Since Home V is going to take a while and the Christmas season is already on us, I thought I'd better get my Christmas offering posted soon. Here is the first part. Comments and constructive criticism invited.
How I Spent My Christmas Vacation: An Alt-World Story 1/?
By Nan Smith
Disclaimer: The familiar characters and settings in this story are not mine. They are the property of DC Comics, Warner Bros., December 3rd Productions and whoever else can legally claim them, nor am I profiting from their use. Any dialogue from any episode of the series used in this story is hereby credited to the writers of "Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman". Any new characters, scenes, dialogue and the story itself belong to me.
The Presidential election in Meet John Doe and Lois and Clarks, oddly enough, seemed to occur after Christmas in our Lois and Clark's Metropolis. For the purpose of this story, I'm simply going to assume that the episodes were shown out of sequence, and that Christmas actually occurred *after* the election, which, in the normal course of events, it would have.
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It was that time of year again, Clark Kent thought. Christmas. Outside the bells were chiming and he could hear the distant sound of some department store sound system playing "Sleigh Ride".
He'd loved Christmas as a child, until that fateful day when he was ten that had put an end to the Christmases of childhood. The magic had died with his mother and father, and never come back. He'd told himself that a marriage to Lana, and a family of his own, would bring back the joy he had known, but underneath he hadn't believed it. Lana, his childhood friend and eventually fiancee, just hadn't looked at it the same way. Christmas at the Lang's home was a giant social occasion that must look just right. The Langs had a snow-white tree that came out of a box every year, decorated with blue Christmas balls and tiny blue lights, and glittering glass icicles, with a satin angel that sat on the top. There would be no room for clumsily carved wooden reindeer or lopsided cookies decorated with icing and sprinkles like the ones that had hung on the Kent tree along with the more traditional ornaments. He'd found it a sharp contrast to the fresh fir tree that his dad had cut every year, and the old and loved Christmas decorations, each with its own history and meaning, that had adorned the Kent tree. The manger scene would be new and perfect, not the ancient but lovingly preserved china pieces that his mother had brought out of a shoebox every Christmas and that he and she had arranged on a table near the tree. One of the donkeys had a broken leg that had been glued carefully back together years before he had come to be their son. After their deaths, before he had been taken from the farm, he had taken the shoebox and hidden it in the trunk of a hollow tree near the creek. He hadn't known what would happen to his parents' possessions, but that was one memory that had been too precious to risk. After his breakup with Lana last year he had retrieved it, and now it resided on the shelf in his closet but he hadn't had the heart to take it out and set it up at Christmas. It just seemed to be the kind of task that was meant for two people, where you discussed exactly how to position each piece. That had been the ritual and part of the fun. So the pieces stayed in the box.
His apartment looked just as it always did, except for the Christmas shrub -- it was too small to call it a tree -- with the tiny, cheap decorations that it had come with, sitting in the center of his coffee table. He'd bought that from one of the kids from the local junior high school, who had been raising funds for their school choir or some such thing.
Come to think of it, it was looking a little dry. He took the tiny tree over to his kitchen sink and carefully watered it, then decided that it would undoubtedly benefit the plant to give it some sunlight, so he relocated it onto the windowsill.
It was snowing again, the big puffy flakes drifting down unendingly. Probably he should go out on patrol. The Christmas season just seemed to invite the accidents during people's final rush to complete their Christmas shopping, and the last minute discovery that no one had remembered to buy something for Aunt Edna, or Uncle Calvin.
He had almost decided to do just that, when the doorbell rang.
Who would be calling today? He had the day off from the Planet, and there really wasn't anyone to send him gifts or anything. Perry and Alice had dropped off a box of cheese and sausages yesterday, and James had handed out the Christmas bonuses on Friday. People sometimes sent Superman letters, but this was Sunday, and besides, the Post Office collected those for him and he picked them up once a week.
He'd given up wearing glasses regularly some time ago. He glanced at his door and sighed heavily. H.G. Wells. This was just what he needed to make his day complete.
Wells rang again, and after an instant's debate about whether to answer, Clark mounted the steps to the door and pulled it open.
