cat and mouse." Clara regained her composure. Suddenly, she felt as though she were facing a villain whose behavior she was determined to stop.
"But who's the mouse and who's the cat? That's a fair question." Louis's hostility seemed to dissolve into infinite weariness.
Clara adjusted her glasses. She was ready to take them off, let her hair down, remove her dress, and reveal her red cape and Superwoman costume. They had been in love for years, and finally, for seven months, they had loved each other freely and lived together. Louis had to love the woman she was. Everything they had told each other and experienced was true. Louis had to understand that the woman he loved was there. She was just the woman who sometimes, to do her duty and use the talents God had given her, jumped out the window in a red cape. There were not two women. There was only one. He had to be able to see it, if he really loved her.
Louis continued to ramble in a self-satisfied tone.
"After all, what is Truth?"
"The truth is, I..."
"I didn't ask for a specific truth. I asked what Truth is. Different questions."
Clara began to get angry. You are cowardly and unjust, Louis. Deeply cowardly and unjust. But he reached out to her and took her shoulders lovingly.
"How short is the time of happiness." Louis was smiling in a strange way, like Luthor.
"Louis, I love you. That's the first and most important thing. Our whole story is true, if that means anything to you."
But Louis answered with a sardonic smile and silence.
"Louis, please..."
Clara could not stand it any longer. She wanted to take off her glasses and her dress. She did not want to enter into a cruel game of recriminations between shadows and misunderstandings with Louis, but he turned around.
"There's a one-in-a-million chance I'm wrong, and that you're wondering what the hell I'm talking about, what the hell is happening."
Clara replied coldly and firmly. No more lies. "No, you're not wrong."
"You are her." Louis's voice sounded like a hurt, broken whisper.
Clara was incapable of replying. She felt as if the ground were opening up under her feet.
"I don't know what you are. I let a stranger into my house. Please go away," Louis continued dryly.
Clara broke down in sobs. "Louis, I beg you..."
"I beg you to leave. We'll talk when I can, if you want, but for tonight, believe me, I've had enough. If you don't go, I'm the one who will. You probably have duties elsewhere." Louis drew the curtains in the living room and opened the apartment's art deco windows. Most of Manhattan's skyscrapers were lit up.
Clara looked at him, hurt and defiant... She wanted to tell him she loved him, but she did not dare. At super speed, she flew out the window and was lost in the sky.
Louis went back to the drinks trolley, poured himself another whiskey, and began to sip it.
May 27th, 1949. Metropolis. In the morning
Louis had needed a considerable amount of alcohol to fall asleep. In his dreams, the events of the previous night had become nothing more than a nightmare, a terrible illusion that vanished with the morning light. For a brief moment, he basked in the relief of ordinary life, only to wake and find that it had all been real. The bottle beside his bed was nearly empty. It was ten in the morning. He decided not to get up. The journalist felt a profound sorrow, but also a strange sense of relief. The doubts that had haunted him, the endless questions, the desperate attempts to convince himself otherwise... they were finally over. Anger came afterward, burning and bitter, but not surprise. That had lasted only a moment. The truth had been there all along, painfully obvious, impossible to ignore. Perhaps, somewhere deep inside, he had always known. He had simply chosen to believe the lie.
Amid his quiet despair, Louis came to a conclusion that morning: Clara Kent was a fabrication, merely a cunning façade crafted by a vastly superior extraterrestrial being who had come to regard him with the kind of affection one reserves for a cherished pet. He repeated that conclusion to himself many times, even though deep down he was full of doubts. But that conclusion, at least, soothed his pain. But Louis needed rest. He needed sleep. He needed to forget the world and plan a graceful exit from the newspaper, from his present life. Poor Pat, what a situation I dragged you into for such a brief love affair. Our sham of a marriage was more bearable than this. Louis fantasized about having fired Clara Kent during her first few weeks at the Daily Planet, when she had answered him rudely and deliberately disobeyed all his orders.
It did not matter. He had his daughter, his parents, his siblings, a possible future in college and politics, and if Pat wanted to return to some hypocritical arrangement, he was ready. He acted like a gambler relieved to have lost all his money, wanting only to forget it quickly and hide the loss by returning to his normal life.
Louis called the newspaper, asking for Cat Grant and Mailer's secretary.
