Clark stepped out of the Planet’s elevator, feeling a little more confident than he had the previous day. Everything still looked a little off kilter, but at least he knew what to expect this time.
Except, he realised as his gaze automatically went to her desk, Lois wasn’t around. He scanned the rest of the newsroom, but she was nowhere to be seen. Darn – he’d hoped to pick her brains on who to enlist in his efforts to reverse the body swap. He’d had enough of switching universes and bodies, particularly after this morning’s episode.
After nearly blacking out at home, he’d come to only to find himself slumped over the breakfast table, his cheek lying in a warm lake of spilt coffee. Worse still, someone was tugging on his shoulder and a shrill voice was calling his name over and over again. That was when his head had begun to pound and he’d realised that the voice was Lana’s.
His heart had plunged.
Still, Lana had been surprisingly solicitous – she’d seemed genuinely concerned to find her husband semi-comatose at the breakfast table. If he’d anticipated a row over the spilt coffee, or an interrogation as to why he was in such a sorry state, he was mistaken. If anything, she’d seemed rattled by his collapse, constantly asking if he felt okay and allowing her hand to linger whenever she placed it on his shoulder or arm – which was fairly often. Without rancour, she’d cleaned up the messy table and sent him upstairs to change his shirt.
Why the change? She’d even kissed him goodbye, although she hadn’t missed the opportunity to exhort him to come home early from work.
“I’ll try,” he’d replied, mindful that Lois might have other plans for the evening.
“No, Clark, you’ll do it,” she’d insisted, her hand resting on his chest. “I don’t want you getting sick again. Who are we going to turn to if you get ill? It’s not like you can go to a regular doctor.”
This from the woman who’d wanted him to get a prescription for impotence? Just who in the medical profession did she expect her husband to obtain it from if no regular doctor would do? He’d had a hard time keeping silent over that one. “I’m fine,” he’d said. “Don’t worry about me.”
“But I do,” she’d murmured, sliding her arms underneath his jacket and pressing herself into his body. “You’ve become so distant lately. Don’t you find me attractive any more?”
“I...I find you as attractive as I always have,” he’d answered truthfully, all the while wondering how to gracefully extricate himself from her too-close embrace. If only she’d go back to being abrasive, unloving Lana! He’d preferred that version to the one currently roaming her hands all over his back.
Belatedly, he’d realised that she was also wearing a very skimpy nightgown that left little to the imagination. What was she up to?
“It’s been so long since we made love,” she’d said, nuzzling into his neck. “Just imagine how... how hot we’d be together after all this time. In fact,” she’d added, her voice dropping to a low, sexy murmur, “imagine what it would be like if we made love right here.” She’d kissed the sensitive skin just behind his ear. “On the floor, like wild animals,” she’d whispered.
Disgusted, and not a little baffled as to why she was suddenly coming on to him so strongly, he’d pulled away from her, unwrapping her arms from around his body. “I’m sorry,” he’d muttered. “I have to go.”
He’d turned and fled, heedless of the impression he might be creating. If she concluded that he was appalled by her hard sell, then she was right on the money and he really didn’t care that she knew. Bad enough that he had her explicit sexual suggestions ringing in his ears as he made his way to work.
Now, though, he wondered how much she knew about the affair. Perhaps that explained her clumsy attempt to interest him last night followed by today’s awful encounter. If he replayed her last words in his head, he was pretty certain he could detect hesitation in her voice, as if she really wasn’t comfortable making such lurid suggestions. Had it been an act of desperation on her part? The jilted wife trying to win her man back by offering the kind of sex she imagined men liked most?
Or the Skywatch employee doing her bit to keep the alien close to home by offering it plenty of easily available sex?
Or both? To what extent were Lana’s actions self-motivated rather than directions from her superiors? She’d tried to make him stay at home last night – was that Lana the jilted wife or Lana the dutiful employee? Using Kryptonite on her husband – well, that had to be Skywatch, hadn’t it? What wife would deliberately make her husband sick, even if she suspected he was being unfaithful?
And, of course, he didn’t actually have any hard evidence that she was working for Skywatch. If there was time, he’d do something about that, because even if he didn’t approve of his counterpart’s adultery, he disliked even more what had been done to him. A gross violation of basic human rights was at stake here.
