My thanks again to those of you who are still reading this, and for your comments.
My muse is on temporary vacation, but it looks like there'll be a total of 40, or maybe 41, parts to this story.
The author's notes, as I've mentioned before, are extensive. I'm debating whether or not to post them, or to just include them on the archive version of this story.
Anyway...
From part 35:“Jimmy!” Perry’s bellow rang out across the newsroom.
“Coming, Chief!” Jimmy called, straightening up. “Gotta go, guys. If you see the big guy, tell him…”
“Jimmy!”
“On it, Chief,” Jimmy called, beginning to move away from them. He tossed rapidly over his shoulder at them, “…tell him the city’s on his side, and… and to ignore any idiot who says any different!”
Lois glanced at Clark again with a soft smile. “We’ll tell him,” she said to Jimmy’s back as he broke into a jog. -----
The Girl Next Door, part 36:Around and under their daily work, there was a sort of muted excitement growing slowly through the week. The Daily Planet was gearing up to host the annual newspaperman’s convention – the one sponsored by ASNE, who had also sponsored the contest Lois had won in high school, the prize being the coveted Daily Planet internship.
The convention was held in a different city each year. Last year, it had been in New York, hosted by the New York Times. Next year, it would be in Salt Lake City, hosted by the Salt Lake Tribune. But this year, it was in Metropolis, and the Daily Planet was the host.
Regardless of where the convention was held, it always started on Thursday night with a ball. The theme was entirely up to the hosting newspaper and varied from year to year – it was often black tie or a masquerade. One year, Lois had heard, there’d even been a hoedown.
This year, though, it was another black tie.
The convention always ran through Saturday afternoon, ending with a dinner and awards.
Lois had been to several ASNE conventions over the years – enough to know that for many of the attendees, the gifts and giveaways created especially for the event were the big draw. But apparently, not every convention attendee kept the items - Jimmy had told her and Clark that several of the New York ASNE items had shown up for sale on eBay, an up-and-coming Internet auction site for collectors, over the past year.
There were always tote bags, pens, tins of mints or chocolates, badge holders and similar things, all with the ASNE logo – or the hosting newspaper’s. But the trend for the last several conventions had been to feature unique items that reflected the flavor of the hosting city, or the hosting newspaper - or both.
Last year, the New York Times theme had been apples. Lois had a brushed gold metal apple bookmark that slipped over the page like a paper clip, and red velour flocked apple – complete with stem and silk leaf - that opened to reveal a satin-lined interior and a gold apple-shaped key fob.
This year, the Planet would be giving out small crystal paperweights in Daily Planet blue, with frosted continents and smooth oceans. Slightly larger than a golf ball, each paperweight came with a cherry wood base and a blue velour drawstring bag.
There were also the staples of every convention – jotters, which were always popular, and pens and retractable badge holders. The jotters - small notebooks with pens and inside pockets - were red leather with the ASNE logo in white. There were red pens with the ASNE logo in gold and blue pens with the Daily Planet logo. And the badge holders were globe-shaped and imprinted with the Planet’s logo.
But the best was the small Limoge-type box shaped like a globe - and inside it, a tiny Daily Planet globe, complete with ring, and a tiny ceramic newspaper that actually said ‘Daily Planet’ on it.
Lois knew because she’d peeked.
The boxes had arrived later than the other items, so she hadn’t seen them right away. Apparently, the convention committee wanted to keep them a secret until the actual event. But a comment Perry had made regarding their arrival had prompted Lois’s steady super vision search until she found them inside boxes in a corner of Perry’s office.
She had no intention of spoiling the surprise for anyone else, but she had always had a driving desire to *know* things, and one of the quickest ways to guarantee the appearance of Mad Dog Lane was to present Lois with a mystery or some type of intrigue.
“I’ll have to remember to use lead foil gift wrap for your birthday and Christmas gifts,” Clark had teased her.
“Yeah? I’ll have you know that a talent for peeking is a handy thing to have in a partner,” she’d teased him back. “If a convention host ever makes the opening ball one of those murder mystery games, for instance – just stick with me, Kent, and we’ll win first prize.”
Clark’s hearty laughter had come close to making her float.
-----
“Clark!” Lois called as she caught sight of the news alert scrolling across the bottom of the TV screen. “Look at this!”
It was the night before the convention’s opening ball, and they were at her place, working on a story. He was in her kitchen, refilling the coffee maker, while she sorted through some of the paperwork they still had to go through.
