Previously On Specimen S:
"Clark..."
"Yeah?"
"I...I'd like to hear more about your powers and your life...if you're willing, that is. I mean, it can't be easy for you to be telling me this stuff."
"It's not. But...well...it feels great to finally get it off my chest too."
"And...I'm sorry."
"For what, Lois?"
"For freaking out on you. It just...caught me off guard, that's all."
Clark finally allowed himself a smile. "Hey, that's okay. You should have seen how badly I freaked out the first time I woke up floating above my bed."
Lois laughed and Clark chuckled, feeling himself relax a little. For the next two hours, Clark related his life's story to her, telling her everything that he knew about how Trask had found him, the experiments that had been done on him, and how he'd eventually gotten free of Bureau Thirty-Nine. He told her all about that fearful flight away from the only shelter he'd ever known, how he'd wound up at the Kents' farm, and how they had taken him in. He recounted how they had adopted him, taught him, helped him to shake off the life that Trask had imposed on him. He told her about his powers, how each one had manifested, and how he'd learned to control them, demonstrating them for her as he did so. He related to her his travels in the years after he'd graduated from college, and how desperately fearful he'd been that Trask would find him. He ended with coming to Metropolis once Trask had died, adding in his burning desire to help people, but his complete loss as to how to do it without exposing himself to the public.
For a long time, Lois didn't speak. She appeared to be digesting the onslaught of information. Her brow was crinkled with a confusion of emotions. Clark thought he saw sadness, anger, concern, and half a dozen others all written into her features.
"That's just awful," she said finally, shaking her head. "Oh, Clark, I never realized..."
His soft voice cut her off, along with a shake of his own head. "No, Lois. That's the point. No one is ever supposed to know."
Lois slowly nodded. "So...can I ask a question?"
"As many as you want."
"When we were in the Congo, and you saved my life...?"
"I picked up on your voice as soon as you entered the bar in that hotel. I couldn't help it. I heard you talking about the gunrunners. I knew how dangerous those guys could be, so I shadowed you from a distance. The night you went out to gather your evidence, I followed you, flying just above your car. I did what I could to delay the men in that cabin, then followed you back to the hotel. Once I was there, I scouted to make sure the coast was clear. I knew what floor you were staying on, and which room was yours, just from keeping an eye on you. When you reached your door, I was already in the shadows. I heard the safety of a gun coming off and I reacted."
"And you saved my life," Lois finished for him.
"Barely," Clark said sheepishly. "I had a bullet or two hit me in the head. That guy, Karl, did a pretty thorough job in spraying the door with bullets, to make sure he hit you."
Lois paled a little. Clark's face blossomed into concern.
"What?" he asked.
"I just never realized exactly how close I came to dying that night. I'm lucky you were there."
"I was just glad that I was there and able to help."
Lois fell silent a moment, then she gave him a mischievous smile.
"What?" Clark repeated, relieved that she didn't seem to be mad or ready to run out the door.
"Well, you still haven't answered my question. My original question, that is."
"What question is that?"
"Where'd you get the pizza?"
Clark laughed, the rest of his tension uncoiling out of his bowels and dissipating. "Italy."
"You mean, Little Italy?"
"No. I mean Italy. There's a place I like that's just outside of Rome."
Lois laughed and Clark couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. He leaned back into his couch further, letting the cushions engulf his body somewhat. Lois moved closer to him, slipping into his arms. Her own arms encircled him as well, and she rested her head against his chest.
"Well, that settles that. You are officially the designated take-out getter from here on out."
Clark chuckled again. "So, I take it...you're not mad?"
"Mad? No. Knowing your whole story...the horrors you suffered through...I don't blame you in the least for keeping this all a secret. If anything, I'm flattered and honored that you chose to entrust me with this information. I just wish I could have helped you shoulder this burden sooner."
"That's such a relief. I've been pretty much agonizing over how to tell you. That's why I didn't tell you before now. I couldn't. I didn't have the words to tell you."
"Just one thing, Clark."
"Yeah?"
"Have you used these powers of yours on the job?"
Clark nodded. "I have. Too many times to recall. Never enough to arouse suspicion, of course, but enough to get us what we needed, or a new lead when ours had dried up."