The Daily Planet, by contrast, was a relative haven of peace and normality, he reflected as he scanned again for Lois. If only he could find her.
“Morning, Clark.” Perry walked in front of him, intercepting his view of the room. “Lost something?”
“Yes - Lois,” he replied. “Have you seen her?”
“Seen her, briefed her, dispatched her,” said Perry. “You’re on your own this morning, son.”
“Where did you send her?” he asked.
“I got a tip-off that the mayor’s finally going to say something worthwhile at his weekly press briefing.”
“Um...shouldn’t I be there too?” he said, keen to follow Lois and talk to her as soon as possible.
“No, I need you here to cover the reactions to his announcement.”
Frustrated, Clark pasted a willing smile on his face and nodded his agreement. The thought crossed his mind that Perry was doing his best to keep Lois and the other Clark apart. A couple of things he’d said the previous day made Clark suspect that Perry didn’t approve of the adulterous relationship between his two reporters.
At his desk, Clark thumbed on his computer. Assuming that mayoral briefings took place at the same time in this universe as they did back home, he had about a half an hour before he needed to set to work on the story. Time to resume his internet search.
He grimaced. Where did he begin? Yesterday, he’d come up blank on Star Labs or Dr Klein. Well, perhaps he could try searching for scientists with an interest in time travel or multiple universe theories.
Twenty minutes later he’d put together a shortlist of five possibilities. A couple were overseas, but fortunately that wouldn’t present much of a problem to him: he’d simply fly. Nice and high, so as not to be spotted by any commercial aircraft-
“Tower, we’re losing altitude fast.”
He tensed, immediately recognising the strained tone of a pilot reporting the status of his flight. Listening in for a few more moments, he discovered that it was a commercial flight, probably transatlantic, which was experiencing serious difficulties as it approached its final landing sequence. There was no time to waste. No question that he wouldn’t respond. Three hundred or more people would lose their lives if he didn’t – not to mention the danger to ground staff and the emergency services.
Within seconds, he’d left the Planet via the roof, flown as fast as he could towards Metropolis Airport – too fast to be detectable by either the naked eye or radar – and located the ailing aeroplane. Moving underneath it, he took its weight onto his back and began to fly it down.
It was only when he was a few feet from the ground that he noticed that one side of the landing gear hadn’t locked into place properly. Heck. He gave it his best shot, but the plane was horribly unbalanced and difficult to control as he tried to settle it onto the runway. The result was a sheared wheel brace which, in order to ensure the plane stood steadily on the tarmac, he had to quickly solder back together again with his laser vision.
Not his finest work. The passengers were safe and the plane repairable, but his hasty solder job was clumsy. Eyebrows would rise into hairlines when the engineers began their work and pondered how on earth the repair could have been made. Not to mention that no-one would be able to explain why the aeroplane hadn’t crashed.
He sighed and made a hasty exit before the emergency services could arrive and spot him.
************
Dr Schulz’s office suite at Star Labs had to be one of the plushest in the building. Lois eyed the contents of his ante-room with a baleful eye while she waited with Clark to be granted an interview with the great man. They were seated on a soft leather sofa in a beige so pale that it had to cost a fortune to keep clean. The carpet was almost white – more cleaning bills. Dark walnut furniture complemented the pale furnishings, and the art on the walls looked original.
The contrast with Dr Klein’s broom cupboard of an office was laughable. Clearly, Dr Schulz had friends in high places.
“I’m going to leave her when I get back,” said Clark suddenly. “I’ve decided.”
She glanced at him. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
He frowned. “Of course. I can’t live with her when I know she’s spying on me.”
“You don’t know that for certain,” she reminded him. “Besides, even if she is, don’t you think it’ll be easier to find out exactly what she and Skywatch are up to if they don’t suspect you’re on to them?”
“I’ll take that risk,” he said. “I can’t live with her.”
“I understand how you feel,” she said, “but consider this: what do you think will happen to you if Skywatch think their cover’s been blown?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Chances are they’ll move in. They’ll have nothing to lose, so they’ll try to capture you.”
“I’ll run.”
“What about Lois? Will she run with you? And do they know she’s involved with you?”
From his shocked expression, it was clear that he hadn’t considered the possibility. “Hell,” he muttered. “I never even thought...” He sprang up from the sofa and paced towards the window. “Lana suspects something, I’m sure. We haven’t exactly been...close...lately.”
