Twins: 18/?
by Nan Smith
Previously:
"Thank you very much," he said politely. "That was very good. I'll be going now."
"Be sure you do as your father told you, Master Superman," Nigel said, coldly. "And don't forget your curfew."
Clark thrust his lower lip out at the butler. "Not until you leave. I don't want you to watch me."
Nigel St. John opened his mouth as if to refuse, then his jaw snapped shut. He turned smartly and left the room, slamming the door behind him.
Instantly, Clark retrieved the lead box from the chair, and zipped to the window. As he was pushing the pane upward, he heard the door open slightly and knew that the butler was checking on him. He levitated casually from the floor, and floated out the window. Slowly and lazily, he turned to his stomach, gradually assumed classic flying position, waved jauntily at the man and began to gather speed. He heard the butler's muttered, "Arrogant twit," and the decisive slam as St. John shut the "nursery" window.
**********
And now, Part 18:
The street outside his apartment was quiet when Clark returned home. A block away late rush hour traffic was still bumper to bumper but Clinton Street, where his apartment was located, was fortunately not normally a route for many of the residents of Metropolis. When he had rented the place, Floyd had told him that it was the quietest street in Metropolis. While that wasn't strictly true, it actually was far less frequented than many of the city's side streets, and didn't make a good short-cut for commuters trying to bypass the more heavily traveled routes.
He walked the last block and a half to his apartment, just in case his snoopy landlord was watching again, and climbed the steps of his home, whistling softly. For an instant, his whistling stopped as his super-hearing detected sounds coming from inside, at the same time that he noticed Floyd parked in his battered Chevy in the lot by the deli, with his binoculars aimed at Clark Kent's front door. With a sinking feeling, he lowered his glasses slightly and looked inside.
Brian was sitting on his couch, his feet propped on the coffee table. The television was on, showing a Wiley Coyote vs. the roadrunner cartoon, and Brian was drinking a soda, and eating a Twinkie. The debris of several snack-food wrappers lay on the floor beside the sofa, along with four empty cans that had contained cream soda. Well, Clark thought, at least that part was true to form. His brother apparently liked junk food as much as he did.
Deliberately, he ascended the steps and put his key in the lock.
Brian turned and Clark knew he was looking to see who was coming in. He removed the key and opened the door.
"Hi," Brian said.
"Hi, Brian," Clark said. "How come you're here?"
"I didn't want to stay at Bernie's lab tonight," Brian said. "I was lonesome, so I came here."
"Oh," Clark said. "Does he know you left?"
Brian shook his head. "No. I promise I'll go back in the morning," he said, earnestly. "Bernie's nice. I like him lots better than Uncle Fabian. He's funny, and he likes me. Uncle Fabian doesn't. He never even laughs."
"I like him too," Clark said. "Bernie is a good guy and he wants to help you. Tell you what. I'll give him a call and let him know where you are, okay? That way he won't worry when he gets to the lab in the morning."
"Okay," Brian said. "I didn't want to go home. Father will be angry if he finds out that I didn't kill you, but I don't *want* to kill you. I like you, too."
"I'm glad of that," Clark said. He picked up the phone. "Just a minute, okay?"
Brian nodded and went back to watching the television.
Clark dialed the number that Bernard Klein had given to Superman in case of an emergency and waited, lowering his glasses to check on Floyd. His landlord had left the car and was moving closer, obviously curious to see what was happening in his apartment.
Brian glanced in the same direction. "That guy was watching me when I came in," he remarked. "Why's he so snoopy?"
"Dunno." Clark heard the phone being picked up on the other end, and Bernard Klein's voice said, "Hello?"
"Dr. Klein, this is Superman," Clark said.
"Superman?" Klein sounded surprised. "What a coincidence! I wanted to talk to you about your ... brother. Is something wrong?"
"No," Clark said. "I wanted to let you know that Brian is staying at Clark Kent's place tonight because he got lonely at the lab. I'll bring him back in the morning."
"Yes, he didn't seen too happy staying in his room at the lab," Klein said. "I'll let Security know to expect you. Anyway, I wanted to tell you that I've done some tests on the sample of Brian's tissue that you got for me earlier. It looks like I'll be able to treat him in the same way as the frogs. It should work, but there may be one small complication that I didn't expect."
"Complication?"
"Yes. Nothing serious, but I'd like to talk to you in person, if you don't mind. It shouldn't interfere with the treatment."