Wells was just as he had been the last time Clark had seen him. They had returned from the alternate universe where Lois was married to his counterpart and the little man had left him with a smile and a wink, and a reminder that "impossible" was all relative. Clark hadn't held out much hope. He'd searched the world over, and there had been no trace of the Lois of his universe. Her trail had led to the Congo and disappeared four years before, and that was all there was to it.
"Hello, Mr. Kent." The time-traveler removed his hat. "May I come in?"
Clark stepped back and Wells accepted the silent invitation. He rubbed his hands briskly together as Clark closed the door behind him. "Quite cold today."
"I hadn't noticed," Clark said.
"No, I suppose not." The other man frowned at him with a look of concern. "You don't look well."
"I'm fine," Clark said.
"No, I phrased that badly," Wells said. "I meant, you don't look happy."
Clark shrugged. "I'm all right."
"Hmm." Wells fiddled with his hat. "I wondered if you were free today."
"More or less," Clark said. He sighed. "What is it? Don't tell me Lois and Clark need my help again."
"No, of course not. But someone else does. Do you remember, I said that 'impossible' was a relative term?"
"Yes." Clark felt a faint spark of interest. "Do you have some information for me?"
Wells nodded. "I trust you remember Tempus, Mr. Kent."
"How could I forget him? But isn't he in jail in the other universe?"
"Not anymore. His ... people apparently came for him and took him back to his own time. The important thing is that, like me, he is a time traveler. He can be anywhere in time at any given moment, and four years ago he was in the Congo."
Clark could feel every muscle in his body stiffening. "Lois?"
"You must remember, Mr. Kent, his ultimate goal is to prevent the coming of Utopia in his own universe, and in this one. Lois Lane is as necessary to Utopia as Superman. Just before he came to Metropolis to destroy you, he apparently went to the Congo to dispose of this universe's Lois Lane."
"What did he do to her?"
Wells fiddled with the brim of his hat. "If you do nothing, he will cause her death. But you can save her."
"*How*?"
"By coming with me. We have to be there four years ago when Tempus makes the attempt. If you save her --"
"I thought you told me it was dangerous to tamper with time."
The little man shrugged. "In this case, it's more dangerous *not* to tamper with it. It has already been tampered with by Tempus, and if we leave it as is, drastic consequences will ensue farther down the line. We can't undo the events that her absence has caused, but we can still repair the future timeline, at least to the point where the difference will not matter."
Timelines. As if the timeline mattered to him at this moment. "You mean, we can save her?"
"You can not only save her, you must. As it is now, if there is no Lois Lane, the future of this world is very dark indeed. The presence of Superman may delay the evil, but will not prevent it. To succeed, both of you must contribute." The little man paused. "There is one caveat, however. If you save her life, she cannot be in the time period between the time she would have died and the time you go to rescue her."
"Why not?"
Wells looked at him with both eyebrows raised. "Because, if she exists in that time period, history will completely change. More importantly, *your* history will change, Mr. Kent. You will have no need to search for her and find her, thereby preventing that very history from happening. It could very well set up an alternating time loop that would mean disaster for this universe. No, there's only one thing to do."
"What?"
"We shall have to bring her back to today."
Clark was still mulling that remark over as he climbed into H.G. Wells' time machine ten minutes later. The oddly old-fashioned device with such incredible futuristic abilities cranked up with a whine and a blast of air, and then the world around him dissolved into a formless haze. The only things that were solid and identifiable were H.G. Wells and the machine itself. Outside was ... nothing.
The counter on the dashboard was whirling backwards towards a date he knew well -- April 21, 1993 -- the date of the last communication sent by Lois Lane before she vanished. Then the world re-materialized around them, and they were in a nondescript alley. Trash and garbage littered the surface, and the air around them was hot and humid.
"We're here," Wells announced, unnecessarily. "Brazzaville, in the heart of the Republic of the Congo."
"And Lois is here?"
"She is indeed." Wells took the key to his machine and tucked it into a pocket. "Here, Mr. Kent. Take this." He was holding out what appeared to be a small, gold button. Clark took it.
"What is it?"
"It's a device by which I may track you if we should become separated," Wells explained. "It has a temporal beacon as well as a locational one, just on the chance that we might become separated by time as well as space. One never knows what may happen during time travel -- especially when a time-traveling criminal is involved."
That made sense, Clark thought. Being marooned in time wouldn't be something that he would care for. He tucked the device into the back pocket of his jeans. "What now?"