Code for not sleeping together? “Then if Lana suspects, you can bet that Skywatch do, too. If she’s working for them.”
“I can’t live with her,” he insisted. “There has to be another way.”
“Think about it,” she suggested. “Talk it over with Lois when you get back. She deserves a say in your decision, doesn’t she?”
“I guess.” He sighed. “How ironic is this? Lois has been badgering me to leave Lana for weeks, and now when I finally decide that’s exactly what I’m going to do, she may very well be the one who asks me not to.”
Before she could reply, Dr Schulz appeared in the doorway to his office. “Ms Lane, Mr Kent? Sorry to keep you waiting. The phone hasn’t stopped ringing since yesterday’s press conference.”
He stepped forward and offered his hand as Lois got to her feet. She grasped it firmly. “Thank you for agreeing to see us, Dr Schulz.”
Clark came across from the window. “Yes, we appreciate your time,” he said.
“Come into my office,” invited Dr Schulz
They followed him into a large office sporting floor to ceiling windows at one end and a large desk and leather chairs at the other. As they settled into the soft chairs, Dr Schulz said, “So, the Daily Planet is interested in my little invention, is it? I’m flattered.”
“Well, as you said yesterday at the demo, it has the potential to transform our lives,” said Clark. “If it works as well as you say it does.”
“You saw the demonstration, Mr Kent,” replied Dr Schulz. “Of course it works.”
“It transported a wood block across a room, yes,” agreed Lois. “But when will I be able to visit my cousin in Australia and still be home in time for dinner?”
“Oh, not for a long time yet,” exclaimed Dr Schulz. “We’d have to be one hundred per cent sure that it would work every time before we involved humans in the process.”
“So it doesn’t work every single time?” asked Lois. “How often, in percentage terms, does it fail?”
Dr Schulz smiled indulgently at her. “I’d have to look up our research notes to give you an exact figure, but off the top of my head? Around fifteen per cent of attempted transports result in non-transference of matter.”
“And what happens to those unlucky wood blocks that don’t transfer successfully?” asked Lois. “Do they go to the great wood block heaven in the sky?”
“If, by that, you mean ‘do they disintegrate’, then yes, sometimes they do,” replied Dr Schulz. “So you can see that we have a long way to go before we can perform experiments on animals, let alone human beings. However, there is still immense potential for the freight industry.”
Clark cocked an eyebrow. “I imagine there is. You could put a lot of companies out of business, Dr Schulz.”
“And create many new ones,” countered Dr Schulz. “Why do you journalists always look on the negative side? You ask of failure rates and anticipate failing businesses, when there are tremendous opportunities opening up here. You should be exultant!”
“Oh, we are, Dr Schulz,” drawled Lois. “We truly are. Forgive us if we seem sceptical, but our job is to look for the story behind the story.”
“Or put another way,” added Clark, “we’re journalists, not PR agents for the people we interview. We write news, not advertising copy.”
She blinked, a little surprised by his bluntness: her own Clark usually played nice with their interviewees and left the hardball stuff to her. Glancing over at him, she saw that his expression was pretty steely, too. What had got into him?
“What my partner means,” she told a now rather shuttered Dr Schulz, “is that-“
“No, I get it,” replied Dr Schulz hotly. “You’re here to dig the dirt. That’s fine. I hadn’t realised that the Daily Planet was a fully paid-up member of the gutter press, but I guess good science and original thinking doesn’t sell newspapers these days. So what would you like to know? The name of my mistress? How many times I had sex last week? Whether I’ve fathered any illegitimate children?”
“We leave that sort of detail to our colleagues on the gossip column,” replied Lois quickly. “Look, why don’t you explain how your invention works and we’ll take it from there.” She gave Clark a warning glance to pre-empt any further stupidity from him.
Dr Schulz harrumphed a bit and then settled down into a tedious lecture on ions and protons and energy matrices, none of which made the slightest sense to Lois but at least had the effect of soothing the ruffled scientist’s feathers. She pasted on her patented ‘attentive listener’ expression and let her mind drift onto more pressing matters, such as whatever her husband might be doing right this minute. Was he okay? This Clark seemed to have overcome his headache, so hopefully her Clark had too...
“Dimensions,” interjected Clark, jerking Lois out of her glazed stupor. “You said something about dimensions.”
