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“So let me get this straight,” Lois said. “Every object has its own natural vibration frequency. People have one frequency, this pen has a different one and so would this table. And if you can find the exactly right frequency, you can make anything, or anyone, do whatever you want: blow up, disappear?”
“That’s a vast over simplification, Miss Lane,” Dr. Arnold said. “But essentially correct. It’s the specific vibration frequency that causes one building to be demolished in an earthquake while the one next to it remains standing. The demolished one was vibrating with a related frequency as the ground under it and so took damage.” He turned back to the electronic equipment on the table in front of him. Denny Arnold, Ph.D. was the researcher Clark knew at the University of Metropolis. They’d been lucky to find him in his lab.
“Who’s close to getting this kind of technology up and running?” Clark asked.
“Hans Schimmel over at the Vienna University of Technology, Minaru Yamamoto at the Kyoto Institute of Technology. Derek Camden was close until cracked up, and Leonard Stokes.”
“Leonard Stokes? As in Lenny Stokes the rock musician?” Lois asked.
Arnold nodded. “Brilliant mind, no discipline. I heard that he and Camden were in business together for a while, but it didn’t work out.”
Clark reached into his jacket and pulled out the videotape. “We think this tape has a recording of the sound the bank robbers used to knock out everybody at the bank yesterday during that robbery.”
Arnold’s eyebrows tried to reach his hairline. “I’m astonished the sound could be recorded by standard equipment.”
“When I ran it though the TV monitor at work, something started putting people to sleep there, too. They woke up when I turned off the speakers,” Clark told him.
“I assume you want me to analyze it?”
“If you could,” Clark said.
Arnold took the videotape and put it into a rack-mounted VCR under a stack of sophisticated audio recording and analysis equipment. The equipment was connected to a computer.
After a few moments, a squiggle of overlapping lines appeared on the computer monitor. “That’s your mysterious sound,” Arnold said. “Just above normal human hearing. The dogs in the area wouldn’t have liked it much.”
“So, that’s what put everybody to sleep?” Lois asked.
“That’s the odd part,” Arnold told them. “I’m not a neurologist or anything like that, but I don’t think the sound alone would do it. I’ll analyze it and see if I can detect any patterns. I’ll also run it past some people I know over at the medical school. If this is really what put all those people to sleep, they’re going to be really interested.”
“You’ll let us know what you come up with?” Clark said.
“Sure thing,” Arnold promised. He ignored them as they headed out of the lab, already intent on his analysis.
“Do you think he’ll find anything?” Lois asked as she and Clark started back to the Planet.
“I hope so,” Clark said. “In the meantime, we can look into the names he gave us.”
-o-o-o-
“Hans Schimmel died of coronary thrombosis four weeks ago,” Lois announced, looking up from her computer monitor.
“That counts him out. Minaru Yamamoto has been on a research trip to Antarctica for the last six months,” Clark said. “How about Stoke?”
“He put out a couple albums a few years back; great reviews, no sales. Heavy into sonic R and D. Had some bad luck financially – patents stolen, accountants ripping him off.”
“Patents?”
“Speaker systems, new types of audio amplifiers, that sort of thing,” Lois said. Clark rolled his chair over to her desk to look at her monitor. A photo of Lenny Stokes was on her screen. He looked flashy and devilishly charismatic, smiling at the camera.
“What about Camden?”
Lois brought up an article on Derek Camden. A dour face glared out of the screen at them.
“Cracked up because he tested a new kind of thought-altering process on himself. Got shipped off to the state mental hospital... released six weeks ago,” Clark read off her screen. “Hey, look at this.” He pointed out a section of text.
Lois skimmed the portion he was pointing out. “Well, Arnold did say that Stoke and Camden were in business together for a while. This says Stoke sued Camden for patent infringement. Camden lost everything he had, including his position at the University. Managed to get private funding for his research into the affect of sound on thought processes, though.”
“Who funded it?” Clark asked.
“This doesn’t say,” Lois said. “You think it’s important?”
“The robbers used sound that put people to sleep,” Clark reminded her. “Camden was doing research on sound with mind-altering effects. Awfully big coincidence.”
“But the whole robbery had a theatrical feel, don’t you think?” Lois asked. “Black leather, black helmets… Almost like it was choreographed. And then there’s that biker jacket Jimmy was drooling over. That all has more of the feel of somebody like Stoke.”
“Let’s get Jimmy to look into Camden’s funding,” Clark said. “Chances are he’s looking for that jacket on his own.”
Lois checked her watch. “Let’s grab some lunch. There’s a new place I’ve heard about near the Diamond District.”
-o-o-o-
The restaurant wasn’t as good as Lois had said she’d heard, but it wasn't bad. And it was right across the street from the narrow block of gem and jewelry merchants that collectively were called the Diamond District.
“Sounds like we've got two likelies,” Clark reminded her as soon as they were done with their meal. They had avoided talking shop over lunch.
“So, who do we go after first?” Lois asked. “Camden or Stoke?”
“Well, actually, there was something I wanted to ask you first...” Clark began. There was an odd shyness in his tone.
“Shoot.”
“Since we already went ahead and made plans, I wondered if you wanted to go to the Kerth Awards.”
Lois turned and looked at him. “You mean, as your date?”
“I was going to be yours,” Clark reminded her.
“You want me to hang on your arm, smile and tell everybody how proud I am of my great big reporter man?” Her eyes narrowed as she regarded him.
