Free Falling, Part 6
By: C. Leuch
A new day had dawned in Australia, bringing sunshine and a fresh perspective. Today would be a day for chasing down leads, and hopefully bringing a big story back to Metropolis, one that would completely justify his unplanned trip down under. Lois had been onto something with the story about the voting system, though it really wasn’t something that required a presence in the country to report. There had to be something bigger. Normally, he would check some of the social news feeds in the morning to get a handle on what the daily topics would be, but until his laptop arrived, he would just have to find his story the old fashioned way. With all the big name stars still in town from the Comic Convention, it might be worth tracking one of them down and discussing some hot topics in the entertainment world. A delegation from the U.S. government was in Canberra that day discussing trade agreements, and with the controversy swirling about that topic these days, that could also be a good lead. But Canberra was a couple hours’ drive from Sydney, and without his license he wouldn’t be able to rent a car. Turning on the morning news as he dressed, he made note of a story about violence erupting in cities throughout the world overnight. Without any super men or women, he supposed it was to be expected, though the scale was beyond anything he would’ve imagined. Even Sydney, normally a very safe city, wasn’t spared. Maybe that was his story, he thought with a frown.
Whatever story he ended up pursuing would have to wait until after breakfast. Now that he was a mere mortal, he found that he was positively starving after a long night of sleep. Normally he didn’t necessarily get hungry, but this morning his stomach rumbled rather loudly, and he decided that a trip down to the hotel restaurant would be his first order of the day. He whistled quietly as he made his way down the hall, into the elevator, and through the lobby, grabbing a local periodical before finding a table in a nice, quiet corner of the restaurant. He had ordered and was a couple of pages into the newspaper when he heard someone say his name. Lowering the paper, he saw Spencer North a couple tables over, getting up from his chair and making his way over.
Clark folded the newspaper as Spencer approached. “Care for some company?” Mr. North asked, and Clark gestured toward the empty seat across from him.
“Sleep well?” Clark asked, though a look at his companion’s face told his all he needed to know.
“Not really, no,” Spencer said. Catching Clark’s critical glance, he ran his hand across his chin. “I always look worse in the morning than I feel, though. I never shave until after breakfast. Somehow I look less famous with a little stubble. Keeps the crazies away.”
Clark nodded, brushing the back of his hand across his cheek. His normal way of shaving wasn’t exactly available to him at the moment, and he still needed to pick up some shaving supplies. “I thought the rugged, day-old stubble look was in,” Clark said with a smile.
“Not for Superman,” Spencer answered, a twinkle in his eye. Clark opened his mouth to ask him a question, but the waiter picked that moment to show up. After Spencer gave his order and handed over his menu, he turned his attention back to Clark.
“So what’s on tap for today?” Clark asked.
“Oh, back to the Comic Convention for me,” he said in a low voice. “More autographs and photos, and today they’re doing a panel with a couple of my Superman movie costars and executives.”
“Sounds interesting,” Clark said, and Spencer just shrugged.
“I don’t mind interacting with the fans. There are one or two out there that make you want to crawl out of your skin, but most of them just want to tell you how much they like your work. Nothing wrong with that, I guess. It’s good for the ego, if nothing else.” Clark nodded, knowing full well what Spencer was talking about. He did enjoy meeting the public, and usually came out of those interactions with buoyed spirits. “How about you?” Spencer continued. “Anything exciting planned for today?”
“Oh, just chasing down a big story,” Clark said.
“Oooh,” Spencer said, leaning in closer toward the table. “Anything you can tell me, or is it hush hush?”
“It’s a work in progress,” Clark said, then ducked his head. “Actually, I have no idea yet what I’ll be writing about, but I’m sure inspiration will strike at some time. It always does.”
“Well, could you maybe talk to some of my costars? I can set something up for you, if you’re interested.”
Clark gave a friendly smile and shook his head. “I appreciate the offer but…entertainment news isn’t generally considered hard news. No offense.”
“None taken. I get it.”
“Unless you know if some intrigue or strange goings on with the movie production….” Clark made sure the tone of his voice implied that he was kidding. Then again, if there WERE problems with production, his alter ego would have a vested interest in getting things straightened out.
The smile from Spencer North told him that he understood. “We’re making a film about the most straight-laced guy on Earth. I feel confident that everything is on the level.”
“Well, strike that idea, then.”
“Sorry.”
Clark smiled. “I enjoy the thrill of the hunt. It’s part of the reason I got into the business,” he said. “I’ll be fine.”
There was a long moment of silence, then Spencer sat up straighter and regarded Clark eagerly. There was something in his expression that seemed a little too wide eyed, to the point that it made him almost uncomfortable to be on the receiving end. It was the type of expression that was typically reserved for his alter ego. “Even if there’s no story there, have you thought about swinging through the convention?”