“Partial collapse of a train tunnel in Pakistan,” Lois read. They’d turned on LNN earlier, volume almost off, and now she grabbed the remote and turned it up.
Clark was beside her instantly.
“…Relatively minor amount of damage from this quake, Julie,” a male voice was explaining, “as this area is sparsely populated. The most extensive damage appears to be the partial collapse of the Khojak Tunnel…” The two anchors at the LNN desk nodded, faces composed into listening expressions as they stared into the camera. An inset view in the corner of the screen showed a slightly rumpled man with a microphone, standing in front of what appeared to be the tunnel entrance. Officials in unfamiliar uniforms and people dressed in simpler clothing moved among spills of rubble near the elaborate, castle-like facade. “There are –“ The sound fizzled and the inset picture went blank.
After only a brief moment of silence, the male anchor glanced at some papers in front of him, then looked earnestly into the camera and began, “This is a railway tunnel in the Khojak Pass in Pakistan, near the Afghanistan border.” The inset picture showed, much like a slide show, a series of maps: world view, then Asia, and finally a highlighted area just northwest of India. “It was built in the late 1800s –“ He was interrupted by a short burst of static, and the picture changed back to the on-scene reporter.
“…train in the tunnel, which was carrying approximately one hundred passengers. The Shelabagh end of the tunnel was affected, although local sources say only the last few train cars are involved.”
“Are there people trapped, Jerod?” the female anchor asked.
The reporter at the scene, looking to his left, touched his earpiece and nodded, then turned to face the camera and after a slight delay, replied, “Yes, Julie - according to Pakistan Railway, approximately thirty to forty people in five train cars…”
The picture fizzled out again.
“Jerod?” the male anchor asked.
“We appear to have lost Jerod temporarily,” the female anchor – Julie - said briskly. She glanced at papers on the desk in front of her before looking into the camera again. “The Khojak Tunnel, built in 1891, is three miles long. Pakistan Railway runs combination freight and passenger trains through this tunnel, which stretches between the towns of Sanzala and Shelabagh.” She glanced at the papers again before continuing, “The passenger cars, which include sleeper, dining, and coach cars, are at the end of the train. Several of these cars are under the collapsed section of the tunnel…”
Clark was already standing up, tugging at his shirt. “I have to go.”
“Yes.” She stood as he spun into the suit.
“I don’t know how long this’ll take…” Clark began, but she interrupted him gently.
“Go, Clark. I’ll cover for you if I have to.”
“Love you,” he said, kissing her quickly, and was gone.
---
Lois watched LNN for a while, although coverage of the tunnel collapse was intermittent. She saw Superman arrive on the scene, and that development was good for repeated short periods of coverage for an hour or two, although the tunnel collapse was competing with strong storms over the Rockies, the political climate in Ethiopia, and the recent midterm electoral results.
Eventually, she went to bed, knowing that Clark would let her know when he returned.
When her phone rang late in the night, she wasn’t surprised to hear Clark’s voice, nor was she surprised when he told her he was still in Pakistan.
“I’m taking advantage of a small break in rescue efforts while they shore up an area that’s too large for me to hold up on my own,” he explained.
“Where are you?” she asked, voice husky from sleep.
His own voice softened. “I’m in a cafe in Quetta,” he said. “I don’t know how long this will take, honey. I might not be back in time for tomorrow night…”
She looked at the clock. It was already tomorrow.
Clark was continuing, “At least, it looks like it’ll take me another twelve hours or so. I have to go more slowly than…”
“Than if there were no survivors?”
“Yes. There’s a lot of hope that there are. From what I can see, the train cars are only partially collapsed, so it’s looking more promising than I’d originally thought.”
“I can meet you there, Clark – at the convention,” she said. “Don’t worry about that right now, anyway. They need you there right now. You represent hope, too. And don’t worry – I’ll cover for you,” she added, smiling.
He laughed. “I better get going – they’ve got a lot of willing volunteers, men whose grandfathers helped build that tunnel. They told Superman to give them about an hour…”
“Okay,” she said softly, and with a quick “I love you,” he hung up.
She lay there, thinking of him and imagining his actions, and fell asleep to dream of Clark, tirelessly lifting rocks and boulders. Bracing walls and ceilings while the locals hurried to shore them up. Pushing carefully further into the collapse area and holding up train car roofs while emergency personnel removed people who were injured - but alive. Carrying the victims gently but quickly to a hospital in the nearest large town, and returning at super speed for more.
