Bolt, From Dubuque (part 10)
By: Ann Nonymous
Clark sat at his cluttered desk, his head propped in his hand, his eyes staring sightlessly though the paperback lying open in front of him. The unread words told the tale of Romulus and Remus and the founding of Rome by the banks of the Tiber River, a story that he was sure he’d find very interesting during normal circumstances, even if it was required reading for a history class. But, intellectually stimulating story or not, he found his mind wandering to matters very far removed from his class work. Reading that should’ve taken him a minute or two tops was now stretching into its second hour, with no end in sight. With a sigh, Clark ran his hand through his hair, his hearing picking up the football game showing on the television in the next room. Maybe it was time to admit that all the patience in the world wasn’t going to make him concentrate, and that it was probably time to give up on the homework for a while.
Only one day under his belt as a bona fide superhero and already the class work was beginning to slip, he thought gloomily as he stood up and wandered over to the window. Mother nature apparently concurred, if the gathering dark clouds on the horizon were any indication. His mind was a jumbled mess, and the things that had always been of utmost importance to him, namely his impending graduation and his ongoing work at the campus newspaper, just didn’t seem to matter at all anymore. All he could think about now was his heroic alter ego – what he had done, what he had seen, and what he would do. Brushing his teeth that morning, he had fantasized about saving an airplane. Dreams of flying into space and manhandling renegade spy satellites had manifested themselves over corn flakes. And when he should’ve been concentrating on Romulus and Remus, he had instead thought about mudslides and volcanoes. And Lois. Interspersed with all the heroic daydreams was the thought of her out there, silently encouraging him, always wearing a smile.
As good as it was to give some attention to his imagination for once, reality always seemed to come back and put it all in perspective. Catching up with the guys earlier that day had resulted in a conversation about superheroes, one that had made Clark feel extremely self-conscious. Where did they go when they weren’t flying around? Where had they come from? Would one over step foot in a sleepy college town like theirs without some disaster drawing them there? Clark had faded into the background during that conversation, laughing at the right times, acting clueless when questioned. Eventually the conversation had moved on to other things, and Clark had excused himself, heading back to his room, where a whole other set of problems confronted him.
Turning on the television, hoping to catch some pregame shows or some news of the survivors of the tornado, he had seen nothing but coverage of Superman. Even though he had only posed for the camera once, and for a very brief time at that, there seemed to be no end to the pictures of him that kept appearing on the news shows. He saw himself hoisting a shed, or flying through the air with a victim in his arms, or just standing there, surveying the scene. The speculation of the reporters really hadn’t been much deeper than that of Clark’s college aged pals, but it seemed to drag on a lot longer. He had changed the channel often hoping to get away from the exploits of Superman and the sideways mentions of Bolt, but he couldn’t. So the television had been turned off and the homework cracked open, and all that a long hour of work had gotten him was a bit of a headache and a healthy dose of frustration.
As he stared out across the town and toward the increasingly dark sky, the shadow of an idea began to form. Maybe if he just went out there in his other guise and allowed himself to fulfill some of his daydreams, then maybe his mind would settle down and he could come home and finish his required reading in ten seconds flat. Flying had always had a calming effect on him before, and stopping some crime and making the world a safer place would certainly make the worthlessness he was feeling go away. What could it hurt, he wondered as chain lightning split the looming darkness to the west. The twenty four hours that he had left to do his required reading were an eternity for someone who had once gone down to the local library and read the entire encyclopedia in the span of about five minutes. It was settled, then. Get ready world, he thought with a smile, Superman was about to take to the skies.
Just as he was letting go of the curtains and heading to the closet to retrieve his shirt and hair goop, the phone began to ring. He froze, looking at the phone curiously, then turned his head toward the outside wall. Bolt, Kevin, had said that he wanted to do some patrolling today, too. Was that him? And how freaky was it that he’d call at the exact moment that Clark had decided to go out for a while? It was enough to make him wonder if maybe there was some sort of weird psychic connection between them. Clark went wide-eyed for a moment, then chuckled and shook his head. He no more knew what Bolt was thinking than he knew how to crochet. Anyway, there was no assuring that it actually was Bolt. It could also be the other call he was expecting, a thought that brought a smile to his face. Was a day and a half enough time for her to find him, though? There was only one way to find out.
Feeling a twinge of excitement, he grabbed for the phone. “Hello?” he said into the mouthpiece, waiting for a second before the voice on the other end replied.
