In a Better Place, from part 14...
***
“He has left Utopia. He travels often, leaves no itinerary behind. Again, as the manager, I do offer my sincerest apology. We are very sorry.”
“Not as sorry as we are.” Lois’s her sharp, troubled gaze straight through him. Clark managed a half-smile and shrug of his shoulders. He didn't have anything more than that to offer.
Silas, for his part, was still saying nothing.
“Can we leave out this back way?” Clark gestured to the staircase leading to the cellar. “I’ve had so many of your pastries I could stand to walk them off.”
“Of course. I hope you enjoyed your breakfast. Have a --”
“--.peaceful day. Yeah, got it,” Lois finished for her, turning and hitting the stairs at a run.
And now...
***
"Plan B," Lois said curtly when they had made their way through a thousand mangy beasts and out into the back alley. "The bakery was a stupid idea anyway, and now that we've ruled it out, we just... move on to plan B."
Silas had lowered himself to the stoop and was sitting, staring blankly into space. Clark wasn't doing much better, though he did put his arm around her shoulders. For just a minute she leaned against him, too grateful for the unspoken support to say anything more.
"We can't just stop here," she broke the silence before it could grow oppressive. "We need to keep moving."
The answering sympathy in Clark's gaze had her pulling away from him before she was quite ready. She was afraid to let herself fall into it. Afraid she would be frozen into immobility if she did. Afraid she would be useless. Just... afraid, period.
She cleared her throat roughly. "Let's go."
That brought Silas out of his daze. "Where?"
It was a simple, completely logical one word response, and it infuriated her. "Plan B!" she all but shouted. "Which, by the way, does not include sitting in an alley wasting time."
"Lois." That, too, was a simple one word response, and she turned on its speaker with a vengeance.
"Don't try to calm me down, Clark! Just... stop it."
"Ok," was all he said, but he moved towards her and pulled her into a loose, friendly embrace. And, rather than feeling suffocated, as she would with anyone else, or feeling as if she needed to claw her way free to keep up her momentum, keep herself from sinking onto the stoop next to Silas and letting the tide of despair catch up to her; she sank into his arms, burrowing her face into the side of his neck, breathing deeply. She went limp against him and his hold tightened easily. "I've got you." His breath warmed her ear and came dangerously close to pushing her off balance, pitching her towards tears.
"I'm not going to cry," she said, lifting her chin. Just in case he thought she might.
"That makes one of us, then," he returned softly.
"If no one minds," Silas said from behind them, "I'm just going to curl up and sob like a baby."
Clark's chuckle rumbled through his chest and throat, and held against him as she was, she felt every bit of it. And with it, the return of some of her equilibrium.
She stepped away. He let her go at once, one hand caressing the curve of her cheek as he did so. "Ok," she said a bit shakily.
"Ok," he agreed with a small smile.
"Ok," repeated Silas, moving to his feet to stand with them. "Plan B. I'm on board. Let's do this save the world thing you guys are so good at."
Lois watched as the smile left Clark's eyes, fading quickly. Silas's faith was almost as hard a burden on him as everything else.
"First rule of world saving, Junior," she said crisply, "is that it isn't always as easy as going to the first place you get a tentative lead on and-"
"Kicking in the doors and demanding pastries," Silas filled-in. "I figured out that much, Grams."
"No one saves the world without doing a lot of tedious homework beforehand. Which is why there aren't many world-savers. It's really dull in parts..."
She had Clark's attention now, too. She could feel the weight of his heavy, somewhat bemused stare. Wondering, she guessed, if she was just talking to talk, or if she had an actual idea. The truth was... a little of both.
"What sort of resources do we have for some serious bad guy- good guy research? Does Utopia have a host of cloned Jimmys somewhere? Because that's what we're going to need."
***
Hank stood shivering in the biting wind, waiting for Petal to join him in the small clearing. He clenched his jaw and tightened his fists around the large burlap bag he held over his shoulder. It was heavy, but not nearly heavy enough.
"What's the hold up?" he barked, just as Petal emerged from the entrance of the cave. He winced against the vitriol even he could hear in his own words. "Sorry," he murmured.
Petal shook her head, her long braids lifting in the breeze. "Madge told me," was all she said by answer.
Hank scuffed one foot in the dirt, kicking up a small cloud of dust which blew into the vegetation surrounding them. "You know about Elise."