-----
He called again in the late afternoon, just as she was finishing her work for the day.
“It’s looking good,” he said. “We’ve got everybody out and accounted for, and Superman is just helping them shore it up now. I should be back in time for dancing.”
“That’s good,” she said softly. “I’d like to dance with you.”
She could hear the smile in his voice. “I’m afraid I might miss dinner, though.”
“Or maybe not. There’s always the opening ceremonies, you know. And the speeches. Perry’ll probably tell an Elvis story or two.”
He laughed, and she felt it as well as heard it. “That’s true. And I can shower and change pretty quickly.”
She giggled. “That’s an understatement, fl- farmboy.”
Oops. She’d almost forgotten she was still at work.
“So… what am I doing?” he asked softly.
“You’re spending a tedious day researching things at the courthouse – city records; you know how slow they are – and verifying quotes from a couple of sources.”
“Ah. Got it. I’ll be suitably fed up with the speed at which the wheels of city hall turn.” He paused for a moment, and she heard his sigh. “I have to go.”
“Okay,” she said softly.
“I *will* be there, Lois. I just… might be a little late…” He trailed off.
“I understand, Clark. I’ll make an excuse.” She hesitated, then said very softly, “I’ll save all of my dances for you.”
She felt the warmth of his love flow over her, and smiled as he said, equally softly, “I’ll see you there, love,” before hanging up.
She set the phone down, still smiling, and looked at the clock. Time to wrap up and head for home, to start getting ready for tonight.
She and Clark had both worked the weekend before, so as of now, they were off – from Thursday night until the following Monday, for the convention as well as the weekend. She’d spent her lunch hour looking for a dress, suddenly unhappy with the choices her closet offered. She wanted something that would knock Clark’s socks off, and after forty-five minutes of single-minded searching, she’d found it.
-----
The Metropolis Convention Center was a large brick and glass building, situated in the downtown shopping district, where most of the city’s finest hotels – including the five-star Lexor – and upscale shops and restaurants were located.
At the door, a tuxedoed man she vaguely recognized from the Daily Planet’s business offices handed her a tote bag filled with the various gifts and giveaways. “Welcome to the annual newspaperman’s convention.”
A second man, equally tuxedoed, handed her the small blue foil gift bag, tied with red and gold ribbons, that held the Limoge-style globe. He also checked her name off the guest list and gave her an ID badge. “You’ll find a retractable badge holder inside your tote. Feel free to mingle or get a drink from the bar. You’ll be at…” He consulted his list. “…table twelve.”
The tables, placed to offer unobstructed views of the dais at one end of the room, were ringed around an open space in the center of the ballroom for the dancing that would follow the meal. Each table was covered with white linen and decked with gold tableware and red napkins - ASNE colors. There were bouquets of red roses on each table, imprinted, incredibly, with the ASNE logo in gold. Daily Planet ceramic mugs filled with an assortment of hot chocolate, coffee, tiny cookies, and gourmet chocolates sat at each place.
There was a table on the dais for the committee members, and a podium for the convention speakers. Arrayed at the front edge of the table were the annual ASNE awards. They weren’t as prestigious as a Kerth or a Pulitzer, of course, but they recognized excellence in the different aspects of journalism.
“Hi, Lois.” She turned to see Perry standing behind her, looking distinguished in a tuxedo. “You look lovely, darlin’.”
“Thank you, Perry. You look very nice, yourself.” She wore a long black velvet sheath with tiny straps and an open back, and a matching long-sleeved bolero jacket embroidered with jet beads. The back panels of the jacket, cut like petals, were open down the center seam, allowing brief glimpses of the backless gown under it as she moved.
“Where’s Clark?”
“He was unavoidably delayed,” she said simply.
“Is he ill?” Perry questioned in concern.
“No – no, Perry,” she reassured him. “It was just a…” What should it be this time? A tip? A meeting with a source? “It was a quick last minute thing…”
‘Quick’ applied, at least loosely, didn’t it? After all, Clark would have used his super speed to get – quickly - to the site of the collapse…
Perry nodded. “Oh - a source. Is he meeting you here, then?”
She nodded. “I hope he gets here in time for dinner.” That was the unadorned truth. She *did* hope he made it back in time for dinner. The convention center’s catering service was highly rated, and it would be a shame if Clark missed the meal.
“Me, too,” Perry replied, and turned as his name was called by a man Lois didn’t recognize.
---
Clark certainly hadn’t made it back before the opening speeches.