“So have you thought of an excuse yet?” came Lois’s voice, and Clark’s grin grew so that it was almost painfully wide.
“Well, I was kind of expecting to have a few more days to think it over,” he said playfully, fantasies of heroic deeds and anxiety over the news coverage of his appearance now completely forgotten. It was strange how her voice always seemed to make him whatever petty fears he had slink into the background and bring out his better side.
“I told you I’m good,” she said, her smile evident even through the miles of phone line between them. “So come on, let’s have it.”
Clark chucked, then shifted the phone to the other hand and plopped onto the couch. “Well,” he said, his mind churning up a response. “I didn’t see anyone else in Metropolis because everywhere I looked, I could only see you. Then there’s always my exclusive zoomway through the hidden parts of the city that nobody else knows about. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.”
“Uh huh,” Lois said, her voice outwardly skeptical, but he could tell that she was stifling a laugh. “So, I suppose you have an alibi for last night, too.”
“I think I was studying in my room all night,” Clark answered, but then cringed.
“On a Saturday night?” Lois asked, almost as if she could see his reaction. Clark might have a bookish side to him, but he’d never been one to even think about cracking a book open on a Saturday. No other college student with even half a social life would conceive of studying on a Saturday night, either.
“I was watching a movie?” he said meekly, blindly grabbing for the next available vague alibi. Lois chuckled.
“I suppose I could buy that,” she answered. “And I’m not just saying that because it’s what I usually do on Saturday nights.”
“A beautiful girl like you? I thought for sure you’d be out with a date or something on a Saturday,” he said, the words coming without a second thought. How a woman as truly wonderful in every way as her could possibly not have men falling all over her was a mystery to him. But a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line told him that he had been wrong to assume such a thing, and instantly his smile began to fade. Maybe he had hit on a sore subject, he realized too late, mentally kicking himself for bringing it up. “I, I’m sorry,” he started, but was cut off.
“Don’t be sorry,” Lois said softly, heavily. “I think that’s the first time anyone’s ever called me beautiful.”
It felt as if the room had gotten suddenly warmer. “I have a hard time believing that,” he answered steadily, intensely, wishing that she were beside him all of a sudden. He closed his eyes, summoning her image, and mentally reached out to her. How could she not see her own beauty? More to the point, how could anyone else not see it either?
Lois let out a shot of breath, and Clark imagined a spontaneous smile flashing onto her face. There was silence over the line for a moment, but only a moment. When she spoke again, all hint of emotion was gone from her voice, and she was once again just Lois Lane, his new pal from Metropolis who took great joy in teasing him with the knowledge that she held. “So, Superman, huh?” she said, the previous exchange all but forgotten.
“I told you that I liked that name,” he said, almost glad to be back to safer conversation. Teasing he was fine with. It was the emotional stuff that he’d not been so lucky with in the past.
“I’m not going to hear tomorrow from some anonymous source that you were quoted as saying that it just came to you, am I?” she asked.
“It did just come to me,” he said, laughing lightly. “But I’m not giving any interviews, whether it’s to an anonymous source or some big shot reporter. If Barbara Walters herself came running up to me on the scene of some disaster, I’d still say no.” He raised his eyebrows as he pictured that, wondering what the chances were of something like that actually happening. With a slight shudder, the thought was pushed away. To some people, such a thing might be the opportunity of a lifetime, but to him it was one of his worst nightmares. If he never appeared on television again, it would be too soon, although realistically he was sure that his face would be up on screen sooner rather than later.
“Come on, you big hero, you,” she said, pouring on enough phony charm to make his grin widen again. “No exclusives? What if I told you that I know a great reporter at a major university who was just dying to tell the world all the scintillating details of Superman?” Her tone was playful, the words probably somewhat exaggerated, but all of a sudden his smile started to fade as coldness worked its way down his spine. Lois might be beautiful, Lois might be intriguing and fun and any of a number of other wonderful things, but lest he forget, she was also a budding reporter. She also knew his deepest, darkest secrets, and she knew just who he was and where he could be found. It would be enough to make any man go cold with fear, and certainly the prospect would’ve terrified him had he considered it before taking the plunge and creating his other persona. But he still couldn’t bring himself to distrust her, no matter how much he knew he should.
“Gosh, I hope I’m not just a story to you,” he said, only partially teasing. Too late, he realized that the tenor of his voice had betrayed him, and that the words had come out in such a way that she could easily mistake them for an accusation. He couldn’t help but wince as he wondered how she would take that, if she would realize that he hadn’t meant to offend.