"Mrs. Blankenship? How are you? This is Mr. Lane... Please tell Mrs. Grant or Mr. Mailer that I won't be at the paper until Tuesday... That's right, until Tuesday. No, I'm leaving town. Mrs. Grant has copies of my articles for Sunday and Monday, so it won't be a problem. Just a family matter."
The secretary's voice suddenly said what Louis feared most.
"Miss Kent is right here. Would you like to speak to her?"
Louis immediately hung up and started packing. He trusted Superwoman to respect him and leave him alone... But what if she didn't? What if she turned on him? He could not go to his house in Oyster Bay; Clara knew that place. She also knew the hotels where he liked to hide away in Innsmouth, Nantucket, Arkham; right next to his beloved university, and Dunwich. He had taken her to all those places. Lovers' adventures.
He decided to go to the southern New Jersey shore. A former sergeant from his battalion, with whom he had fought a thousand battles during the war, Dick Malverne, lived there. They were very different men: Malverne was a tough but charming mechanic married to a Black woman. They had been forced to leave Virginia because of segregation laws. Louis had a strange epistolary friendship with him. They had done each other many favors, and Louis had lent him money. Clara didn't know about him.
He felt hopeful as he prepared to run away for a few days. On Tuesday, he would return, confront Clara, leave the Daily Planet gracefully, and move on.
The doorbell rang. God forbid it's her. I hope she wouldn't dare. But if Clara wanted to come in, she had plenty of ways to do it. The doorbell rang again. He decided to answer it, forgetting to look through the peephole first.
Louis felt infinitely tired when he saw Luthor: wiry and thin, wearing a hat pulled low over his eyebrows, accompanied by two huge men who looked disturbing and were undoubtedly armed.
"Good morning, Mr. Lane."
"I beg you to leave me alone if you are looking for Miss Kent."
"Don't worry, we can do without her for now. We know you're alone."
Luthor came in without asking permission and took a tour of Louis's apartment.
"Very elegant. Lots of books. You have very good taste... Do you know how sixty percent of Americans live?"
"Do you, Luthor? Or have you only heard about it?"
"Don't worry, I'm not interested in debating with you. I see you were packing a suitcase. Finish it and come with us. And don't even think about warning your girlfriend."
"I think you know her better than I do... And I'm not going anywhere."
One of Luthor's escorts pulled out a gun and pointed it at him.
Luthor approached him and spoke very quietly.
"Don't get nervous, and keep your voice down. In my offices and at my home, I have an ultrasonic machine whose sounds are unbearable to the Kryptonian, so I can speak in private. I'm used to it. Here, we are exposed. Be a good boy, Lane. I know it's hard for you, but this is the end of the escape. Finish packing your suitcase, throw in a few books or that beloved Bible of yours, and come with us happy and smiling. We now have about an hour before your little bird is no longer occupied by the distraction we have prepared for her."
"And if I don't, what happens?" Louis adopted a foolish tone as he tried to move closer to a drawer where he kept a gun. Let them put a bullet in my head right now, and that will be the end of it.
"Don't be silly, Lane. I think the world of you. Don't make me conclude that you are nothing more than a melodramatic rich kid. If you resist, we'll put a bullet in your temple, and I'll kidnap your official wife and daughter. That way, I can better test the limits of Superwoman's reactions and her true feelings for humanity."
Louis shuddered, closed his eyes, and accepted. Under no circumstances would he risk his daughter's life or Pat's. It was terrible to be in the hands of a madman, but he would accept it. Maybe this was the end. He felt a strange calm.
"Fine."
"Good boy."
***
By midday, they were aboard a TELCORP boat headed for Meredith Island. Luthor looked curiously at Louis Lane, who remained silent and impassive.
What a perfect specimen of the new America, Luthor thought. Not quite aristocracy, not quite meritocracy, but something harder and more durable: money without lineage, piety without innocence, courage without imagination. Lane had the manners of the educated classes, the reflexes of a soldier, the instincts of a newspaperman, and the moral certainties of a man who had never doubted the civilization that had rewarded him. The new ruling class of America. Luthor did not know whether he preferred it to the old aristocracy. The new men would be harder to break, but they would do more damage before they fell. What had the superheroine seen in him? He was attractive and well placed, but hardly exceptional. Luthor would have understood it better if the Kryptonian had taken an interest in Bruce Wayne. Maybe she just wasn't interested in crazy masked strongmen.