Lois rested her chin in her propped hand, trying to ignore the empty chair beside her. It wasn’t that the speech wasn’t interesting – the speaker was the editor of the New York Times, a charismatic man and an accomplished speaker, and the host of last year’s convention. That was another tradition – maybe old-fashioned, but somehow appealing – that the editor of the newspaper hosting the previous year’s convention opened the ceremonies at the following year’s convention, effectively handing off to the next editor.
The bar had closed until after the ceremonies and meal, and waiters were beginning to top off water glasses and take orders for pre-dinner drinks. The ASNE award introductions would precede the meal, with Perry White announcing the nominees in the various categories. The winners would be announced on Saturday night, at the closing party.
Lois glanced at her watch; that meant Clark had roughly forty-five minutes or so before they actually started serving dinner.
Perry and his wife, Alice, were seated across from Lois – and Clark, whenever he arrived. Hopefully, he would slip in any time now.
Lois knew Alice White quite well, having been invited to dinner parties at the Whites’ house many times.
Hoping to see Clark, she looked toward the ballroom entrance now, in time to see Alice, who had excused herself to visit the ladies’ room, reenter. She stopped to speak to an acquaintance at a table halfway down the room.
Still no Clark.
With an inward sigh, Lois turned back to the dais as the New York Times editor wrapped up his comments, preparatory to inviting Perry onto the dais to make his own speech.
There was a sudden loud commotion at the back of the room. The crash of glass breaking sounded like several of the waiters might have simultaneously dropped entire trays of glasses. Lois turned to look toward the entrance as shouts of alarm sounded. Around her, she was aware of others also turning to look.
She wasn’t sure what was going on at first. She could look through walls, of course, but usually didn’t in a crowded place like this, unless she could be sure she wouldn’t accidentally… look through people as well.
The guests at the tables near the door were leaping out of their chairs, and people further into the room were beginning to push their chairs back in shared alarm. Lois heard several sharp clicks she couldn’t identify, and tried to zero in on the entrance. There were too many people between her and the door, however.
Several sudden gunshots temporarily silenced the room, and then a torrent of shrieks, screams, and cries of alarm filled the void. The people near the entrance swiftly surged away from the door, spilling into the open dance floor space like the rush of water from a spilled bucket.
Behind the panicked guests, Lois saw several men dressed in close-fitting black clothes, at least a dozen armed men in military-looking uniforms, and a man wearing a crisp gray suit who looked grossly out of place among the others except for the weapon he carried. The man in the gray suit moved rapidly into the room, flanked by the men in black. About half of the ones in uniforms fanned out toward the perimeters of the room.
“Everybody down on the floor!” the man in the gray suit yelled. He jerked his head at one of the uniformed men who had not moved out to the perimeters of the room with the others.
The armed man – a soldier? - called out, “Sit down on the floor - hands where we can see ‘em. Toss your cell phones toward the center of the room.” He gestured with his gun at the open floor space in front of the dais. “Do what we say and you won’t get hurt.”
---
To be continued
Author's notes:
When I needed a tunnel, it not only had to be in an earthquake-prone area, it had to be a railway tunnel and it had to have existed in the 1990s. Well, actually, I guess it didn’t really *have* to – I could’ve made something up – but I’m a sucker for convincing details. Anyway, the Khojak Tunnel, in Pakistan, fit my purposes admirably. You can see one tunnel entrance here:
http://www.harappa.com/post4/baluchistan02.html. It was built in 1891. They dug it from both ends, and it didn’t originally meet in the middle. Mirrors are used to reflect sunlight into the tunnel when they need light (ie, for maintenance work). There’s a comprehensive history of the tunnel at
http://pakistaniat.com/2006/12/18/railways-khojak-tunnel/ .
Quetta is the capital of the Baluchistan province, and the largest close town to the Khojak tunnel.
--
This:
http://www.mediahistory.umn.edu/time/1990s.html is a timeline of “media history” in the 1990s. It includes historical milestones in, well, media: telephones, movies, bar codes, television, internet, cell phones, game stations, music players…
--
I was looking at sites that offered imprinted promotional items and convention gifts, to get an idea of what the Daily Planet might offer when they hosted the newspapermen’s convention, and I found photos of imprinted roses, which I’d never seen before. A company called Speaking Roses invented them (well, invented the imprinting process) in 2001. Their story is here:
http://franchise.speakingroses.com/story.aspx. Their retail website has a photo gallery:
http://www.speakingroses.com/Gallery/Photo/ .