Clark hesitated a moment, wondering how much to stay, then he decided that there was no harm in admitting that a certain Dark Knight had already made an appearance. “Actually, I was there yesterday. In disguise, no less.”
Spencer blinked. “Yeah?” he said, scooting toward the edge of his seat.
“I have this great Batman costume….”
Spencer gave an odd laugh and shook his head. “Of course you do,” he said, causing Clark’s eyebrows to pinch together. What did that mean, exactly? Spencer made a visible effort to relax. “I, uh, would’ve thought a guy from Metropolis would be more of a Superman fan.”
“Well, sometimes it’s fun to mix it up.”
Spencer seemed thoughtful for a moment. “You know, I should try that….”
Clark nodded, though his mind gave a warning. Two Supermen in as many days trolling around the convention in Batman suits was just edgy enough that of course someone would catch on, then it would be one less fun thing he could do with the fans. He would never begrudge Spencer some fun over his silly worries, though. Besides, he had bigger things to worry about at the moment.
Anxious to change the topic away from secret identities, Clark asked Spencer about his favorite sports teams outside the Royals, which led to a rather enjoyable trip down memory lane discussing high points in the Kansas City Chiefs and Kansas Jayhawks sports histories. All too soon their food came, and most of the conversation trailed off as they ate. Clark was feeling full and in good spirits as the meal wound down, and he and Spencer North parted company.
Exiting the restaurant, Clark stepped toward the front desk to check and see if his package had been delivered, tracking Spencer across the lobby toward the elevators as he did. As the clerk checked for Clark’s package, a waiter quickly exited the restaurant, looking frantically around the lobby. Recognition seemed to come as he found Clark and hurried over.
“Uh, sir, I believe you left your credit card at the table,” he said, handing over a credit card with a name on it that he didn’t recognize.
“I think you must be mistaken,” Clark said, studying the card for a moment before handing it back.
The waiter just stared at the card. “Denver omlette, right? Extra bacon on top?”
“Oh, that was what my companion ordered,” he said, then glanced toward where he last saw Spencer North. The elevator doors were in the process of closing, with no Spencer in sight. He must’ve returned to his room. Clark pulled the card away, looked at the name again, and stuffed it in his pocket. Leave it to a celebrity to use a card with a fake name on it. “You know what? I can return it to him when I’m done here,” Clark said, much to the relief of the waiter.
“I appreciate it,” he said. “Have a great day, sir.” With that, he turned and rushed back to the restaurant. A moment later, the clerk emerged from a room behind the front desk with a large box in his hands.
“You’re in luck,” he said, plunking it down on the counter. “This just showed up a few minutes ago.” Clark felt at that moment as if a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Then he saw the shipping price on the UPS label and cringed. “I’m just going to need for you to sign for this,” the clerk continued, pulling out a clipboard.
Clark signed his name, then picked up the box, which was heavier than it looked, and headed toward the elevators to drop it in his room. It would feel great to change out of the clothes that he had been wearing since the day before, and he was itching to pull out his laptop and get to work. After lugging the box through the hallways and to his room, he decided that the next order of business would be to return the credit card to Spencer before he left for the day. The piece of paper with his room number on it was on the nightstand, and Clark quickly moved to retrieve it, glancing at the room number before shoving it into his pocket next to the credit card and heading back toward the elevators. Spencer was staying in the swanky upper floors of the hotel, and even the hallways up there were nicer, Clark noted. The room was at the far end of a long, quiet hallway, and Clark started whistling again as he ambled along, finally reaching the door and knocking.
Even absent his superhearing, he could make out several hushed voices talking urgently from inside the room. It seemed to take forever before the talking ceased and the door cracked open, the chain still engaged. The opening was only an inch or so, but it was enough for him to see an odd expression on his friend’s face. “Ah, Clark! What are you doing here?” he asked, though he didn’t move to disengage the chain or open the door in a more welcoming manner.
Concerned, Clark craned his neck to try and look into the room. “You left your credit card at the restaurant,” he said, though he didn’t move to pull the card out of his pocket just yet. The situation seemed off somehow, and he wanted some more information before he left.
“Oh,” Spencer said. “That was careless of me.” He seemed to almost be speaking too loudly, which further strengthened the thought that there was something wrong.
“Lucky the waiter found me,” Clark continued, only half paying attention to the conversation now. His eyes were soaking in all the details that he could catch from beyond the door, not that there was much to see. All of a sudden there was a glint, almost like sunlight reflecting off metal. Or a gun? Clark’s eyes snapped to his friend again. Silently, he mouthed the words, “Are you okay?”
Spencer shook his head vigorously. “Yeah, that is really lucky,” he said.