Petal came to stand in front of him. When he was able, he met her gaze, having braced himself for the pity or sorrow he expected to see there. Instead, he caught only her clear-eyed, level stare. "Yes."
He relaxed, nearly losing his grip on their find. She wasn't going to offer sympathy and he was deeply grateful.
"And I don't blame you," Petal added matter-of-factly. "Elise is really cool."
He smiled faintly. "She is."
She... was.
God.
Hank found it hard to stand against the pain building in his chest. He fought to catch his breath, taking in harsh, cold puffs of air that made his lungs ache. Made him ache, head to toe.
"I don't think we overlooked anything," Petal said, watching him closely now. "Want me to carry that?"
He shook his head vehemently.
"Ready to get back?"
He nodded. "You lead the way."
She did. Petal marched along swiftly, finding their path easily, though they had been careful to obscure it, fully aware Tempus could be waiting to hijack their portal as soon as they left it unattended. It went without saying that he hadn't, though.
Hank followed behind Petal numbly, putting one foot in front of the other, looking neither left nor right, letting the tears fall silently. By the time they reached the portal to the timestream his eyes were dry, and any redness on his face could easily be attributed to the cold. Not that he really cared.
Petal moved aside, making room for him and his large burden. She punched in the code numbers that would signal Madge they were returning. Hank welcomed the whiteness which swallowed them up before shooting them back towards Utopia... or what was left of it.
***
Even though it was mid morning, the streets held only the occasional jogger and dog walker. A baby or two being pushed along in carriages that didn’t look too different from the models some of her friends had. Maybe there were some things you couldn’t improve on? Lois wondered idly, as she rode the lift towards the entrance of the library.
It was kind of disappointing not to find robots as servants and flying cars, though...
She stepped up and waved her hand over the sensor, mentally wording how she would phrase her request. 'I'm researching fictional characters and time travel for a story I'm writing...' It was nothing but the literal truth, as well as her strategy. She was here on a story, even if she never wrote it. And granted it came with a pretty tight deadline, but if she allowed herself to dwell on anything else, to get lost contemplating the steep consequences, she wouldn't be able to stay sharp. She might miss something crucial.
The door swung wide and a mechanical voice bade her come in and told her how welcome she was. The library was enormous. The ceiling reached cathedral heights, and though books were clearly a thing of the past, the wall to wall shelves held thousands of objects of differing shapes and sizes.
For the first time since parting ways with Clark and Silas at the bakery, Lois felt a stab of doubt. They had somewhat reluctantly agreed to split up. She knew Clark hadn't wanted to, but with the clock ticking, they would cover more ground apart than together. Silas had mentioned the family archives. Records kept by the family for the family. He didn't really think they would hold anything as useful as information pointing to Tempus's whereabouts or how to get in touch with Utopia's Peacekeepers who did something other than bake and care for strays. Still, Lois had insisted they go and take a look, under the theory one just never knew what piece of information might make all the difference. Also, Clark had admitted reading through the archives wouldn't take him much time at all. He had further reasoned that with Silas helping him, they might cut that time in half.
Lois smiled now at the memory of Silas's uncertain look and Clark's somewhat smug one.
For her part, she had decided on the library as a sensible course of action. Silas hadn't been able to recall exactly when he'd become aware of who Tempus was. Like the big bad wolf, he had just always known about him, knowledge acquired in childhood. But maybe if she could chase down the source of the earliest stories...
Lois stopped and looked around, confidence flagging. No. She didn’t really know if it would do any more good than the family archives. Still, she straightened, throwing back her shoulders. This was a story, and no stone would be left unturned. Once more, she eyed the baffling collection of objects on the shelves. Maybe Silas should have come with her? By the time she even figured out how to begin searching...
“Area of interest?”
The voice sounded so close behind her, Lois turned swiftly, already up on the balls of her feet, fists tightened, ready to swing. The last person who had caught her so unguarded had been Tempus.
It wasn’t Tempus. And, actually, if it had been, her library trip would have successful beyond their wildest dreams. But instead of staring into the face of Utopia’s Public Enemy number one, she was looking at a blank vid screen similar to the ones in the museum. This one was hovering a few feet behind her. “Um... what?”
“Area of interest?” the... thing asked again, extremely politely.