They disembarked at the sprawling industrial facility, which stood eerily silent except for a handful of guards. Luthor wasted no time, ordering them to return to shore immediately in the tugboat. With an air of quiet authority, he led Louis toward a large elevator, and, together with several of his gunmen, they descended into the depths of the facility.
The elevator doors opened onto a glass-enclosed control room lined with military-grade computers, study tables scattered with papers, and a maze of wiring. Beyond the glass walls stretched a vast circular concrete chamber, dominated by a towering metal dome studded with glowing bulbs that cast an unsettling light over the room. At the center, a large electrical generator hummed ominously, its sharp cracks and sparks punctuating the stillness. Next to it stood a gilded metal-and-glass sarcophagus, open; inside, barely discernible in the flickering light, a male body writhed and convulsed again and again, as if trapped in a nightmare of electricity.
"Luthor... What have you done?" Louis asked, afraid. The sarcophagus did not look human, and the figure inside it wore some kind of strange breastplate. He was very tall, though Louis could not make out his features. Was he an alien?
Luthor turned toward him and moved within inches of his face. He wore something like a smile of understanding, and his tone was gentle. "What would you be willing to sacrifice to save millions of lives? There are more than three billion of us now... How much are the lives and futures of our children and grandchildren worth? What price would you be willing to pay?"
"Luthor..."
"Listen to me. We are multiplying. We are reaching marvelous heights in art and technology. We are about to touch space with our fingers... And yet we continue to generate terrible famines, wars, and untold atrocities. People like you are driving a suicidal economic model, while those on the other side are great theoreticians who, when they collide with reality, resort to cruelty… Sometimes unnecessary cruelty. I recognize that. We are all human. But we lack the spirit of brotherhood and self-improvement required to understand that we are all brothers on this blue sphere... and that we must be free and dignified. Did you know that my geneticists calculated that, 12,000 years ago, ninety-nine percent of humanity was wiped out by your girlfriend's ancestors? Do you want us to depend on them? Or do you want a nuclear war overseen by the lady in the red cape?"
Louis was overwhelmed by Luthor's torrent of words. But he understood what Luthor was getting at.
The tycoon explained further. "I prefer one of the two contending powers, Mr. Lane. I think it has a tighter calculation of the future and a better grasp of history. I refer, of course, to the Soviet Union. I don't know whether that surprises you... But they are wrong in their cruelty, and in their handling of human freedom and dignity. They do not understand the genius of mankind. I have concluded that the best thing is for the two sides to remain in a perpetual standoff, under a sword of Damocles—sometimes watching each other, sometimes working together, but allowing man to remain man and move forward. We cannot do that by submitting to a superpowered alien who assists one of the two powers and could enable it to crush the other, unbalancing the world and making it easier to control."
Louis thought of all the moments he had shared with Clara, and of the values they seemed to share. He could not imagine her enabling a war or controlling humanity... But she had the capacity to do that, and much more.
"Do you know how long Mrs. El, or Miss Kent, or whatever you want to call her, could live? I was able to analyze her blood once, after her fight with Metallo. From the age of thirty onward, she ages thirty to forty times more slowly than a human being. At six or eight hundred years old, she will barely look fifty. Do you really believe that, in six or eight hundred years, this being will not realize that she is not a reporter, or a farmer, and that the world belongs to her completely? You are a Catholic... Are you prepared for the arrival of the Antichrist? Of the false Messiah?"
"Mr. Luthor…" Louis felt overwhelmed, as close to the edge of the abyss as he had been in the minutes between the opera and his apartment the night before. One part of him wanted to cry out, Yes!, and cling to Luthor; another wanted to kill him and protect Clara.
Luthor seemed to grow more confident at what he perhaps perceived as doubt, or a faint assent, in Louis. He raised the emotional pitch of his voice, almost like a prophet.
"She is already here to abolish man and his history, to make him a servant, to manage him at her whim, as she has managed you. Forget her caresses and her disguise as a model young New Deal girl... You have written about this yourself. Are you ready for what Superwoman means? And more importantly, are you ready to do what must be done?"