Clark felt his jaw clench as he stood up straighter, cursing his lack of powers. If he could look into the room, he would know what he was dealing with. As it was, the best he could do was guess. He held up his hand and made a gesture indicating that Spencer step aside so he could look. Spencer nodded once and moved just enough that much more of the room was in view. The gun in the hands of another man was now fully visible, though it wasn’t pointing toward the door at the moment. His eyes must’ve gotten wide, because Spencer nodded again and gave a knowing expression. “Poor guy was pretty frantic,” Clark continued, his focus shifting to the hallway. Think, Clark, he coached himself, his eyes darting around. There had to be something there he could use as a weapon, or at least as a shield if worse came to worse. He wasn’t going to walk away without helping Spencer out, and he wasn’t going to let that door close without doing something.
Spencer gave a forced laugh. “I’ll bet,” he said. At that moment, Clark found what he was looking for. Across the hallway was a tray piled with empty dishes, the remnants of a room service breakfast, no doubt. At the top of the stack was a metal cover, used to keep the food warm when it was brought to the room. That would work well as a shield, he decided. There was also an assortment of silverware there, including, mercifully, an ugly looking steak knife. Clark smiled as he looked back toward Spencer, made eye contact, and held up one finger. At Spencer’s slight nod, he lunged for the items he located, quickly bringing them back in front of the hotel door. Clark then made a gesture that indicated that Spencer should keep talking. “Well, uh, you must be a busy guy with plenty of other things to do today. I’ll just undo the chain here and take that credit card off your hands…” he then inhaled sharply, the portion of face that Clark could see distorting into a grimace. Apparently his captor wasn’t fond of that idea. “I mean, uh, if you could just slide it into the gap, here….”
“Sure,” Clark said, pointing to Spencer’s left and raising his eyebrows. Spencer nodded almost imperceptibly. Clark pantomimed elbowing someone in the stomach and pointed at Spencer, indicating that’s what he wanted him to do. Another small nod. Poising himself in front of the door, shield in one hand, steak knife in the other, Clark mouthed a countdown. Three…two…one….
The blow from the other side was followed with a grunt and a thud. Clark waited until he could see that Spencer was no longer in front of the door before his foot came up and slammed into it, breaking the chain instantly. He might not be super at the moment, but apparently he still retained not-quite-super strength. He swiped at the door again with his foot, swinging it wide open. On the floor, Spencer was punching the man who had been standing to his side, though that man seemed to be in too much pain to put up a fight. Meanwhile, the man with the gun had caught notice of what was happening, and Clark found the weapon trained on him. Without another thought, he strode forward, holding the shield in front of his face as the gun fired. He cringed, waiting for the strike to the shield, but none came. Apparently the gunman was a bad shot. Clark gave a small smile and began to run, determined to barrel into the other man and take him down that way. A moment later their bodies met, and his football training instinctively kicked in. Applying a textbook tackle, Clark found himself on the ground on top of the now stunned man, while the gun flew across the room. He shoved his forearm across the other man’s chest, holding him back, while his other arm cocked back into position, then landed a strong punch to his jaw. The first punch seemed to stun him, so Clark punched again, the second one knocking him out.
Still sitting on top of his subject, Clark felt himself relax with relief. Turning back to look toward Spencer, he found his friend in a similar position. “So, what was this all about,” Clark said, giving a smile.
Spencer smiled back and shook his head, though he was too winded to talk at just that moment. Clark took advantage of the lull to push himself up into a standing position, and after a minute, Spencer did the same. “I have no idea,” he said. The two of them walked toward each other and stood side by side, surveying the other men. They needed to call security, Clark knew, and probably the police, but at the moment, inertia seemed to grip him, the effect of the initial burst of adrenaline wearing off. He’ll do it in a moment, he told himself, but something stopped him. He had never looked too closely at the faces of the men in the room in his haste to save Spencer North. Now that he got a chance to see them clearly, he realized that he recognized them. He must have gasped, because Spencer put a hand on his arm. “What is it?” Spencer asked.
“I know these men,” Clark said, and it only took a moment of sorting through his mental files to figure out who they were. Boy, that sure made everything a lot more interesting. Roaming charges be damned, this warranted a call to Metropolis and a conversation with his wife. Something told him that this could be an important key to her investigation in why his powers disappeared and who might be behind it. There was also a bigger story here: some men had just assaulted a major celebrity – maybe with the intent to kidnap him or do worse – something that was sure to attract the attention of people even outside the entertainment industry. Clark turned toward Spencer. “I guess I know what I’m going to write about today,” he said with a wry smile
Spencer’s eyes went wide, then he sighed. “Yeah I suppose you do. But when you’re done with that…I don’t suppose you do bodyguard work on the side?”
Clark’s expression softened and he pointed at the goon by the door. “Looks to me like you don’t need any help.”