“Is that all you think you are to me? A story?” Lois asked, her tone more hurt than angry.
He sighed, wrapping the phone cord around his finger. “That’s certainly what I am to the rest of the world,” he said, almost dejectedly. “You’re a journalist, one that knows something that thousands of your peers throughout the nation and the world would give anything for. You could put all the intimate details of my life in your paper and instantly make a name for yourself, probably win some award or another for your efforts. I mean, I’m a journalist, too, so I can appreciate the situation, and honestly I wouldn’t blame you for wanting that. But I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you that the thought of my secret being out terrifies me.” The last words were barely more than a whisper, laced with all the long-held anxieties that he had never voiced to anyone before. Only his iron grip on the phone was keeping his hands from shaking as he waited for her response. He knew his eyebrows we drawn together in anticipation, and he knew he should be scared of what her reaction would be. But even as he waited, fear was the last thing he felt.
“I could never do that to you, Clark,” Lois answered gently, the hurt gone from her voice. Instantly, Clark relaxed is grip on the phone and took a deep breath, not realizing before that moment that he’d been holding it. “Besides, I’d get laughed at if I tried to publish such a thing. Who would believe that Superman was some college kid from Kansas? What kind of evidence would I use to back my story? All I have is hearsay and some well thought-out personal observations.”
“Hearsay?” Clark asked, a half smile forming on his face once again. It was amazing how she could take his fears and skillfully soothe them away. She’d done it on more than one occasion now, and he found himself smiling as he though of what she meant to him. Incredible.
“Yeah, um,” Lois started, and she could hear some shuffling at the other end of the line. “I kind of overheard your entire conversation with your ex-girlfriend at the steakhouse.”
Clark’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “The whole thing?” he asked.
“Every last word,” Lois answered modestly, then cleared her throat and continued on again, her tone more brash. “I mean, you had your most intimate conversation in a steakhouse. Honestly, did you think someone wouldn’t overhear?”
“Hey, it wasn’t my idea, although if anyone else had overheard, I doubt they would’ve gotten anything from it.” He shifted on the couch, placing his elbow on the padded arm and pulling a throw pillow toward himself. “But you.... You not only overheard, but you put two and two together and came up with-”
“Five,” Lois said, cutting him off. “But fortunately in this situation, that kind of new math turned out to be right. Who knew my total ineptitude with numbers would turn out to be a good thing?” She laughed, and Clark shook his head, not knowing how to respond to that. He supposed that it would take someone with a unique view of the world to take her limited experience with him and a somewhat vague conversation and squeeze out all the facts. If it wasn’t for the existence of Bolt, maybe she wouldn’t have found out at all, because otherwise, who would possibly believe in a man who flies? In the end, it didn’t matter how she found out or why, the fact was that she knew, and he decided that he wouldn’t have it any other way.
“I’m glad you overhead,” he said after a moment, a little too much wistfulness in his voice. Sappy or not, though, the statement entirely sincere, and he thought that it was about time that he told her as much.
“Yeah?” she asked shyly.
Clark shrugged, forgetting for a moment that she couldn’t observe the gesture. He opened his mouth, hesitating for a moment before finally deciding that he wanted her to see inside his soul. She knew so much about him, but so little at the same time, and something inside of him needed for her to see the complete person. “I spent most of my life trying to hide everything about myself, not able to talk to anyone, afraid of what would happen if I did. When I did take that step and finally told someone everything, my worst fears were confirmed, and I was looked at with the type of fear and revulsion that you never want to see in anyone’s eyes. So given the choice, I would’ve held onto my secret forever and never told another living soul. But here you come, muscling your way in on the big secret and acting like it’s no big deal.”
The there was an intake of breath at the other end, and Clark wondered briefly if maybe he’d said too much, revealed too much of himself to someone who he had only met twice for about a grand total of an hour. “Because it isn’t a big deal, Clark,” she answered candidly. “Ask any of the people you saved last night if they were repulsed. Ask the headline writers or morning show panelists if the things you can do are anything less than amazing. Ask any of the people you passed on campus during the last week if they even recognized you, given everything that you can do. It’s no big deal because, in spite of everything, the powers and the flying and the heroics and the headlines, I know that you’re just a normal person. I’ve read your articles, I’ve shared your chocolate and met the woman you made the mistake of giving your heart to. All those things led me to the picture of someone who really isn’t any different than anyone else. And then there’s the fact that you live in Kansas.”