“Sounds good to me,” Clark said. She glared at him. “Hey. Kidding? I just thought we might have a good time. And you did buy that new dress for the…”
“I did not buy it for the awards!” Lois protested. Co-workers at nearby desks looked up at them. She dropped her voice. “I happened to buy it... around... the time of the awards. It's a coincidence. And the more I think about it, the more I don't even like the stupid thing, so I'm returning it!”
“Lois, are you upset that I got nominated and you didn't?”
“Oh, don't be ridiculous. I mean, we both did good stories,” she stated firmly. “Mine destroyed an international drug network and yours... really told the searing truth about... old people. And... and... I just can't believe it! There's got to be some mistake! They lost my story or their brains were taken over by aliens or …” She stopped, a horrified look coming into her face. “Oh, God, look at me. This is pathetic. I never thought I was this small. I'm sorry.”
“At least you didn’t accuse me of cheating, using my, you know. So... you want to go with me, or not?”
She looked away. “Clark? Can we talk about this later?”
He shrugged, trying not to show his disappointment. “Sure.”
“So who do we track down first? Camden or Stoke?” she asked.
“We could split up and do both,” Clark suggested.
“Split up? What are you…?” she started. Then she reconsidered, folding her arms across her chest. “Oh, I get it. You've got some idea, some lead you're not telling me about. You're going to track it down yourself.”
“Lo-is, that's not…”
“No, that's fine,” she said, walking away from him. “It's fine, Clark.”
“You check out Stoke,” Clark said. “I'll find Camden. We'll meet back at the Planet, okay?”
“Uh-huh, right, and you've got your next prize all sewn up.”
“Lo-is…” Clark looked down the street. He heard a familiar high pitched, almost musical, keening and it was growing louder. As he watched, people on the crowded sidewalk began to drop, including Lois. Then the fender benders from drivers falling asleep at the wheels of the cars. Finally, the people inside the shops were down. Clark was the only one left standing. He grabbed Lois and pulled her back into the restaurant, to relative safety.
Clark regretted that his strength and speed hadn’t come back yet, although his hearing and eyesight were well on their way to being back to ‘super’. X-ray and heat vision were still sporadic and unreliable.
He spotted the van as he came out of the restaurant. It was black, with blacked out windows and no license plate on the back. A large antenna, similar to the one seen in the hands of one of the robbers on the video, was mounted to the roof of the van. The antenna was rotating. As near as Clark could tell, it was the source of the eerie, sleep-inducing sound waves.
Suddenly, the side doors of the van opened. Clark ducked back into a doorway as four men in black helmets and leather jumpsuits and jackets jumped out of the van and headed toward the first jewelry store.
The men didn’t seem to see him as Clark made his way closer, crouching down to stay out of sight. He watched the gang make their way around the fallen bodies, breaking display cases, emptying out drawers of gems and settings. There was no talking between them. They moved like a military unit, using hand signals.
Then, almost as a replay of what happened in the bank, someone came out of a back room. It wasn’t a guard this time, but an older man. He stopped, staring at the looters dumbfounded. Then he ran toward the order counter. Clark assumed he was heading for the alarm switch, although alarms were already wailing all through the ravaged storefronts.
One of the gang members pulled out the pistol-like device and aimed it at the old man. Nothing happened. The man with the ‘gun’ adjusted a dial on the device and the old man screamed. Clark dove for him, to knock him out of the way.
“Didn’t you hear?” the man with a pistol sneered. “Superman is dead.”
Clark barely heard the voice, just enough to almost make out the words and the fact that the voice was electronically masked. The noise from the pistol was screaming in his ears, resonating in his brain – not the eerie sound of the sleep-inducer but something louder, harsher, deadlier. The sound got louder and then there was nothing as blackness engulfed him.
-o-o-o-
Lois had regained conscious on the floor of the restaurant and had quickly realized that Clark wasn't anywhere near. Around her, everyone else was also waking up, getting woozily to their feet.
On the street several police cars were parked, their lights still flashing. The officers belonging to the cars were picking themselves off the pavement. From one of the storefronts, a woman screamed. The officers ran toward the sound, Lois right behind them.
She had stopped at the sight in front of her. Clark was lying on the floor unconscious, blood tricking from both ears. Beside him was another, older, man with blood drying on his face. An officer with a first aid kit was pulling a jacket over the older man’s face. The officer turned back to Clark but Lois was already on her knees beside him.
“Clark? Clark!” After what seemed to be an eternity, Clark’s eyes flickered open. Lois heaved a sigh of relief. “Are you okay?”
Clark managed a nod as he struggled to sit up. The first aid officer began to check Clark over until he pushed him away.
“We should get you to the hospital…” the officer told him.
“No hospitals,” Clark managed to say.
“Clark, what happened?” Lois asked.
“The thieves, I’m pretty sure it was the same bunch as at the bank, were looting the place when he…” Clark indicated the dead man. “…came in. The sleep-inducer didn’t work on him, so the guy with the sound gun changed something. I tried to knock him out of the way. I wasn't fast enough, I guess.”
“Can you stand?” Lois asked.
Clark seemed a little wobbly even while trying to sit up. He struggled to his feet, leaning heavily on her.
“How about we get someone to take your statement, then you can get out of here,” the officer said. He looked at Lois. “But get him to a doctor. We don’t know what the long term effects are of that sound weapon these guys are using.”
“I’ll get you home as soon as we’re done here, okay?” Lois offered.
Clark just nodded.