That seemed to calm Spencer slightly. “I never would’ve had the guts to do that without you for backup,” he said. “You’re fearless.”
“Well, you’re Superman,” he answered. “Never forget that.” Clark always believed that people were capable of whatever they believed they could do, good or bad. His words seemed to work, and he could see Spencer’s eyes go distant as he considered what Clark said, his posture improving with each passing moment. Soon enough, he was standing rod straight, his arms crossed across his chest, his expression commanding – a very Superman-like image.
“You’re right,” Spencer said with a smile. “But if that’s the case, then I say you might make a better Superman than me.” His eyes seemed to twinkle as he spoke, and Clark had the uncomfortable feeling that the words meant more than what they seemed. Before he could ponder that, though, Spencer reached for the phone, and called the authorities.
***
CJ drummed his fingers absently on his computer, looking past the screen and the text file containing the code for his computer virus that would break through the Orbital Technologies firewall. In the long minutes since he had sent the file to Jon, he had nervously gone through it multiple times, making sure the syntax was correct, confirming that it should work as expected. He had pulled up more files and tools on his end to use in hacking into the computer once the time came. The minutes seemed to tick by incredibly slowly, more so because of the anticipation of what exactly they could accomplish. He knew it would take a couple hours for Jon to make the drive to Houston, for him to eat lunch and get inside the building, but he was not an especially patient person. At least under normal circumstances, he had a cave full of fun gadgets to fiddle with, or case files to look through to pass the time. He supposed he could give his attention to his wife and children, but his wife was helping with research, and the kids were happily playing with their cousin and Laura’s mother-in-law. CJ was just another part of the scenery right now as far as they were concerned. It was probably just as well, he thought, considering how lousy he still felt. He began to contemplate the thought of taking a nap, but no sooner had he closed his eyes than he heard a small voice call out for him.
“Daddy!” Adam said, rushing over to him and launching himself into CJ’s lap.
“Ooof,” CJ said at the impact, his hands grasping for the computer, saving it from a date with the floor. “You gotta take it easy on me right now, buddy.”
Adam abruptly stilled, then relaxed into his lap. “Sorry,” he said, wrapping his arms around CJ’s chest.
CJ moved the computer onto the side table and returned the light embrace. “It’s okay,” he said. “So what’s up?”
Adam looked back toward the girls and Matt’s mother, who was now watching him with interest. “Katie’s stinky,” he said, wrinkling up his nose.
CJ stared at Adam for a moment, then turned back toward Kate. Normally in these circumstances, he would pop up and whisk his little girl to the changing table. A diaper change was an opportunity for some one-on-one time, maybe with some snuggles afterwards. But right now the prospect of getting up from his chair was just painful, and bending down to pick up his daughter, who was a very solid child, was doubly so. But he wasn’t about to let her marinate in her own juices. Besides, moving around was supposed to be good for him, or so he heard. Something about preventing blood clots, not that he knew much about that.
“I think Lilly’s stinky, too,” Adam whispered, and CJ raised his eyebrows, making eye contact with Christy Owens.
“I hear it’s a little ripe over there,” he called out to her, and she reached down to pull back Lilly’s pants.
“You heard correctly,” she said, releasing the pants and looking around, probably for a changing station.
“You can’t hear smells, can you?” Adam said, confused, then leaned toward CJ. “Or is that a Superman power?” he whispered.
“Having a good sense of smell is a super power, yes, but ears can’t smell things and noses can’t hear things, silly boy,” CJ answered in a quiet voice, giving Adam a light tickle and eliciting a laugh. “Anyway, Daddy’s not super right now, so I have to rely on your nose, or Mrs. Owens’ nose.”
“Is there a place to change the girls here?” Christy asked, still looking around.
CJ patted Adam’s legs and told him to hop up. “We usually change Katie in her bedroom. It’s not too far away,” he said to her, then braced himself against the chair, mentally preparing himself for the surge of pain that would come when he stood. Before he had a chance to rise, Christy was by his side.
“Should you be standing?” she asked, putting a hand on his arm. “I heard you have gun shot wounds?”
CJ relaxed for a moment. “My surgeon-slash-boss-slash-adoptive father told me that it was good for me,” he replied. “And he should know. I think he took out more than one psycho while injured worse than I am now.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You mean Bruce Wayne?” she asked, and he had to remind himself how new to the family secret she was.
“Also Batman,” CJ said, and she blanched. “And yes, I’m surprised he’s still alive, too.”
Christy’s eyes got a faraway look in them, but she didn’t say anything. It was another in a long line of new revelations for her to absorb, though CJ figured if she was in Wayne manor under these circumstances, then she deserved to know. Still somewhat dazed, she followed CJ over toward the girls, and scooped up Lilly as CJ picked up Kate. Together, they made their way out of the room.