Clark had been listening with undivided attention, his heart soaring with every word. But as she spoke her last sentence, he was caught so off guard that he almost choked. After a moment, though a laugh came out, and the spell was broken. “What’s wrong with Kansas?” he asked.
“Bo-ring,” she said, and he only laughed harder. After a moment, she joined him, and he realized that he was happy, completely and totally happy. It wasn’t a feeling that he was used to; certainly it wasn’t something that he had experienced too often, especially since losing his parents. And it was all thanks to Lois Lane.
“Can I ask you something?” Clark asked, resolve building within him. Lois had proven herself to be kind, compassionate, fiery, trustworthy...beautiful. She also knew that he could be there in mere seconds, and was willing to be his confidant and friend despite of everything she knew about him. He couldn’t possibly let her get away, nor could he imagine just letting her go and not trying to explore some sort of deeper relationship.
“Certainly,” she answered.
“Would it be okay for me to come up there next Friday and take you someplace nice? We could tell each other all our darkest little secrets and you could show a small town boy what the big city is all about.”
“Is that a date?” she asked, her voice bemused.
“Only if you want it to be,” he answered. There was a slight pause, but after a moment, he could practically hear her smile.
“I want it to be,” she answered. “But with one condition.”
An excited tingle went through his body, raising goose bumps on his arms at her acceptance, but he couldn’t imagine what she would possibly want in return. “What?” he asked, puzzled.
“That you let me have some input into your costume,” she answered.
He pulled the phone away from his ear ever so slightly and turned to look at it. After a moment, he brought it back. “You didn’t like it?” he asked, the words coming out suspiciously like a pout. He thought his outfit was pretty imaginative.
“No, I’m not saying that,” she answered hastily. “It was effective, I suppose, but...I just think you need something, I don’t know. Flashier. Jeans, a t-shirt, and tennis shoes just don’t inspire awe.”
Clark nodded slowly. She did have a point, although he was afraid to think about what exactly she had in mind to spruce him up. “Okay,” he said.
“Well, I’m sure I must be keeping you from some homework or something,” she said, and he knew the conversation was wrapping up.
“It’s definitely something,” he said with a smile. He could almost see her cock an eyebrow at the other end. “Keep your eyes on the news out of Chicago tonight.”
“Ooooh,” she answered with a spark of excitement. They exchanged a few more pleasantries, and she gave him directions to their apartment, and the date was set. As Clark hung up the phone, he looked longingly over toward his calendar, practically begging for next Friday to come. It would be a long week, to be sure, probably filled with plenty of fantasies and daydreams, although he was pretty sure that these fantasies would be centered around Lois rather than hypothetical disasters. He was almost grateful for his alter ego now, and the opportunity it allowed him to get his mind off it all, if only for a little while. He had a sinking feeling that maybe his homework would suffer for a little while longer, but he would pull through somehow.
With a whistle and a spring in his step, he changed into his outfit and zipped out of the building, bound for the Windy City.
*~*~*
The long shadows from the setting sun were beginning to blanket Metropolis in darkness as a dozen men crowded around a round table inside a windowless room. The filing cabinets lining the walls provided the only decoration against the painted cinderblock walls, and a single light bulb provided the only illumination. The light had burned steadily morning, afternoon, and night for the last week, the various members of the group all working, absorbing, and planning. All the stories of Bolt that had permeated the media for the past week had been read, processed, and discussed thoroughly. Each of them knew that the San Diego charges had the most in demand uniform among the NFL teams, that silver helmets were now collector’s items fetching large sums of money, and that Bolt was the most popular name for male babies born throughout the country in the last week. Bolt’s every movement had been tracked and charted, his actions noted and logged, mundane or not. All the methodical surveillance had shown someone who seemed in every way to be the hero that the press made him out to be, but none of them could escape one single fact that had emerged during the analysis. With every positive article written, with every testimonial from someone rescued, with every key to the city received, Bolt wormed his way further into society, gaining a foothold of power. Each of those things made him even more invulnerable to scrutiny than he already was, and more dangerous. The time would come, they were all certain, when the façade would fall away, when he would begin to embark upon his true mission, and the people would certainly still embrace him. As he took control of the country, the populace would cheer. As he asserted his will on the government and his power became absolute, the masses would be grateful, believing in his rightness because he had saved them once. And those that did not embrace him would dare not publicly oppose him, because they would all know his God-like powers and the destruction that he could exact upon humanity if he so wished. Only the persistent efforts of the men in that room stood between Bolt and the ruin of Earth, and each of them would gladly give their lives for their cause. Until that time came, they would bide their time and plan, getting to know their enemy and his weaknesses. But now there was a new urgency to their cause, a new wrinkle in their defensive strategy, and each man bore an expression of concern as they gathered that evening, each well aware of the news from the night before.