"What do you want from me?" Luthor had opened the valve of doubt inside Louis.
"Help me bring her down. We have very little time. Perhaps we can avoid many deaths and a great deal of chaos. If you side with me, perhaps we can devise a quick way to finish her off and avoid using that thing you see in the chamber."
Louis was coming apart, overwhelmed by the sight of the convulsing body beyond the glass. Luthor's words had struck at his fears and beliefs. But he could not trust him. What if Luthor was deceiving him? What if this led to millions of deaths? And what if Superwoman really was Clara; a woman full of compassion and duty, someone who would never harm humanity? Could he kill the woman he loved on the strength of the twisted reasoning of a madman who was not even loyal to his own country?
"What will you do, Lane?" Luthor insisted.
"I don't trust you, Luthor. There is no way I can look at what you're offering me and not see death and betrayal."
The tone of beatitude and the understanding smile returned to Luthor's face. "Then pray and wait. You are a coward. You lack the necessary strength."
Luthor turned to the mercenaries. "Take him downstairs and chain him up. Set up an ultrasonic generator next to him... You see, Lane, we want to keep you very close, but we don't want Superwoman to know you're here. Let's say she hunts by sound."
Louis regained his composure and dignity. He began to pray in silence while looking defiantly at Luthor.
"Who, or what, is that?" Louis dared to ask, pointing to the convulsing body.
"My dear Mr. Lane, what we have here is doomsday for a false goddess. You will understand soon enough."
"…Doomsday."
Louis silently prayed that it was not true.
May 27th, 1949. Metropolis. 04.00 PM
Clara Kent fought back tears as she rearranged a series of index cards written in Louis's handwriting. She was in the office they had once shared. Cat Grant sat at Louis's desk, bundled up in her fur coat despite the heat, her sunglasses still on.
"I bet, my dearest Clara, that you don't know what a terrible hangover is. But you look as if you haven't slept at all."
Clara did not answer.
"Men are very unpleasant, aren't they, my dear? Don't neglect your career... How are those index cards coming? I need all the information Louis has on these Romanian diplomats. He is our most knowledgeable man on the Mediterranean and Eastern Europe. I don't know why we sidelined him in local and crime reporting. Anyway, Superwoman has killed crime reporting. Before he runs off to the State Department or to MacArthur, we need to get all his files. With his permission, of course. We'll be the queens of political reporting. Well, I already am."
"Yes, of course," Clara replied reluctantly.
She did not like working for Cat. She had just had one of the worst nights of her life. Not for a second had she stopped helping people as Superwoman, but the whole time she had suffered over her fight with Louis. Clara wanted to talk to him again, but she did not dare. In the morning, Superwoman had had to save a 40,000-ton Italian liner with 1,800 people on board from sinking. She had lifted it into the air and carried it to port. The rescue had lasted two hours. There had been a strange explosion in the hold… Saboteurs? But she could not stop thinking about Louis, or about Luthor. Why had he done it? Only to hurt me?
"Tremendous business with the ship, huh? It could have been a disaster; thank goodness the Lady in Red and Blue took care of it. I'm sorry I didn't let you go to the dock, but we already have half the paper working on it. Besides, they've all been saved, so now it's nothing more than an anecdote." Cat sighed.
"Absolutely."
"Clara, dear, you have a lot of potential, but I think working with Louis is making you rusty. I suspect you'll be seeing plenty of him outside the office from now on. I think it's time you stopped being an assistant reporter and became a senior reporter. I'm not that bad to work for. Louis loves me. Perry loves me."
Clara ignored her as she continued to go through the files. Then an unbearable sound pierced her ear. She could not help gasping and putting her hands to her head. She knew it well… ultrasounds. It was the method first Zod, and then Luthor, had used to contact her. Inside her chest, her heart began to race.
"Are you all right, dear?"
"My head hurts so much." The beeping sounded again. Neither Cat nor anyone else heard it, of course, but to her it was unbearable. Then a message came through the air in a very recognizable voice, and despite her worry, pain, and anger, she was not surprised.