She pushed herself up straight in her chair and leant forward with renewed interest. Just as well one of them was paying attention, she reflected.
“Yes, one theory is that the transferring matter actually enters an alternative dimension whilst in transit.” Dr Schulz shrugged. “Well, it’s more of a modelling construct than a real theory,” he added disparagingly. “A way to explain the less well-understood aspects of the process.”
“Less well-understood? You mean you don’t know what you’re doing?” exclaimed Lois. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Clark glaring at her like he was fit to burst, but she ignored him. “How can you use something you don’t fully understand?” she demanded of the smarmy Dr Schulz.
“Ms Lane.” He smiled thinly at her. “Do you drive a car?”
“Of course.”
“And can you explain to me in detail the workings of the internal combustion engine?” he asked, his voice full of syrupy patronage.
“No, but there’s plenty of people who can,” she retorted. “Can the same be said of your process?”
“Okay, so I chose a bad analogy,” he replied, annoyingly unfazed by her reply. “But I think you take my point.”
Did she, heck! “Actually, I-“
“Who else subscribes to this particular theory?” interrupted Clark. She shot him an irritated look: she’d just been warming up and had plenty more to say to the self-important, arrogant Dr Schulz.
Dr Schulz chuckled. “Well, I don’t subscribe to it myself, actually. Fanciful nonsense, if you ask me.”
“Who does?” pressed Lois. “How about Dr Bernard Klein?”
“Klein?” Schulz shrugged. “I have no idea. Besides, this isn’t even his field of research.”
“But he’s a senior member of the research team, isn’t he?” said Lois. “I’m sure you must hold briefing meetings on current projects. He’d attend those, surely?”
“He may have,” said Dr Schulz. “I really can’t remember.”
“Well, who else, then?” asked Clark.
“I believe there’s a group in the Ukraine who are doing a lot of work on multiple universe theory,” he replied. “They’d believe anything that supported their own theories.”
“We’ll check them out,” said Lois crisply, deciding that, as she’d expected, Dr Schulz really wasn’t a very useful source of information. “In the meantime, many thanks for your time.”
Outside on the street, she whirled on her companion. “What happened in there?” she demanded. “You nearly lost us the interview!”
He raised his eyebrows. “I nearly lost it? What about when you told him he didn’t know what he was doing?”
“Well, I was right!” she retorted. “He shouldn’t be using processes he doesn’t understand. He knows it, you know it, and I know it. You, on the other hand, were just plain rude.”
He shrugged. “I didn’t like him.”
“Neither did I, but we’re professionals, Clark! We don’t let our own feelings get in the way of the story.”
“Just like you didn’t let his patronising attitude irritate the heck out of you,” he said. “Very professional.”
Boy, but he could be annoying! She pursed her lips and glanced at her watch. “We need to find Dr Klein. He’s the key to all this.”
“I agree. Schulz was far too quick to deny Klein’s interest in that alternate dimension theory, if you ask me.” He glanced back at the entrance. “So why are we standing out here instead of visiting Klein’s lab?”
“Because,” she replied heavily, “it’s lunchtime and I know where he buys his tuna sub. You coming, or are you going to stand there on the off chance he floats by on a magic carpet?”
He rolled his eyes. “You do know that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, don’t you?”
“And this should matter to me because...?”
He sighed. “Just show me where he buys his lunch, Lois.”
*****************
After returning from the airport and discovering that Lois was still absent from her desk, Clark slipped quickly in behind his computer and wondered how the heck he was going to explain to Perry why he hadn’t got a single quote from either local politicians or the business community about the Mayor’s announcement. Perhaps a few quick phone calls...
“Where the heck have you been?”
Now where had he heard that before? He sighed, wishing strenuously that he was back in his own world. He’d forgotten how hard it was to make excuses to Lois after he’d returned from a rescue.
He looked up to find her looming over him, hands on hips and looking like thunder. “Can I talk to you alone?” he asked.
“So long as it doesn’t take too long,” Lois replied snippily. “I’ve got a ton of work to do, thanks to you.”
He winced. “I’ll be as succinct as I can.”
He led her into the conference room and closed the door. Turned to find her with her arms crossed and an impatient foot tapping on the carpet. “Are you still him?” she snapped. “Just so as I know whose butt I’m kicking, you understand.”