"Tempus's time machine is parked in a warehouse on the other side of town," Wells said. "I thought ours would be safer some distance from his. I've given us some leeway, but we should certainly be going."
"Okay. Where?"
Wells glanced at the sun, which, Clark noted, was sinking toward the west. "Perhaps we should utilize one of Superman's talents. We should be on the west side of town before sunset."
**********
"One question," Clark said. "Why can't we just find Lois and warn her?"
H.G. Wells clutched his hat against the wind of their flight. The western sky was ablaze with the pink, orange and gold of sunset, but to the east the brightest stars had begun to make their appearance, and a crescent moon was riding low on the horizon. Below them, here and there, the lights of the city had begun to come on.
"You met the other-world Lois," Wells said after a pause. "Considering that, and what you've learned since about the Lois Lane of your universe, how do you think she would react to such a warning?"
He had a point. Clark had read everything Lois had ever written at the Daily Planet and had even dug up many of the things she had produced for her college and high school papers, and since he'd gotten to know Mayor White better, he'd listened to every story the former editor could think of about her. Lois's reaction to a warning like that was completely predictable, now that he considered it. She would think that she was getting close to something big and that he was trying to scare her off. She would simply be more determined than ever to discover what it was that she thought they were trying to hide. No, the only way they were going to be able to save her life was to be there when the attempt to kill her was made.
"The warehouse is slightly to the north," Wells said, apparently feeling that no further elaboration was needed. Clark obediently changed course.
The warehouse was old and dilapidated. Clark touched down in the shadows next to it and the slight application of super-strength opened a side door to give them a way in.
The place was dark and smelled of must and mildew. Treading softly, they entered. Clark, with his keen night vision, led the way with Wells holding onto the back of his shirt.
The big storage place was half full, but that left a huge, echoing cavity toward the rear of the building, and Clark could hear the sound of static and a voice issuing from what must be a small room at the very back. He scanned in the direction of the sound and immediately spotted a room where a lone man played a listless game of solitaire on a folding table, and a portable radio gave out static-ridden music. Beer cans littered the room and half a sandwich on the foot of the narrow cot was crawling with flies.
Voices were approaching from somewhere to the right. He looked that way and his hand closed on Wells' shoulder, pushing him down behind a dusty, wooden crate. "Quiet!" he whispered, although the little man had not made a sound. "They're coming!"
They crouched behind their shelter, trying to breathe quietly. Clark watched the approach of three persons. One was the man he had seen a year before in Metropolis and then again in the alternate world: Tempus, the time traveler whose goal was to destroy the future of his world, a second man that he had never seen before, and a woman. Clark's heart lunged into his throat and stayed there. It was Lois Lane.
There was a rattle and a scraping of wood, and a door in the opposite wall opened. Watching through the barrier of row upon row of crates stacked higher than his head, Clark saw them step inside. The unidentified man switched on a flashlight, and the light reflected off the familiar silhouette of a time machine.
"Well, Ms. Lane," Tempus said. "We're here."
"That's great," Lois's familiar voice said impatiently, "but I came to see something more than a circus car. Where is this evidence that you were going to show me?"
"Oh, that." Tempus's voice had the same mocking sneer that Clark remembered from that day in Metropolis, when his secret was laid bare to the world, and the man looked just the same, neither older nor younger. "I'm afraid that was a slight untruth. Get in."
"Just what are you up to, Mr. Temple?" Lois asked, sounding annoyed. "There has to be some reason you wanted me here."
"There is," Tempus said. A handgun made its appearance. "Get in."
Clark started to stand up. The door in the back of the warehouse burst open suddenly and the man he had seen playing cards there appeared. "Police!" he squeaked. "It's a setup!"
There came the sound of a heavy body hitting the door through which the three persons had just entered, and wood splintered. Tempus seized Lois by the arm and thrust her toward the time machine. "Get in!"
Faced with the muzzle of his weapon jammed into her ribs, Lois obeyed. The familiar whine of the machine's power began.
Clark moved. In an instant, he had reached the rear of the time machine and grasped a piece of protruding metal. Then the temporal field closed around him and he was forced to stay where he was, clutching onto the thing with one hand as the formless haze of the time stream swirled lazily past.
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tbc