“Area of interest. Oh. Ah. I'm writing a story on... never mind. Fictional characters. Wait... uh... villains. Tempus!” she finally blurted, casting an anxious look around for any eavesdroppers who might overhear and guess their world was in jeopardy. No one seemed alarmed, or even vaguely interested.
”Tempus the Time-traveler,” the monitor intoned. At once a series of numbers, letters and dashes began to scroll down the screen faster than she could read them. “Vid screen, holonet, or holodisk?”
“Holodisk,” she repeated, remembering Silas's comments about how current records were stored.
“Film? Comic? History and meaning of?”
“History and meaning of,” she said assertively, feeling better by the minute, and besides that sounded about right.
A drawer opened just below the screen- something like a cash register- and inside sat rows of clear boxes holding several glimmering, sparkling... well... holodisks.
“Thank you,” she offered somewhat distractedly. "And...uh... don't go anywhere, ok?"
“A pleasure to serve you,” the screen assured her.
"Yeah... great." She scooped out as many as she could carry, putting the rest into her pockets. They were no larger than quarters, so it wasn’t hard.
Uncertain what to do next, she poked around until she found a quiet desk in the corner- something she recognized at least- and pried opened the first box. As soon as she did, the holodisk flared into a prism of color, projecting a tiny holographic... person... who walked out onto the surface of the desk and began to lecture.
“The origin of the Tempus Time-Traveler stories can be traced back to the mid 2100s, original source unknown. Tales of a maniacal man who travels through time bent on ruining Superman and Lois Lane's union and thus Utopia are numerous. Of course, at earliest rumors, Utopia’s citizens were concerned, until they were assured by the Ministry of Helpers and Peacekeepers there was no more truth to the legends of Tempus than there was to Mr Mxyzptlk and the fifth-dimensional. Entertaining, but impossible...”
“Impossible,” repeated Lois under her breath. “Right, buddy. If you could see me now...”
When she had watched each holodisk twice, she stood and stretched. None of them had really given her anything more specific to go on than Silas and his comics had. There were hundreds of vague references and over the top legends. And one other thing. 2143 seemed to be the earliest year Tempus had ever been heard of. Prior to that, she could find no mention of him in any medium.
A cross check, provided by the helpful vid screen, had established that was the very same year the Ministry of Helpers and Peacekeepers had converted into a bakery. Another check had informed her it was the year of Utopia’s one and only missing persons case. An event unusual enough to have been widely known. A case that was still unsolved.
Something had happened then. Something that had uncloaked the man known as Tempus. And the Ministry of Helpers and Peacekeepers had obviously worked to suppress it.
Oddly, this cheered her a bit. Suppressing truth in Utopia. Keeping the public uninformed of matters of vital public interest. Here was something she could understand and sink her teeth into.
Utopia wasn't the Utopia it presented itself to be. In order to keep things running, there needed to be someone in the know, someone who knew exactly who Tempus was and what sort of threat he posed. She would bet on it. Silas had assured her the Ministry was no more. Their trip to the bakery had all but confirmed Clark’s theory they might be fifty years too late to find them.
But clearly the Ministry’s true purpose, just like Tempus’s existence, was just one more thing that was, by necessity, kept quiet.
"So, the Peacekeepers are here somewhere," she muttered. "Invisible... but here."
And looking for us...
"Oh god." She moved to her feet so quickly she sent holodisk rolling everywhere. If the Ministry operated under the strict secrecy she assumed they did, they would be all but impossible to find.
But she and Clark were not.
Could it really be that easy? Was the answer to saving Utopia as simple as walking down main street and making some noise? Putting their faces on a milk carton under the caption 'Have you seen this couple?'
Lois swore under her breath viciously. Of all the stupid, idiotic... Whoever Utopia's guardians were, by cleaning up every clue to their existence, they had handicapped themselves.
She left the holodisks where they had fallen, stopping only to grab the first one. Without a second thought, she placed it, still warm, into her pocket. She threw a backward glance behind her, just in case. But no one was watching. And even if they had been, she knew subterfuge wouldn’t have been necessary.
She could announce, “I’m taking this,” in a loud, clear voice, and those around her would smile kindly and tell her to use it in good health; it was a Sharing Community, after all.
Just the sort of thing that could drive a person crazy, she realized as she headed towards the door at a dead run.
Crazy enough to travel through time and try to undo it?