“Yes,” he replied. “I mean, for a few hours last night, I wasn’t, but now I am again.”
“I’m sorry?” she said. “Can you repeat that in English?”
“We switched back last night for a few hours,” he elucidated. “But this morning I woke up here.”
“Really? He was here and I missed him?” She turned away from him, but not before he saw her face crumple. “Damn,” she whispered hoarsely.
Guilt stabbed at his conscience: at least he’d managed a few precious hours with Lois last night. Enough time to comfort and reassure each other; to exchange stories of their day spent apart. She’d had nothing.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “If it’s any comfort, Lois says he’s fine. No ill effects from the swap at all.”
She lifted a hand to her face, dabbing the corners of her eyes with the tips of her fingers. “She said that? I wasn’t sure...I thought maybe he wouldn’t handle it very well.”
“I know, but you can stop worrying.” Hesitantly, he reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. “He’s doing just fine.”
“Good. What...what did they do all day?”
“Tried to find out what’s causing the switches,” he said. “They made good progress, too – they think that an experimental transportation device being tested over at Star Labs may have something to do with it.”
“Oh? What’s Star Labs? Some kind of scientific research place, I guess,” she replied.
“Yes, but I don’t think you’ve got an equivalent here,” he said. “At least, I couldn’t find their website or any mention of their foremost scientist, Dr Klein, on the internet.”
Her shoulders jerked, and for a horrible moment he thought she’d succumbed to the tears he could hear in her voice. Then she said dryly, “There’s a motorcycle shop near my apartment called Doc Klein’s Motorcycle Emporium, but I doubt it’s the same guy.”
He grinned. “Who knows? Our guy rides a bike and wears black leathers. Maybe over here he gave his interests different priorities.”
“Could be.” She sighed. “Anyway, I’m glad someone’s trying to get us swapped back, because I don’t think...I don’t think I can bear this much longer.”
“Hey,” he murmured. “It’s going to be okay. Heck, we’ve got twice as many Clarks and Loises on the case as usual – how can we possibly fail?”
She chuckled. “You’re right.” She scrubbed at her face and turned back to face him again. “So what did you want to see me about?”
He checked her quickly, noting the moist eyes but also the determined set of her jaw. Just like his own Lois, he thought wistfully. “Well, I may have done something a little rash,” he confessed.
“Oh? Please don’t tell me you told Lana about the swap thing,” she said.
“No, nothing like that,” he replied. “A plane was going to crash at Metropolis airport and...well...I rescued it.”
Her jaw dropped. “Rescued it? How?”
“I got underneath it and flew it down.” Seeing her incredulous expression, he decided she needed more explanation. “The engines kept cutting out, you see, and the pilot said he couldn’t control it, so I-”
“The pilot said...? How do you know what he said? No, cancel that – what do you mean, you flew it down? That’s not possible.”
“Actually, it is,” he replied. “Did Clark never tell you he could fly?”
She stared at him. “You’re kidding, right? This is some kind of weird Kansas humour I just don’t get, isn’t it? Flying men are just intrinsically funny in Smallville, yeah? – I mean, it figures. Small town, not much entertainment, so why not gather around the fire and crack jokes about flying men? Beats counting corn husks, I gue...ess... How are you doing that?”
He grinned. “Still don’t believe in flying men?” he asked, indicating the foot of clear air between him and the floor. To show that it wasn’t some kind of stunt with wires, he flew slowly over to the coffee machine in one corner of the room.
Her jaw was slack with amazement. “That’s...incredible. I mean, he told me he used to float above the bed in his sleep, and I thought that was amazing enough, but this...” She shook her head. “And you’re sure he’d be able to do this, too?”
“No reason why not,” he said, returning to the floor and walking back to her. “He just needs to practice.”
“Wow,” she murmured. “Just think where we could go. Hawaii, say - I’ve always wanted to fly over the volcanoes there.”
He nodded. “It’s pretty neat. But to get back to the airplane rescue, there’s a slight problem. One of the wheel braces sheared as I was setting the plane down on the tarmac so I had to do a quick repair. You can clearly see where it’s been soldered back together again.”
She frowned. “And why is that...oh, I get it. The maintenance crew.”
“Yeah.” He grimaced. “I mean, people are going to ask why the plane didn’t crash, but I guess they might attribute that to freak air currents or something. A miracle, even. But a clumsy solder repair on a wheel brace that was perfect when the plane took off? That’s a pretty solid-looking miracle.”