"Then you think you can help him?" Clark asked.
"Oh, certainly," Dr. Klein said. "As soon as his powers fade so that his skin becomes permeable, I'll be able to administer the treatment. Brian should live a normal life span -- whatever that is for a Kryptonian."
"That's a relief," Clark said. "I'll let Brian know. I guess I'll see you in the morning, then. Good night, Dr. Klein -- and thanks."
"You're very welcome, Superman," Klein said.
Clark hung up. Brian was polishing off his sixth Twinkie and reaching for another. It was just as well that he'd gotten the economy pack, Clark decided.
"You look like you're running out," he said. "Would you like some Ding Dongs?"
Brian nodded, his mouth full. Clark went into the kitchen and returned with a two-liter soda, a bag of chips and a number of the sweet, gooey snacks that he tended to eat on a regular basis. It was just as well, he thought, that his super powers made it unnecessary for him to worry about his diet. He'd never grown out of his liking for junk food. "Here you go," he said. "If you want anything more, let me know."
Brian nodded and swallowed convulsively. "Why did you tell Bernie that you're Superman?" he asked. "Lois says it's a description, not a name."
"She's right," Clark said. "But ... How much do you know about Superman, Brian? What did Luthor tell you?"
Brian shrugged. "He said you'd outlived your usefulness and that I was supposed to replace you. He was lying, wasn't he?" he added, sadly. "My father lied to me all along, didn't he?"
"I'm afraid so," Clark said. "Did he tell you anything about where I was from?"
Brian nodded. "He said you come from a place called Krypton. He said you were the old model and that I was better. Why did he say stupid stuff like that?"
"Because he's not really your father," Clark said. "He's not a good man, and he hates me because I try to stop him from doing bad things." He walked to the door and pulled the curtains. "That will keep Floyd from peeking in here," he said. "Bernie told me just now that he can help you, Brian. He says that once he fixes the problem you'll live as long as a Kryptonian should -- however long that is. Even I don't know, because I've never met another Kryptonian, and I probably never will. Shall I tell you as much as I know about myself? The truth?"
Brian nodded.
"Okay," Clark said. He crossed the room to flop into the armchair. "You've flown around the Earth, haven't you? Do you know what it looks like from way high up?"
"It's round," Brian said. "Like a big ball."
"That's right," Clark said. "It's called a planet, and there are other planets out in space. Krypton was a planet, too, a very long ways off. It went around another sun, even -- a red one instead of a yellow one like we have. That was where I came from in the beginning -- as a baby. Only something went wrong. Krypton was going to explode, and my father -- *our* father, really -- and our mother built a tiny ship and sent me to Earth, because the people here look like Kryptonians. A farmer and his wife found me, and adopted me. They named me Clark and raised me as their own son. When I grew up, I discovered that I could do things that no one else could do, and eventually I came to Metropolis. I wanted to use my strange powers to help people, but I didn't want them to know it was me helping them, so I invented Superman so I could help and yet not be bothered by people who wanted something from me. Even more important, no one would be able to threaten my adopted mother and father to make me do things that I shouldn't. So, that's why you mustn't tell anyone that Clark and Superman are the same person. Do you understand now?"
Brian took a huge bite of Ding Dong and nodded vigorously. "I didn't tell anybody," he said. "Not even my fa -- not even Luthor," he corrected himself.
"Lex Luthor is no more your father than I am," Clark said. "You came from a piece of me, and that means your real father and mother were Jor-El and Lara of Krypton."
"And that means I don't have to do what Luthor tells me to do," Brian said. He gave a satisfied smile. "I don't want to hurt people. I want to have friends like you and Lois and Bernie."
"That's right," Clark said. "You *shouldn't* hurt people, and anybody who tells you that you should is lying to you. It's wrong, *and* against the law. Even Superman has to obey the law. Just remember, might is *not* necessarily right. Okay?"
Brian nodded. "Okay." He munched on the Ding Dong for several seconds before swallowing the mouthful and popping the last piece into his mouth. "I wish *I* had an adopted mother and father."
"Well," Clark said, "We'll have to see what we can do about that, but in the meantime, you should probably do what Lois and Bernie and I tell you. We won't ask you to do anything wrong. That's a promise."