Clara Kent, Kala-El, Superwoman... How many names do you use? How many will you use in the future? In any case, I want you to come to Meredith Island immediately. It will be easy for you to find me. I have a very important proposition for you. If you ignore this message, Mr. Lane will suffer an ominous fate, and worse things will happen regardless. Don't be late. You have five minutes, though I know you can make it in less than one.
Clara sprang to her feet.
"Where are you going? We haven't finished the files. I need them for my article," Cat Grant said with displeasure.
"Cat, I'm really sorry, but I'm very sick and I have to go," Clara said, slamming the door behind her.
In two steps, she reached a filing room. It was locked, but she was so determined that she tore off the lock and went inside. In less time than it would take a human eye to blink, Clara took off her glasses and opened her jacket and shirt, revealing the crest of the House of El, that red-and-gold symbol resembling a stylized "S." She tore off her skirt and stockings, unfurled her cape, and flew out the window at full speed.
Superwoman was on her way.
Cat Grant saw the red-and-blue blur streak across the sky above the Daily Planet and sighed to herself. "Poor girl. She's the best we've got."
***
Superwoman landed on Meredith Island. The noise from the various ultrasonic systems was torturous. She tried to find Louis, but his heartbeat was broken up by interference. He was close, but he could have been anywhere in the facility. Luthor, however, was very near. With her X-ray vision, the Maid of Might detected a lead dome buried deep beneath the facility. The lead appeared to her as a blind spot, a dead, opaque giant circle. It was deliberate. She could not see what lay inside it. She could not hear clearly either; the ultrasonic interference turned the world around her into a jagged storm of pain. Louis's heartbeat came and went, broken into fragments, swallowed by machines.
That was enough. Superwoman rose a few feet from the ground, folded her arms close to her body, and began to spin. In an instant she became a red-and-blue drill, boring through the concrete floor. Stone, steel, cables, pipes, and machinery gave way around her. The island shook. Alarms screamed and died as she tore through them. A column of dust and pulverized metal followed her downward, driven by the force of her descent.
A cloud of debris burst into the underground chamber before she did. Then Superwoman landed in the room with enough force to crack the floor beneath her boots. Broken fragments of concrete and twisted iron rained down around her. She stood there for a fraction of a second, visibly shaken, breathing hard, her cape billowing behind.
Her eyes burned red with the first light of heat vision. She saw Luthor. She saw the guards. She saw the machines. She saw enough. Before any of Luthor's men could raise a weapon, she moved.
To them, she was not motion but impact. One guard was hurled across the room and crashed into a bank of equipment. Another was struck from the side and folded to the floor before he could cry out. A third fired blindly; Superwoman caught the bullets in her palm and drove him backward with a sweep of her arm. Within seconds, Luthor's bodyguards lay scattered across the chamber, groaning or unconscious, their weapons bent, crushed, or flung beyond reach.
Then she was in front of Luthor. She seized him by the throat and drove him back against the wall. Luthor's feet barely touched the floor. Superwoman held him there with one hand, her face inches from his, her eyes still glowing, her voice low and trembling with rage.
"Where is Louis?"
"What a performance. Calm down, Mrs. El." Luthor kept his composure.
"It's over, Luthor. I'm going to put an end to your crimes forever." Superwoman squeezed his throat, and Luthor began to struggle for breath.
"Look to your right, you monster!" Luthor's choking sounded almost like laughter.
Clara turned and saw it for the first time: in the center of the vast chamber beneath the dome, a body lay writhing in a strange sarcophagus, sparks leaping around it beside a generator.
"Louis!"
The superheroine rushed toward the body, but froze in astonishment when she saw that it was not Louis. It was a tall, slender, young, long-haired man dressed in an exoskeleton she recognized from ancient Krypton. Similar things had appeared in Kelex's holographs. He was bound to the sarcophagus by strange metal clamps inscribed with Kryptonian symbols. The sarcophagus was filled with a strange blue liquid that conducted the electricity coursing through it.
"It's not Louis. It's a little gift from history. Come back and let's talk," Luthor shouted, coughing as he tried to recover.
His bodyguards were writhing on the floor, bound hand and foot by their own weapons, which had been bent with superhuman strength in the blink of an eye.
Clara floated back to Luthor and grabbed him by his shirt and jacket.
"You're going to jail. You're not getting out of this one. I don't think you have government approval for this... Tell me where Louis is, or you'll regret it."