Lois stopped cold on the thought, one hand on the exit sensor, the other grasping the holodisk in her fist.
Tempus was bent on ruining an entire civilization. He was dangerous beyond imagination. If he had his way he would take apart a wholly peaceful place. A place with no crime, no locks, no litter, no haves and have-nots. A civilization that was her legacy. Hers and Clark’s together.
Lois closed her eyes for just a moment. That part of the equation was nearly overwhelming. To think that something she had done during her lifetime, something she and Clark had done together, what their children and their children had done... had set the world right...
Wasn't that exactly what drove her as a reporter? What kept her digging for information in Metropolis, ferreting out slimy politicians, bringing down the powerful who preyed on the weak- things that cheated an unsuspecting public? Weren't truth-seeking and seeing justice done what motivated her to be the investigative journalist she was?
She knew she was occasionally reckless in the pursuit of those things, but it was a part of doing the job well. Beneath her hardened cynicism, which was simply part of who she was, beat the heart of an idealist. Something she would deny if ever confronted with the charge. But if she didn’t believe righting wrongs was possible, she wouldn’t take the risks she did, wouldn't work as single-mindedly...
Two hundred years into the future all evidence pointed towards her life’s work as successful beyond her wildest dreams. She, Lois Lane, had a hand in creating Utopia. A hand in creating an entire world...
She swallowed a humorless chuckle, finally moving through the doors and out onto the sidewalk, her steps considerably slower.
That was great news, wasn’t it? All of it. Really... great.
So why, when she looked into Tempus’s maniacally smiling caricatured face on the holodisk, could she so easily imagine seeing... herself?
Maybe she had helped bring about Utopia, but it was a place she would never want to live. It was wonderful in so many ways, important ways. And yet, here she could imagine herself growing stagnant, stale...
Desperate?
It was a life with few challenges, few dangers, and therefore few rewards. Because without the mess and the struggle, without any of the bad, all the good things in the world- the things people wished aloud for in New Year’s Eve toasts- were just too easy.
Lois Lane had no idea what to do with easy.
Evidently, neither did Tempus.
Lois pocketed the Tempus hologram once more. The most dangerous man alive, because he was a threat to an entire way of life. And yet... she agreed with him. In principle.
It was enough to give a person a headache of universal proportions.
***
“Someone’s underground lair?” Clark guessed, stepping into the cavernous, ornate room.
He had lost track of the twists and turns he and Silas had taken through the labyrinth of tunnels which ran under the city, but this was the last thing he had expected to find on the other end. "Is this ours?" he asked. "I mean... the Lane-Kents?"
"It is now. We bought it from the city about a hundred years ago. Before that, it was used by a more than a few criminals, though none of them with the flare of the original," Silas returned. "And at one time it was pretty famous. Tours came through several times a day. But... you don't know it? I mean... it's not familiar?”
“It should be?” Clark asked. “Or it will be, right?”
Silas nodded as they moved further into the room. “Yeah. And it’s so weird to be standing here... with you... in this place. And, god, we still need to figure out the rules on this. What I should say; what I shouldn’t. I don't want to mess things up.”
“I think it would be hard to mess things up more than they are," Clark answered. "Why this place in particular?" He searched the ballroom with a critical eye, not that he really thought there might be clues to its significance lying around. But maybe a feeling, a sense of something. The same sort of resonance he had gotten at first sight of Krypton. At first glance of Lois as his bride in the HEA room.
Instead all he saw were shadowed corners, sconces in dire need of dusting and the most overdone gold paneling he had ever seen. If anything, the room left him cold. “Why did the family want this place?”
Silas's looked away. "I think it's better if I don't tell you," he said firmly. “Besides, if I start... where do I stop?"
Clark fought back disappointment and relief in equal parts. “And Lois would say this is what is holding us up. We get so distracted; we lose sight of the goal." He shook off the vaguely uneasy feeling creeping up on him. "So, where are these records?”
Silas marched towards the far wall and grabbed the corner of an ancient tapestry, lifting it aside. "Give me a hand with this?"
Clark moved to join him, handling the fragile fabric carefully. "What in the world...?" He caught himself just before he completed the question. "Never mind. Go ahead."
"Just hold it back," Silas said. "Uh... please."
He moved his fingertips along the edges of what Clark could now see was a door to a hidden compartment.