"How about that sneaky guy who's trying to see in the window?" Brian asked. "He was sitting in his car watching your place when I came in. I didn't let him see me flying," he added. "I just used the key you had under your flower pot."
Clark lowered his glasses and took a quick look to see. Sure enough, Floyd was outside the window, stepping onto a rickety box apparently in an attempt to see through the apartment's high windows.
Clark shook his head. "He's seen me come in here twice, so I guess he's curious. Let's go satisfy his curiosity, okay? Don't do anything super, and just let me do the talking. Come on."
Obediently, Brian got to his feet and followed Clark as he headed for the door. Together they went quietly out, and Clark led the way around to the window. Floyd had just boosted himself up on the box and was peering over the sill into the apartment.
"Looking for something?" Clark inquired.
Floyd jumped uncontrollably and fell backwards as the box cracked under him. Clark caught him before he hit the ground.
"Are you all right?" he asked, setting the man on his feet.
"Uh ..." Floyd cleared his throat, coughed and stuttered as he gathered his dignity. "Uh, yeah. Who's this?"
"This is my brother, Brian," Clark said. "He's visiting from out west."
"I didn't know you had a brother," Floyd said.
"That's because I didn't tell you," Clark said, mildly. "If you want to know something about me, you don't need to look in the window, you know. Just ask me. It's safer, and a lot easier." He gave Floyd his patented look of wide-eyed innocence. "Are you sure you're all right?"
"Positive." Floyd surveyed the brothers with a skeptical expression. "Okay, but I gotta protect my other tenants. If I think something weird is going on, I have to check. You two watch your step, got it?" With those final words, he turned and stalked away.
"What's he talking about?" Brian asked, a note of plaintiveness in his voice. "Are we supposed to watch our feet?"
"It's just an expression," Clark said. "Let's go back in, okay? I think we've discouraged him for now."
Brian followed him back into the apartment. Clark glanced at his wall clock. It was after nine. Lois would be at the ballet with Luthor right now, and fairly safe, but he still wanted to be sure she was all right. On the other hand, leaving Brian alone was a recipe for trouble.
He locked the door. No point in leaving it open for unexpected visitors, in case Floyd decided to return, although he figured that his landlord had probably been routed for the evening.
"I'm going to change my clothes," he told Brian. "Be right back."
"Okay." As he spoke, Brian resumed his position on the sofa and reached for the chips, his gaze already fixed once more on the roadrunner.
The lead box in the pocket of his sports jacket weighed the garment down as Clark removed it. He took the box from his pocket and set it on the nightstand while he changed clothing at normal speed, for once, trying to decide what to do. If Lois came by here after the ballet, it was going to be difficult for them to talk with Brian here, and yet he didn't see what else he could do for now. Brian was understandably lonely. He was afraid to return to Luthor's penthouse, and anyway, Clark didn't want him to. At the same time, when he didn't return, Luthor was going to want to know what had happened to his "Superman". How long would it be before Luthor concluded that something had gone wrong with his creation and decided to have Leek produce another? When that happened, the substitution would be discovered and Luthor would take immediate steps to cover his involvement in the affair.
He needed to talk to Lois tonight, he thought, Brian's presence notwithstanding. If they took everything they had, including the copies of Leek's stuff, to Henderson, the Inspector might be able to get a warrant to search the lab for evidence. On the other hand, if he and Lois went to Leek with an ultimatum, the doctor might decide to hand over his evidence against Luthor. On the *other* other hand, he might run to Luthor and warn him -- which would probably be the stupidest thing he could do, because Luthor would promptly dispose of every loose end that he could find, which would certainly include Leek.
He was babbling in his head, he realized suddenly, exactly the way Lois babbled out loud. His partner must be rubbing off on him more than he realized. Well, just who did he think he was kidding, anyway? Lois had more than rubbed off on him, a long time ago. He really needed to talk to her, though. Somehow he was always able to think more clearly when the two of them discussed a problem together.
He glanced at his watch. Nine-thirty. The ballet wouldn't be over for another hour at the very least.
He pulled on a T-shirt and picked up a pair of tennis shoes. He and Brian had some time to kill. As he started toward the living area again, his gaze fell on the lead box. What would Luthor be keeping in a lead box? Something, obviously, that he didn't want Superman to see; something small, but important. Well, the easiest way to find out was to open it. He'd intended to do so when he got home, but events of various sorts had interfered. He picked up the box and unfastened the catch.
**********
tbc