Louis's heartbeat seemed close one moment and distant the next.
"You understand nothing, Mrs. Krypton. Absolutely nothing. You are in no position to ask for anything."
Superwoman threw him onto the table. Luthor was bleeding slightly from the corner of his mouth. She felt guilty... Her father Joe Kent's voice came to her from far away, from a Kansas farm in the early 1930s.
"These gifts you have, Clara… many people will not understand them. They will fear them. To use them well, to help others quietly and discreetly, will be extremely difficult. The possibility of abuse or excess will always be there. The world needs humble people who work quietly and turn the other cheek. We already have more than enough leaders with great human powers... Just imagine one with powers which look not from this world."
Superwoman breathed in and out and forced herself to calm down. She went over to Luthor and helped him to his feet.
"Luthor, I'm begging you. What do you want from me? Let's get this over with."
"Today everything ends, for you and for me." Luthor sounded proud and exalted.
"What do you mean?"
Luthor coughed blood with something almost like a smile, and the sight frightened Clara. He pointed at the sarcophagus. "That thing there is one of the greatest paradoxes in history. A heroic paradox. It is possible that no one but us will ever know it, and that is one of its wonders. How many times has the history of the world been twisted by miracles like this, miracles never known to ordinary people or historians?"
"LUTHOR, TELL ME THE TRUTH!" Clara screamed.
"That is an ancestor of yours over there, from your planet, a few generations before you. He came here 12,000 years ago. I believe you know the story. He came with an armada to ravage the Earth, wipe out humanity, and punish the Kryptonians who lived alongside humans… or so we have speculated. They almost succeeded. They almost wiped us out. But they failed. They caused the greatest extinction mankind has ever known, but they failed. And here we are. He was left in that ship you saw with the President, buried under water and mud. And now here he is. A Kryptonian who came here to destroy us. You are another Kryptonian, one who is here to wipe us out... Not today, perhaps, but who knows? In a few decades? A few centuries? You have plenty of time…. You do not belong in this world; you represent its end, or its corruption. You are a false goddess... I was speaking with Mr. Lane earlier. You are the Antichrist the Christians wrote about."
"LUTHOR, WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?"
"Nothing you can give me. You will not take your own life of your own free will, and you will not leave this world of your own free will in search of another, not without conditions that would allow you to return. That is intolerable. I want your end. I want the triumph of humanity over the Titans, the Nephilim, and the false gods. This is your doomsday, Kala-El of Krypton."
Luthor pressed the remote control in his hand, and the ultrasound grew louder, causing Clara to scream in pain. She fell to the floor. Just then, she heard a small explosion. Objects had fallen from an opening in the ceiling. Clara had not seen them clearly, but they were a series of crystal warheads filled with black liquid. They had fallen onto the Kryptonian prisoner, who was now writhing in black smoke, stained with a liquid that looked like oil. The sparks grew larger, and the whole room filled with electricity.
Clara began to cough and felt weak. She soon understood: a large part of the dome was lined with kryptonite.
"My God… Luthor… What have you done? Why have you done this?"
In a few seconds, through the pain, Clara felt Luthor's fears and accusations intertwine with the fears of her adoptive parents, with Louis's rejection of Superwoman, and with the rejection of so many others. With Pete Ross...
That afternoon, a few days after they had become engaged, walking on the outskirts of Smallville, when she was just twenty-one years old, an apprentice elementary school teacher, she had wanted to show Pete her powers. He had run away terrified. It had taken days before Pete would agree to see her again, and it had been painfully difficult for Clara to convince him that she was not possessed by the devil. And yet they had broken off the engagement, only for him to marry her friend Lana Lang years later.
"Just watch me," Luthor said contemptuously, pressing another detonator.
More crystal warheads fell onto the Kryptonian before a stunned Clara.
The Kryptonian began to scream, but the sound was inhuman: a hollow, lifeless cry, like the bellow of a bull in its final moments. His body convulsed inside the sarcophagus as the black liquid spread over him, hissing against his skin like acid. A stunned Clara, weakened by the ultrasound and the kryptonite lining the dome above her, could only watch in horror.