"What...?" Clark began again, swallowing the remaining question and smiling sheepishly. "Never mind, really. Sorry. Ignore me."
Silas tugged at the corner, which gave way easily. "Remember how I told you the family has learned to choose their battles? In fact, as head of the Family Council, that's essentially what my sister does. Negotiates what belongs to the Lane-Kents and what belongs to the rest of the world. Kind of a tricky process. Anyway, this place got a little too... um... celebrated, so we closed it down and took it back. Besides, there were issues of public safety. Those tunnels are old. Some have caved in more than once. But most importantly, this is the dead last place anyone would think to look for our collected records or where we all gather..."
Clark had been listening intently, his mind swirling with questions and thoughts, too confused to makes sense of what Silas was telling him, or rather, what he wasn’t telling him. He eyed the tapestry he held closely, looked once more around the elaborate ballroom and tried to imagine it full of Lane-Kents...
"You're killing me," he blurted.
He was immediately sorry. Silas, who had been pulling out boxes of various sizes, turned an instantly contrite face towards his.
"I'm sorry. God. You're right. And it's not anything... really horrible. I mean, there were hostages, but-"
“It's ok, really," Clark interrupted hastily.
"You were great," Silas finished. "You should know that."
"Let's just... forget it," Clark said. "I keep asking and that's... my fault.”
It certainly wasn't Silas's fault. He knew that. And Clark was suddenly really glad he had been the one to accompany Silas on this fishing expedition. He could well imagine Lois's hands around their relative's throat by now, either choking the information from him or trying to kill him for dangling such tantalizing pieces of information in front of her.
"I'm sorry. Again. Let's just keep going," he prodded, since Silas was still looking worried and undecided.
"Or maybe I should tell you," Silas said quietly, instead.
Clark braced himself. He knew he shouldn't, it wasn't wise, but he so badly wanted to hear whatever Silas was going to say next.
"What if I just warned you about attending a certain function? Just that. Just told you not to go. Told you to talk Lois out of going-"
"I’m doomed," Clark broke in. "If this warning involves talking Lois out of anything."
Silas smiled, but the lightness failed to reach his eyes. He drew in a deep breath. "Clark, when you're in your fifties, you’ll be invited to a retirement party for Perry White --"
"Don't!" Clark ordered sharply. He dropped the tapestry and moved away, as if the distance could stop the words from reaching him. "Please... don't tell me."
Silas groaned. "I'm sorry..."
"No. No, Silas. It's just that..." Clark shifted from foot to foot, one agitated hand scrubbing through his hair. "I thought I wanted to know. And I do. I want to know. But... I don’t." He studied the young man hanging on his every word, debating. He was about to rip the confidence Silas seemed to have in him right out from under him. And that felt cruel, even if it was honest. “I’m not really... him.”
"What?" Silas let the panel swing shut and turned to face him fully. “You’re not really who?”
"Superman," Clark said in a low voice. "I mean, I *am* Superman. Just... not yet. I've worn the suit one time. Performed one rescue. One. A big one, but still... that's all. So, this..." He gestured vaguely to the ballroom, the hidden door, the assorted boxes on the floor which he knew to contain his and Lois’s life story. The story of Utopia, really. "I think if I know too much, if you start issuing warnings, once I get back, that will make it all the harder to just... do it."
"What do you mean?" Silas was clearly intrigued. "To just do what?"
"Be Superman. Or be the Superman everyone seems convinced I am."
The words echoed long in the vastness. Ringing off the walls, to his ears, though he had spoken them quietly.
Silas’s face had gone unreadable. A blank. Clark felt a hot rush of shame. For taking away Silas's faith, for showing him that Utopia's shiny to perfection founder was far, far less than shiny.
"But didn't you always know Superman was who you were going to be? Don't you have this sense of... of... destiny? I mean, you always knew that you were... extraordinary, right?"
Clark forced a chuckle. "I would replace that last word with 'different.’ Or ‘faster,’ ‘stronger.’ Not extraordinary. And no, it wasn't a feeling of destiny, not completely, it was more like..."
"Obligation?" Silas guessed, and something in his tone, something in the question, caught Clark's attention. He stopped worrying he was ruining the hero for him.
"Partly obligation," he said truthfully. "Considering what my abilities are, how could I not help? Who else could fly a space shuttle to a space station?"