“It is,” she agreed, wandering thoughtfully over to the coffee machine. She fiddled with the buttons for a bit until she discovered, as he’d already suspected, that it was switched off. “But however hard they try,” she continued, turning to face him again, “they won’t be able to come up with anything close to a good explanation. They’ll have to stick with miracles and stuff like that. I take it no-one saw you?”
“Nope,” he replied. “I’m pretty well-versed in concealing myself when I do stunts like this.”
Her eyes went wide. “You mean you do this kind of thing all the time?”
“Yes.” He grinned. “It’s kind of my second job.”
“And Clark could do the same?”
He nodded. “If he wanted to, then yes, I’m sure he could.”
“You saved all those people.”
He shrugged. “It’s what I do.”
She turned back to the coffee machine, although he imagined her mind was a long way away from paper cups and hot water. He’d just given her a glimpse of an entirely different lifestyle for Clark and herself, and perhaps she was just beginning to see what might have been – what, in fact, still could be. “It’s just what he needs,” she muttered. “Something that’ll make him feel good about himself - an outlet for all those extraordinary things he can do. God, if only he realised how amazing he is!”
“Well, you can talk it over with him when he comes back,” he suggested. “He’d need a disguise, of course, but that’s simple. You’d be amazed at how little you need.”
“A disguise?” she said, laughing. “I can’t see Clark wearing one of those shaggy beards and donning dark glasses. He’d die of embarrassment.”
“He just needs to wear different clothes – that’s all I do,” he said. “People see what they want to see. If you show them a flashy hero in a bright costume, they’ll never link him to the ordinary guy who takes the bus to work each day and writes stories for the Daily Planet.”
She chuckled. “Well, I’ll certainly discuss it with him. I’d love for him to use his abilities constructively instead of just wishing they’d go away.”
“I get a lot out of it, certainly. He could, too – but don’t pressure him into it,” he advised. “It’s one thing to be able to do this stuff physically, but it can put you under a lot of stress, mentally. Let him decide whether he wants that or not.”
She nodded. “Sounds like good advice.” She shook her head. “I still can’t get over the fact you rescued an entire plane-load of people.”
He shrugged. “It’s what I do.”
“So you said.” She turned around, her expression business-like and focused again. “Okay, so what do we do about this? Write the story but play down the weirdness of it?” She grimaced. “Although I’m not that comfortable with writing stuff that I know isn’t true.”
“Me either,” he agreed. “Maybe we should let someone else handle it.”
“Yeah, much as it pains me to lose a front page story.”
He grinned. “But what about Skywatch? Do you think they’ll suspect anything?”
She frowned. “I’m not sure. It depends whether or not Lana really is working for them. If she is, then she would have told them everything he can do. Even then, though, I don’t think they’d put two and two together – he’s just never done anything as spectacular as this before.”
“Okay, that’s good.”
“In the meantime, I guess I’d better write up the mayor’s story.”
****************
Lois pushed the door into Dr Klein’s favourite lunchtime haunt. It was a small, family-run café with a distinctly Italian flavour. Sandwiches were made to order at the counter on the left, behind which there were shelves piled high with a huge variety of breads, and then next to that sat a gleaming espresso machine, exuding steam and fragrant smells of fresh coffee. On the right there were a few round tables and bentwood chairs, the tables covered with red and white checked tablecloths. A small TV placed high up in one corner showed the news from LNN, but most of the clientele had their noses buried in their own newspapers or magazines.
Glancing around the tables, she spotted a familiar figure sitting at a table in the window. Dr Klein, dressed in an open-necked blue shirt and nondescript trousers, was absently munching his sandwich while poring over a glossy magazine.
She led Clark over and pulled out a chair. “Mind if we join you?” she asked, sitting down.
Dr Klein looked up from his magazine with a start. “Lois! And Clark. What are you doing here?”
“Eating lunch, I hope,” she replied. “Clark, would you mind? I’ll have tuna mayo on rye, salad but no cucumber.”
Clark froze, halfway between sitting and standing, and gave a theatrical sigh. “Sure, Lois. For you, anything.” He rose again and trudged over to the counter.
Dr Klein gazed after him with a frown on his face and then looked at her. “Everything going okay with the marriage?”