With that tornado in Oklahoma came the emergence of another flying man who possessed incredible strength and unbelievable powers. One such man could almost be written off as a lone megalomaniac; two was an invasion. Two was a planned, concerted strike force. Therefore, two was a problem, and they all had known it immediately. The television reports, of course, had praised the man and his heroics, just as they had all expected. The newspapers marveled and gushed, never questioning, never making the seemingly obvious observation. If there were two, couldn’t there certainly be three? Or four? Or a hundred?
A fist hit upon the table, drawing the attention of those gathered around it to the man standing before them, the cigar clenched in his teeth exaggerating the sneer on his face. “We must act, and soon,” he said, reaching for the Daily Planet and holding it up for them to be seen. “Superman,” the headline read in bold letters, a color picture below showing the young hero. “If we do not, there will be more, by God. We cannot wait until there are a dozen flying men in our skies. We cannot wait until the clueless masses begin to see the threat for what we all know it is. By then it will be too late, and Earth will be nothing more than a colony under the control of these aliens.”
The men grumbled and nodded, but then the fist hit the table again, and they were at attention. “Plan K. Let’s hear it,” the man said, and all eyes turned to a smaller man against the sparse back wall. The vague smell of smoke seemed to emanate from him, and dark ashes seemed permanently rubbed into his clothing.
“Control,” he said, slowly pacing from side to side. “The bottom line is that we must control them before they control us.” His arms gestured, and his pace began to slow, his path guiding him toward the filing cabinets. “The first step is to get their attention. To that end, we have decided to strike a strategic target.”
“The Daily Planet,” another man said, standing from his chair. His area of expertise was well known to the assembled men, his name legendary among those in the demolition industry. It was said that nobody in the world knew the nature of explosives better than this man, although, for all the authorities knew, he would never use his knowledge for anything other than purely innocent and legitimate business dealings. Several of the other members began to smile at the thought of what the plan must entail. The Daily Planet was the world’s preeminent newspaper, it was highly supportive of Bolt and Superman, and it was staffed around the clock with reporters who would certainly end up martyrs for their cause.
“News of the explosion will quickly pass to other media establishments – television, radio, both of which are in close proximity to the Plant’s location – and the rest of the nation will know of it within a matter of minutes. Bolt and Superman will certainly arrive shortly thereafter.” The second’s man’s eyes twinkled as he said the words, his grin telling all that he relished the thought of what his handiwork would accomplish.
“Step two is to capture the aliens,” the ash-covered man said. “Our plants inside the fire department will take the opportunity to find them, to talk to them, and to expose them.” He stopped and turned toward the filing cabinets, which were now directly beside him. On top sat several boxes, gently set aside from the other artifacts and covered with a tarp. The tarp was quickly pulled away, and the men around the table began to murmur again as the boxes were opened and vague hues of green and red were reflected on the ceiling. “These rocks represent the greatest collection of meteorites in the world, surpassing that of even the United States government. The properties of each has been tested, and they have been sorted according to their predicted usefulness. Some,” he said, gesturing to a box that still remained covered, “are nothing more than minerals. Harmless. Useless. The rest are truly unique.” The box was lifted and set upon the table, and all the assembled men rose gently from their seats, craning their necks to get a better view.
“These rocks all emit very strong radiation, the likes of which nobody has ever seen before. While this radiation is not believed to be harmful to humans in any way, it is our hypothesis that it will have an effect on the aliens.”
“When the time is right, our men will expose the aliens to these rocks and we’ll try our luck,” the third man said, reaching into the box and pulling out a green, glowing rock. He held the crystal in front of his face, cocking his head as he turned the rock from side to side, inspecting it, admiring it.
“And if we’re not lucky?” the man with the cigar asked, breaking the spell. His brushy eyebrows were raised in anticipation, his sneer still evident. The third man drew his eyes away from the stone and gave a smile, one that spoke of the righteous evil that lurked deep inside his soul.
“There are plenty of newspapers throughout this city,” he answered. The men started laughing, a sound that would surely terrify any passerby who heard it. The plan set, the men hunched over the table again, gathering assignments and setting the framework. By this time next week, these two superpowered individuals would no longer be a threat to society.