Silas nodded. "Right. No one. It was just you. No kids to help you, yet. No one to eventually take over when you're ready to share the burden. Not for a long time."
The heaviness in Clark's heart lifted at once. "My kids... help me?"
Silas froze. "Oops."
"No," he shook his head vigorously, smiling broadly. "That was a really great detail to let slip. Thank you. That's... that's... pretty wonderful."
Silas smiled. "You aren't alone, you know. Not ever again. Not after Lois. I think I can tell you that much."
Clark turned away, blinking back the sudden tears in his eyes, too moved and too full to speak.
"But I always thought you knew,” Silas continued, more to himself now. “About this higher purpose. Exactly what to do with your abilities. Well before you put on the suit and adopted the guise, you were just looking for the right moment to come forward. Something big enough to get the world's attention.”
Clark chose his words carefully. He needed to get this right. "After college I traveled the world a few times over. Is that known?"
“Sure, you were looking for a big enough city to operate unnoticed in."
"No. I was looking for a place, Silas. Some place, any place... where I fit. Before Metropolis I found temporary places, but I was always searching for something I couldn’t even name, really."
“You grew into being Superman.” It wasn’t a question and he could tell by Silas’s face it was something of a revelation. “You weren't always.”
“Not always, Silas,” he said firmly. “And not yet. I’m no saint. I’m no... icon. I’m just... me.”
“I thought anyone who followed you would need to know what they were doing. Be as confident. And good. And... brave."
"Now you know the truth," Clark said simply. He waited and watched as Silas processed that. "Now maybe you can help me with something I’m having trouble understanding."
"Anything," said Silas, seriously. "Ask me anything you want."
“You have superhearing, right?”
Silas gulped and nodded. “I hear pretty well, yes.”
“And when Lois and I asked you about Tempus in the kitchen, you left and went through the lobby and up the stairs. We followed you-”
“Sorry about that. I didn’t know who you were then. Didn’t know who Tempus was, so-”
“I had to pick Lois up and move close to superspeed to catch up with you.”
Silas stilled. “You... did?”
He nodded. “Then when we told you Tempus was real and you realized what that meant, you put your fingerprints into the wood on your desk.”
“I was... that was... stressful.”
“Silas, this morning at the bakery, you looked through the wall into the manager’s office.”
“I...I...”
“You mentioned alcohol doesn’t affect you. Today you drank your coffee faster than I did. Lois couldn’t touch it until I cooled it.”
Silas was no longer answering. Clark moved across from him, holding his troubled gaze.
“By my count, that’s hearing, speed, strength, sight, and invulnerability.”
Silas’s mouth worked but nothing came.
“Can you fly?”
“No.” Silas shook his head vehemently, obviously glad to be asked a question he could answer easily. “I can’t.”
“Have you tried?”
“What? No! There are no flyers left. None. There haven’t been since the last throwback.”
"What's a throwback? You used that word earlier."
“A throwback is a member of the family who has... has... oh... God.”
“All of my abilities,” Clark guessed, and he knew by Silas’s expression he had gotten it right. “You’ve mentioned how my powers were diluted over the generations. But the throwback has them? All of them?”
“And no one knows why,” Silas said slowly. “STAR labs did endless genetic studies trying to see if they could predict who would be next, if there would even be another, and what the variable was.”
“And?”
“And it’s still a mystery.”
“What’s expected of the throwback, Silas?”
Silas closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. “Traditionally, they’ve been head of the Justice League. They wear your colors and go by your title. The current one is Superwoman. But it’s been forty years since she took over, and we’ve started to think she might be the last one.”
“She isn’t, though... is she?”
Silas swallowed hard and looked away. “It’s not as if she needs help. The other members of the League have various enhanced abilities, and since there is no real crime, they only really deal with natural disasters, people in peril, and simple ceremonial stuff.”
Clark paused, considering. “Do you float in your sleep, Silas?”
“I... that’s... not the same as flying.”
“I figured it out when I was eighteen years old; it is the same. If you can float you can fly.”
He watched the words sink in, watched as their meaning found their way into Silas’s eyes and moved across his face as dawning comprehension. “But... if I can fly...”
“...you’re the new Superman.”
***
tbc on Thursday. Thank you for reading!
And thank you to Artemis and Onaleia for their suggestions.