His flesh charred almost instantly. His hair ignited in thin, violent flames, then vanished. Blisters rose across his chest and arms, swelling grotesquely before splitting open. Beneath the burned skin, something was changing. Muscle thickened too quickly, pressing outward. Bones shifted with wet, cracking sounds. His shoulders broadened, his jaw distorted, and the elegant lines of his face began to collapse into something brutal and unfinished. And yet, despite the fire, the smoke, and the agony, the Kryptonian suddenly sat up, tearing off his restraints with raw, primal strength.
Superwoman flew toward the Kryptonian, reaching out to restrain him, but she was caught off guard by the sheer force of his response. The creature twisted violently, landing a powerful blow that sent her crashing into the dome's ceiling and slamming into a sheet of kryptonite. Gasping in pain, she fell to the ground, her eyes widening in horror as she watched the Kryptonian begin to mutate again. His body swelled grotesquely, his skin stretching unnaturally as his teeth fell out, replaced by jagged, razor-sharp fangs. His arms grew longer and more muscular, his fingers twisting into thick, clawed talons. As his monstrous form expanded, the remnants of his Kryptonian exoskeleton began to crack and splinter, either falling away from his body or becoming embedded in his swelling muscles. Jagged shards of metal tore through his flesh, a terrifying fusion of alien biology and twisted machinery.
Superwoman managed to sit up and turned her heat vision on the creature, searing its flesh and cutting it open, but the more beams she fired at it, the more the creature swelled. The openings in its body closed again, broken bones pierced the monster's skin and covered it with deformities. Clara, you were able to defeat Zod and his terrible machines. You managed to help all of humanity. You stopped hurricanes, tsunamis, nuclear missiles, war criminals, mobsters, mutants... You can do this and much more!
At super speed, the Woman of Tomorrow began to punch the monster again and again, but the more she hit it, the more pain she felt. The creature's bones and the remains of its exoskeleton cut her hands, which were soon bloody and covered with wounds. The creature groaned in pain but struggled against her, slamming Clara to the ground as she crashed through several floors to what must have been the basement.
The creature jumped through the hole, landed on top of Superwoman, and began to pummel her. It grabbed her cape and hurled her upward. Superwoman shot through the dome and fell back into the rubble. Her cape and part of her costume were shredded, and she felt intense pain in her hands, chest, and stomach.
The dome began to collapse. The monster was on the floors below, pounding God knew what and bringing the entire complex down. In a last-ditch effort, Clara grabbed Luthor's surviving bodyguards and carried them out of the failing complex at super speed. There were several boats outside, and Clara tore away the bent weapons she had used to tie them up. Luthor was nowhere in sight.
"Get out of here. Disappear. I never want to see you again."
Oh my God, Louis!
She grabbed one of them.
"Where's the man you captured, the man with the mustache? What have you done with him?"
"He's on the top floor, in a cell in the northwest area."
Clara watched as the floors and buildings crumbled beneath her feet.
Louis, I must save him. For God's sake, he's here. Louis, my love, hang on!
From a hole in the ground, the monster jumped several feet. It was now almost fifteen feet tall, and its humanoid form was almost unrecognizable.
Despite the pain and the possibility that she might be bleeding internally, Superwoman flew toward it.
***
Some distance away, in a sleek motorboat heading for a freighter where he intended to establish his command post, Luthor looked through binoculars. The buildings on Meredith Island were collapsing as if in an earthquake. Suddenly, a swollen, deformed greenish-brown humanoid was hurled up from beneath the earth, and he saw the familiar red-and-blue blur hurtling toward it, trying to drive the creature into the ocean. The skyscrapers of Metropolis rose in the distance. Meredith Island was only fifteen miles from Central Park
Luthor had everything ready: his company's small airfield, with a plane and a capable pilot prepared to bomb Superwoman and the monster with the Pathogen; a freighter with an armed escort from which to observe the battle and make decisions on the ground; and a seaplane to escape when the time came. He also had poison capsules with which to take his own life if necessary. He had doubts only about the instructions he had given Mercy Graves, but they were probably his only way out.
It was now or never. He would never have escaped to the USSR. If he had done nothing, he would not have been able to launch this attack on Superwoman, and sooner or later the government would have tracked him down and arrested him. Luthor had to do it.
And he did it.
Maybe we'll succeed... Maybe we'll succeed, and we'll all be saved...