Adam bounced along beside him as he walked stiffly down the hallway. As CJ and Christy made small talk, Adam looked back and forth between them, and after a while his expression seemed to settle into an impish grin. Once there was finally a lull in the conversation, he turned toward CJ and hopped a couple more times. “Is it okay to tell her my secret?” he asked eagerly.
“Yes, it’s okay. And thank you for asking first,” CJ said, but the last part was lost as Adam immediately turned toward Christy.
“My Grandpa is Superman,” he blurted out.
“Is that so?” Christy asked. She seemed rather wide-eyed at the statement, though it was hard not to smile at Adam’s enthusiasm.
“Yeah, it’s cool! And he flies, I saw it! And he said I could go with him but it had to be our secret.”
“That sounds like fun,” Christy said.
“Is Daddy cool, too?” CJ asked, eliciting a snort from Adam.
“I guess. But, I mean, you don’t fly….”
For the first time that CJ could remember, Christy laughed lightly.
“Hey bud, why don’t you run on ahead? Maybe Grandpa Bruce needs some comic relief,” CJ said, which seemed to be all the suggestion that Adam needed to go skipping down the corridor well ahead of them. CJ shifted Katie in his arms. “If this is how he keeps secrets, he’s not getting the code to the garage until he’s twenty.”
“This is all so…new and strange to me,” Christy said with a shake of her head. She turned toward him. “How did you handle it as his age? The big secret, I mean?”
“Oh, I had no idea until I was 14 or so.”
Her pace faltered. “Really? Why would you keep secrets within your family? And weren’t you always…super?”
“Super!” Kate yelled at that moment, wiggling a little in CJ’s arms, causing him to smile.
“That’s the thing – we were perfectly normal kids. We weren’t bench pressing bulldozers or peeking at girls through the locker room walls. We played little league – in Jon’s case, badly – or football or in the band. The simple fact is that there was no reason for us to know. It wasn’t about trust, it was about the nature of kids. If I’d have known the big secret when I was five….” He grinned. “As far as I was concerned, Superman existed in the same category as Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy – cool people who did awesome things and were kinda magic. I wouldn’t have been able to resist telling most of Metropolis that I was related to an almost mythical being.”
“I guess I never thought of that,” Christy said, regaining her momentum.
“If I had my choice, Adam wouldn’t know right now, either. He doesn’t need the pressure of trying to keep that quiet. But what’s done is done. Thanks, Dad.” They walked in silence for a moment, CJ’s mind chewing on where to take the conversation. “So I imagine it’s been a bit overwhelming for you” has asked, glancing at her.
She shook her head and kept her eyes on the ground in front of her. “It’s tough,” she said. “I just have a hard time believing that Clark Kent is Superman, that you’re Laura’s brother, that my son married a girl who flies.”
CJ cocked his head. “Why?” he asked, genuinely curious. When no answer was immediately forthcoming, they settled into an uncomfortable silence, though he was determined to not let it last. Something about getting shot, about surviving a near death experience, made him suddenly feel philosophical. He could have the same conversation with Christy that he’d had dozens of times with those new to the secret, about the value of family and blah blah blah, but he really didn’t feel like doing that now. Any anyway, he felt like his companion might benefit more from a different perspective, and that’s what he intended to give her.
“When you’re a kid, you start out looking at the world in superficial terms – you see what you’re meant to see, at least until someone shows you what’s under the surface. But you also haven’t yet had a lifetime of people telling you how to interpret what you’re seeing. There’s a reason kids see dinosaurs and unicorns in the clouds – their imaginations haven’t been beaten into submission yet. The world was fun and interesting when you were a kid because it was so full of mysteries. Then you solve all those mysteries, learn the truth behind them, and a little of the color seems to bleach out of everything. Santa Claus isn’t some magic guy, he’s just your parents giving you gifts they bought at the same store you shop in every week. You let yourself believe that if he isn’t real, then neither are any of your other heroes, and usually find out pretty fast that you’re right. Every time another sports star goes to jail for beating up his girlfriend or another politician is indicted for bribery or money laundering or just being a general slimeball, a little light disappears from the world.
“Superman’s no different, but is completely different at the same time. He’s real, you can see him on the news or flying in the sky above your town. Maybe if you’re lucky, you’ll see him up close, stopping a bullet that had your name on it. But at the same time he’s not real – he’s a comic book, a movie. His symbol graces your coffee mug or maybe your underwear. You can believe that he’s a myth even though he’s obviously not, just because nobody really knows him. Until you do. But do you want to know the secret? Even after the truth behind the fairy tale comes into focus, it’s still magic, because it’s all so incredible and completely unbelievable. Your eyes and the analytical part of your brain end up going to war with the part of you that’s always seen Superman as magic, or a caricature, or a myth, because the truth makes everything you’d ever seen or heard or been told up to that point completely wrong. And if that’s wrong, what other ‘truths’ are wrong?” At this point, they had reached Kate’s bedroom, where the changing table was located. CJ gestured toward Christy and entered the room, turning on the light as he did.