What?! How dare he pry into-
“Sorry!” Dr Klein said hastily, waving his hands before him in defence. “None of my business. Sorry!”
“We’re just fine, thank you,” she replied crisply. “But we were wondering if you’re okay.”
“Me?” replied Klein. “I’m fine, too.”
He’d begun to regard her a little warily, but she pretended she hadn’t noticed. “Really? Well, that’s a relief, because we thought you looked a little peaky at Dr Schulz’s demonstration the other day.” She smiled. “I guess you got over whatever it was.”
“Peaky?” he said nervously. “I looked peaky?”
She nodded. “Very. We wanted to talk to you afterwards, but you’d already rushed off.” She smiled sympathetically. “Those stomach bugs can be truly horrible, can’t they?”
“Can they?” he squeaked. “Yes, I guess they can. Look, Lois, I really must go-“
“Oh, but you haven’t finished your lunch yet,” she exclaimed, indicating his half-eaten sandwich. “And you’re only on page...” She leaned over to check. “Eight of your magazine. It looks interesting. All those nice shiny mopeds.”
“They’re motorcycles,” he replied huffily. “And I’m not hungry any more.”
“Stomach bugging you again?” she said. “You know, they say upset stomachs are often caused by stress. And stress, in turn, is often caused by bottling things up – you know, not talking to people about your worries?” She rested her chin in her hand and beamed at him. “Clark and I are very good listeners.”
“Lois, I have no idea what you’re talking about, and I really must go.”
“If you’re worried about...oh, let’s say, a colleague’s experiments, then you really should talk to someone about it,” she remarked conversationally. “Someone you can trust.”
“I can’t talk,” he muttered.
“Oh, so you are worried, then?” she said, glancing over to Clark in the hope that he was nearly ready to return to the table. He needed to be here if Dr Klein was on the verge of telling them anything useful.
But her attention was immediately snagged by the tiny TV showing LNN. An image of an aeroplane filled the screen, and she could just make out the tickertape message running along the top: “Impending disaster at Metropolis Airport. Plane’s undercarriage fails.”
“Excuse me,” she said quickly to Dr Klein and hurried over to Clark. Tugging on his sleeve, she pulled him unceremoniously out of the sandwich queue to where he could see the TV. “You have to go.”
He squinted up at the screen. “To cover the story? I’m sure Perry’s already got someone over there by now.”
“No, to...” She stood up on tip-toe and whispered in his ear. “To rescue the plane, silly!”
“What?” He stared at her in bafflement. “What are you talking about?”
Oh, God. She’d forgotten he didn’t know anything about Superman. Grabbing his sleeve again, she dragged him out into the street where it was noisy enough that they wouldn’t be overheard. “Okay, so you haven’t done this before,” she said. “I understand. But it’s really quite easy – or at least, Clark makes it look easy. All you have to do is fly underneath the plane, take the weight on your back, and-“
“Fly? What do you mean, fly?”
She froze. “You can’t fly?”
“No.” He laughed nervously. “Of course not.”
“Yes, you can. Clark can fly, and you’re in his body, so you can fly, too.”
He shook his head. “Believe me, I can’t fly. I wouldn’t even know what muscles to use.”
“You just sort of...think it,” she said, indicating how easy it was with her hands. “That’s what Clark says, anyway.”
“This is crazy.” He began walking away from her.
“You have to!” she insisted, moving swiftly to block his path. “Think of all those people. They’ll die if you don’t rescue them.”
He flinched. “Not necessarily.”
With his jaw set firm, he tried to move around her but she jumped to block him again. “At least try, damn you!”
He pursed his lips. “How, Lois? I don’t know how to fly and I certainly don’t know how to carry an aeroplane on my back. I didn’t even know I could until two seconds ago!” He closed his eyes and frowned hard while straining upwards with his body. “See?” he said, opening his eyes again. “Nothing.”
“Try again,” she snapped.
Grimacing, he closed his eyes and tried a second time. “Nothing,” he said, opening his eyes again.