“Case and point: when you heard that there was a second generation – when my brother showed up on the scene, before there was no movie around to tell you what to believe, what did you think?”
Christy shifted Lilly to her hip and looked at her thoughtfully as CJ got down to the business of changing his daughter. “It was shocking, I guess,” she said. “I’m an adult, and I know perfectly well how children are made, at least in humans. But like you said, Superman isn’t human, he’s…Superman. So who’s to say what the story was. Nobody knew where Superman came from, he was just there one day, out of the ether. Maybe Crimson Superman came from the same place.”
“And when Superwoman came along?”
“Well, by then the movie was out and there was a plausible explanation.”
“Asexual reproduction was off the table?”
“Magic, too. And I never said that’s what it was,” Christy said with a blush. “Reproduction with someone of his own species made a lot of sense.”
“And it’s a lot more fun,” CJ said with a wink. “You point out that Superman’s not human, but wouldn’t the…process involved with reproduction maybe involve some human emotions, at least in your mind? Couldn’t his relationship with Ultra Woman be based on love?” CJ made a face at his daughter, trying to get her to smile despite all the heavy talk from the grownups around her. He was rewarded with grin and a squeal.
“I saw it more as a duty, I suppose. You don’t need love to…reproduce, but it’s something that needs to be done by beings who are the last of their kind. It’s only logical.”
“In a robotic kind of way,” CJ muttered, shaking his head. “So, okay, Superman and Ultra Woman have a family, kids who start as babies and go through childhood and adolescence hidden away somewhere. Did you wonder how it was that these children could have gotten their educations – both practical and otherwise – if they spent every moment of their lives until their first rescues cooped up in some arctic fortress?”
“Crystals?” she said with a shrug, and CJ chuckled again. This time she smiled with him, then turned away to get a better look at the room. It was painted a very light pink, with white furniture and colorful prints on the wall. It was a fairly normal room for a little girl, seemingly out of place in a big, opulent mansion like Wayne Manor. It was a dichotomy, but CJ’s life seemed to be all about dichotomy. “I know it all sounds ridiculous, and I know I’m guilty of not looking beyond the rumors and conventional wisdom, but the same true of almost everyone. Superman is better than the rest of us, an almost mythical being, as you said. Mythical beings are infallible, right? They don’t fall victim to the emotions that hold the rest of us back. He has transcended the human experience, and that’s how he has been able to help save the world.” She looked frustrated, her gaze no longer directed toward him.
“I would argue that the human experience is exactly why he’s done what he’s done. Do you think that Superman, and by extension his family, are capable of empathy?” CJ asked, quietly.
She looked toward him with a rush of emotion. “Obviously. Superman is one of the most empathetic people I know.”
“People,” CJ said with a nod and a smile, recognizing that small admission for what it was. She seemed surprised as he repeated the word back to her, then a realization seemed to come. “To empathize with someone, you need to understand what they’re feeling. Could you talk someone who is suicidal down from the ledge if you don’t have at least a basic understanding of what it’s like to feel hopeless? Would you put your life on the line for the sake of others if you didn’t understand what your sacrifice would mean to those you save? And more importantly, would you keep going out despite homicidal billionaires, government agents, and crime kingpins if it didn’t mean something deeper?”
Moisture gathered in the corners of her eyes, and she shook her head. Her expression spoke of a new understanding.
“And love? Is that possible from your heroes, do you think?” CJ asked, a twinkle in his eye.
She looked lovingly at her granddaughter, then back toward him. “It appears so.”
“Nobody’s infallible, not even a superman. I guess I never had to struggle that realization because I lived under the same roof as him when I found out, and I knew darn well what his blind spots were.” At this point, CJ was done changing his daughter, so he straightened up her clothes and placed her on the floor. He stepped aside and leaned against the wall as Christy started changing Lilly. “I could write a book about my brother’s imperfections.”
“What about the idea that you’re also an alien? Was it tough to come to grips with that?” she asked.
“Well, my genes might be half Kryptonian, but I was born in Metropolis, which makes me 100 percent Earthling. And anyway, there are a lot worse things to be than alien. It’s not like people can look at me and see my ancestry. There are plenty of people out there whose differences are on full display for the world to see, people with deformities or other physical differences, people from countries where they don’t look like we do here. Someone would only know I’m different if I tell them, or show them, and even then most people see those differences as being positive. The things that make me and Dad and Laura and Jon different also make us able to help people. It really is pretty cool, if you think about it, and that’s always been how I’ve viewed my alien half – as an opportunity to make a positive mark on the world.”
She smiled and shook her head a couple times. “You make it sound so simple,” she said, her eyes fixated on her granddaughter. “Are you always this positive? Never any dark clouds on your horizon?”
“I mean, I was shot yesterday. There’s that,” he said, his voice taking on its usual joking quality now that they were past the emotional part of the conversation. She looked at him in mild annoyance. “Seriously, though, I have plenty of tragedy in my past. But I guess I figured out that brooding over the past doesn’t help the present. And the future….” He gestured toward his daughter. “That’s the real adventure.”
“I just hope Lilly holds the same attitude,” she said, her expression tender. “I don’t want her to feel burdened by all this.”
“She’ll be fine, I’m sure,” CJ said, watching his own daughter toddle around the room and explore. “She has great parents who will point her down the right path. The teenage years may be interesting, but that’s probably true for any kid. Hers will just have more…setting things on fire with her vision. But Laura had to go through that, so she’ll know what to say to make it work out.”
Christy looked like she wanted to smile, but there was still some worry there, which CJ supposed was to be expected. Loving someone makes you want their happiness above anything else, and whatever her shortcomings, it was evident that Christy loved her granddaughter. Given everything that he’d already said so far during their conversation, CJ doubted there was anything else that he could say to assuage her fears, but he supposed that more exposure to his family could go a long way toward doing just that. In a matter of moments, Christy finished changing Lilly, then she picked her up made her way back toward the hallway and the living area. CJ called for Kate, then grabbed her hand as she approached, and together they followed behind.
After standing still for a few minutes, the movement caused a new surge of pain, and he was aware that some unintended grunts managed to escape his mouth. “Still in pain?” Christy asked, looking back toward him over her shoulder. He nodded. “Are you taking anything for it?”
“They gave me some sort of voodoo juice when this happened, but I couldn’t think straight when it was in me, so I let it wear off. I can lose my strength and every other super power and not be any worse off, but without my mind….”
“Ibuprofen won’t slow you down,” Christy said. “You have that around here, surely?”
“My wife probably does. I don’t know. That stuff hasn’t worked for me before…not that I’ve ever needed it.”
“Take a few of those and it’ll help. You’ll probably think more clearly if you don’t have to deal with the pain,” she said in a motherly way.
“What will help more is getting my powers back,” he answered, aware of how stubborn he sounded. Surely a little ibuprofen wouldn’t hurt anything, and would get pushed out of his system as soon as everything was back to normal. Maybe it was just pride talking, but he wanted to do this without the benefit of any chemical help. Besides, if it all went according to plan, he should be back to his old self in a matter of hours.
“But, how will you get them back? Laura said she didn’t know what happened to them.”
“We have a theory…really, the only theory that makes sense. So we’re going to follow it through and disable the technology that did this.”
“Without…flying or punching or cutting into it with heat vision?” Her voice sounded skeptical, but CJ smiled slyly.
“The mind is more powerful than any of those powers put together,” he said, pointing to his temple. “Just ask my mother. No matter what some theoretical bad guy does to us physically, as long as we have our minds, there’s always hope. Villians always seem to discount the fact that there’s intelligence behind the powers.”
Christy nodded appreciatively. “It IS hard to see past the more flashy stuff,” she said, and it was his turn to nod. There was a reason that the Superman comics and books and movies and cartoons were so popular, and it wasn’t because of any hidden educational value. Superman was sometimes shown as being clever, but mostly it was all about using the powers, sometimes in creative ways. The comics especially were notorious for being big slug fests with equally powered aliens. CJ didn’t really understand the appeal, himself, but he had always been more cerebral.
“That’s not just true of superheroes. I played college football, I get it. Everyone always seemed surprised when athletes showed up in the honors classes.” He shrugged. “It is what it is. Anyway, we’re going to get out of this mess by being smarter than the baddies give us credit for.”
“I suppose that means you need me to watch the kids for a little longer?” she asked.
“If you would, thanks. Saving the world can get rather…intense.” He looked at his watch. “Fortunately, my brother should be setting our plan in motion in a few minutes. Hopefully we’ll have everything wrapped up by dinner.”
As they reached the living room, CJ kissed his daughter and left her with Lilly and Christy. Then he made his way back to his computer, opening it up and ensuring that all the programs he needed to hack the satellite were running and ready to go. He also used the land line to get in touch with Matt and Bruce, who were at various locations around the house, and let them know that it was about time to get started on the plan. While CJ hacked into the satellite, Matt and Bruce would utilize the computer in the Batcave and their newly established connection to Orbital Technologies to dig for incriminating files, design information, and correspondence housed on the company’s mainframe, for the aim of building a case against whoever orchestrated the scheme. The amount of time they will have available to find the information will likely be short – if the company had an IT person worth their salt, they’ll probably figure out they’re being hacked almost as soon as it happened – so they had to move quickly and know what to look for. At least they took precautions to ensure that the company or other Federal authorities wouldn’t be able to trace the hack back to them.