Desperate now, she glanced around and spotted a darkish side street. “Here,” she said, propelling him into the shadows. Away from the bustling main street, it was quieter and calmer. She set him up against the wall and placed her hands on his shoulders. “Okay,” she murmured soothingly. “Close your eyes and empty your mind. Forget the aeroplane, forget where we are. Just take some deep breaths...that’s it,” she encouraged as he followed her advice. “Think of something nice. A deserted island, perhaps. Palm trees swaying gently in the breeze. Golden sand and a blue ocean. Keep taking those deep breaths. Picture a sailboat on the ocean, bobbing gently on the waves. You’d like to be on that sailboat, feeling the wind on your face and listening to the waves lapping against the side of the boat. Keep taking those deep breaths...that’s great. But you’re on the beach. How are you going to reach the boat? Well, maybe if you just gently floated upwards...”
She lifted her hands from his shoulders and waited anxiously. Time was running out. The news report hadn’t given any information about how long it would be before the plane had to attempt a landing. For all she knew, it might have already crashed.
He sighed heavily and opened his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said huskily. “I just can’t do it.”
“You’re sure?” she urged. “Try again.”
She took him through the relaxation routine once more.
“Nothing,” he whispered at the end of it. “I’m sorry.”
With a heavy heart, she patted his arm. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”
“Maybe it landed safely anyway,” he suggested, but she could tell from the tone of his voice that he didn’t really believe that.
“I guess we’d better find out,” she said. Better to know straight away, she told herself. Get it over quickly and then deal with the consequences. And it really wasn’t his fault he hadn’t been able to help. If there was anyone to blame, his wife was probably the best candidate.
The busy café seemed brash and insensitive as they stepped inside: how could people carry on drinking coffee and eating sandwiches as if nothing had happened? Looking up with dread at the TV, she found that the scene had changed to the runway, where the plane stood on the tarmac surrounded by emergency services and men in protective suits hosing it down with flame retardant foam. The ticker tape read, “Narrow escape from death. Damaged plane lands successfully at Metropolis Airport.”
Lois’s legs went all wobbly with relief. “Thank God,” she whispered.
“Yeah,” breathed Clark.
A wave of anger swept through her. Not only was his wife to blame, but whoever was responsible for switching the two Clarks had even more to answer for now. They’d nearly cost the lives of over 200 people.
And with that thought, she remembered Dr Klein. Glancing over to his table, she saw that it was empty. “Damn,” she muttered.
“What?” asked Clark.
“He was about to tell us something, I’m sure of it,” she said. “Look, he left in such a hurry he even left his magazine behind.”
“Well, only the cover,” pointed out Clark. “Wonder why he ripped out the insides and left that behind?”
Intrigued, Lois went over to the table and lifted the magazine cover. A paper napkin dropped out and fell to the floor.
Clark caught it before it landed. “Meet me tonight at 8 outside Club 37,” he read. “Guess he does have something to tell us,” he said.
**************
JT: Have you seen the news?
LL: Y...yes.
JT: And?
LL: And...nothing.
JT: Bullshit, Lana. You know exactly how that plane landed, and you know how that wheel brace got repaired.
LL: How...how can I know that?
JT: Dammit, woman, do you I have to spell it out for you? The alien, you idiot! Finally, it’s come out of hiding and given us a show of strength - and this is only the beginning. God knows what it’s got planned next.
LL: But Clark can’t fly. He doesn’t even float in his sleep any more. They’re saying on the news that it must have been freak air currents or something.
JT: Air currents, my foot. Hell, Lana, when are you going to see what’s going on here? It’s been tricking you, woman! Of course it doesn’t want you to know it can fly.
LL: Maybe he-
JT: It, Lana. It. Why do you keep doing that? You’re not developing feelings for it, are you?”
LL: Of course not! I just...I get confused.
JT: Sloppy, you mean. First you let it stray to that Lane woman, who fills its head with God knows what crap, and now you let it do this! What’s next? An assault on the White House?
LL: No, I-
JT: Get it under control, Lana. I don’t care how you do it, just do it, okay?
LL: I’ll do my best.
JT: No, you’ll do a lot better than that. Because if you don’t, we’ll bring it in and shut down this phase of the project. A lot of people will be disappointed if that happens – very disappointed. You understand what I’m saying?
LL: Yes.
JT: Okay. I’ll expect a report from you in twenty-four hours. Interrogate it, Lana. Every last detail of the incident, down to what it ate for breakfast. We need to know why it decided to break cover. Why the programming failed. What it’s got planned next. Everything.
LL: You’ll have my report.