About five minutes after Jon’s interview was scheduled to start, CJ began to see activity in his windows, and the pings that his programs were sending to the company mainframe began to yield responses. He sat bolt upright and began typing furiously, trying to determine the layout of the system and navigate his way to where he needed to be. A few moments later, his cell phone rang. The caller ID indicated that it was Jon.
“We’re in,” CJ said into the phone, even before giving a greeting. He uncomfortably wedged the phone between his good shoulder and his ear and continued typing.
“Oh. That didn’t take long, I guess,” the voice on the end said, but it wasn’t Jon.
CJ’s typing paused, and his eyebrows drew together. “Who-?”
“Oh, sorry, it’s Cruz. I’m doing the dirty work today, I guess.”
A grin crept across CJ’s face. This was an interesting development. Jon had dragged his father-in-law into the scheme, and left him to do the hard part. He didn’t think Jon had that in him, but… maybe desperation led people to do things they wouldn’t otherwise. “How’s that work?” CJ asked, then shifted his focus back to the computer.
“Well, one of us had to do it, and I’m lousy at interviewing people,” he answered, sounding self-deprecating and confident at the same time. CJ had met Cruz, of course, though not more than a couple times, and what he remembered was someone who preferred to fade into the background. He didn’t draw attention to himself, didn’t say much, but his eyes burned with intelligence, and the things he did say made it plain that he was more observant than others realized. Maybe he was the perfect person to help implement a scheme to break into a major company, CJ mused. Nobody would probably remember him after the deed was done. “So, do I need to do anything else here?” Cruz continued. “I don’t know how much longer the secretary will be gone. She just said she had to go to the bathroom….”
“You can remove the USB drive from the computer. It’s done its job,” CJ said, then repeated some promising file paths under his breath to remember where he had been. “I don’t suppose your secretary has some sort of manual lying around detailing how to access their satellite control systems?” he asked, intending the question to be rhetorical. Of course there would not be an obvious clue in plain sight, not in a sane and rational world.
“Hold on a sec,” Cruz said, and CJ could hear the shuffle of papers. “As a matter of fact….”
“Get out! Really?” CJ said, pausing his typing and grabbing for a pen and his notepad.
“I’m not kidding. It’s a draft or something that the secretary was helping to put together. ‘Guide for Major Satellite Operations.’ Boring title.”
“Awesome title, at least for us” CJ said.
The sound of pages turning came from the other end of the line. “The server is called Copernicus,” Cruz said, flipping more pages. “Runs all programs through a test machine before uploading…there’s a guy called Watson in charge of program development.”
“Watson, good stuff,” CJ said, then put down the pen and started looking for the server that Cruz mentioned. “Bingo,” he said, a treasure trove of information popping up on his screens. “Look, this has been a tremendous help. I can’t thank you enough. Don’t get yourself in trouble, okay? You can put everything back and play it cool now.”
“Cool. Right,” he heard Cruz say. “Good luck.”
“Luck has nothing to do with it,” CJ said with a smile, then ended the call. Everything was there, right in front of him, in folders that were clearly named. He could pull up the code for the program currently running on the satellites and see plainly what they were programmed to do. He saved the code to his computer, along with a few other related files, including the programs planned to run in the coming weeks. Then he wrote a program of his own in the same language used in the other programs, only this one would disable the satellites completely for no less than 100 years. Checking and rechecking the very simple program, he uploaded it to their directory, then compiled it and broadcast it to the satellites. Almost immediately, the background hue of the room changed, and a glance toward the window revealed a magnificent yellow glow behind the curtains.
“Yes,” he yelled, raising his arms over his head. Although the motion still caused him pain, he knew that it would only take a matter of minutes before his wounds would be a mere memory. He quickly moved his computer to the side table and pushed up out of his chair, taking a couple long steps to the window and throwing open the drapes. Glorious beams of pure, full-spectrum sunlight shone across him as he stood there, and he instantly felt invigorated, more energetic, and with that came a sort of euphoria. The sensation was like taking a warm shower on a cold day, only amplified many times. It felt better than the best massage he had ever received, recharged him more than the best meal he had ever eaten or the deepest sleep he had ever taken. Without hesitation, he pulled his shirt over his head and flung it to the ground, anxious to get more skin exposed to the light.
“I’m going outside,” he called over his shoulder, then practically sprinted toward the french doors that lead out to the patio, leaving a surprised looking Christy Owens behind.