Lois grinned. "I love it. Lane and Kent are going to be unstoppable now!"
***
September 2, 1994
Tempus stepped through the time window and emerged in Centennial Park. He hadn't had the opportunity to check up on this universe since he had sent the tip to Lois Lane about the gunrunning ring in the Congo. Granted, his ability to travel through time didn't restrict him to waiting months or years to see what had happened. He simply had other irons in other fires in other universes. This universe was, perhaps, the least of his concerns.
Still, it was time to see what had transpired since he'd contacted that infernal woman, pretending to be one of her sources. He was certain that the tenacious reporter had found a way to go and investigate in the Congo, if she was anything like the Lois Lane of his own universe. The woman would do just about anything in the pursuit of a story, especially if it had even a hint of Pulitzer written on it. And the gunrunning story would have reeked of it, if he was any judge.
The man from the future emerged from behind a thick strand of tall hedges. He didn't care if anyone saw him entering or leaving the universe. He was only concerned that some idiot might try to relieve him of the small device that was his way home. Without the device, he would be stuck in this blasted universe. Not that home was preferable to this time and place. Home was worse, in many ways, with all that sickeningly sweet utopian peace, harmony, and utter boredom. But if he lost his time window, he'd never be able to find a way to prevent Superman from existing, and, by extension, squash the idea of Utopia.
Tempus surveyed the park as he walked along in a stylish business suit. He didn't want to draw attention to himself in any way. As far as the rest of Metropolis was concerned, he was just another average citizen out for a midday walk in the park. He kept his facial features neutral as he walked, taking in all of the sights and sounds of the park as he went.
The place seemed clean enough, which wasn't a good sign. It meant there was still some kind of law and order, and caring citizens. Chaos did not rule here. And yet, he could see one of the garbage pails overflowing, the refuse scattered about the can's base. This was not quite Utopia. He allowed himself a small smile. Perhaps this plan of his would work. But, as he looked on, a pack of Boy Scouts descended on the unsightly pile of trash, cleaning it with latex glove encased hands and heavy black trash bags. Tempus watched only for a moment and moved on.
He wasn't surprised. Utopia hadn't started in the nineties. It had taken a long time for the people of the world to start acting together and not against one another. But little things like litter and crime that went unpunished meant that this world had no Superman.
He passed a tidy little newsstand as he walked, just on the edge of the park. He stopped for a moment and browsed the various magazines, cheap romance novels, and assorted newspapers. Quickly locating a copy of the Daily Planet, but without skimming so much as the front page, he tossed the man running the stand a couple of dollars, then tucked the paper under one arm. He made a beeline for an unoccupied bench and sat, unfolding the paper once he was settled.
His jaw tightened. His blood pressure rose. His grip on the paper became so tense that he felt in danger of tearing the thing right in half. He had to force himself not to scream in frustration. Anger welled up within his chest, dueling with his determination. He'd failed. There it was, in black and white, right on the front cover of the Daily Planet, for all the world to see.
LEX LUTHOR FOUND GUILTY ON ALL ACCOUNTS by Lois Lane and Clark Kent.
Tempus didn't bother to read the rest of the article. He wasn't concerned with what the billionaire had been charged with, or how long his sorry carcass would spend rotting in prison. He'd always regarded the man with distaste. Tempus thought Luthor weak, in terms of villains. Sure, he was unscrupulous, completely devoid of morals. But he'd never thought big enough for Tempus' taste. Lex had focused on ridding the world of Superman only for his own benefit. But he, Tempus, was a big thinker. He wanted to rid the world of Superman so that all of society would crumble and dissolve into violence and chaos.
And, he reasoned, ridding the world of Superman didn't necessitate killing the Kryptonian. Any number of things could prevent Superman from changing the world. Killing him was, of course, the most fun, as well as the most satisfying way. And yet, even if Kal-El lived, that didn't mean he would necessarily ever put on the blue, red, and yellow suit. If the persona of Superman didn't come into existence, for any reason, it stood to grounds that Clark Kent would never make more than a cursory impact on the world with his blasted news articles.
Separating Clark from Lois was a good way of preventing Superman from being born. Most Clarks in most universes that Tempus had looked into had needed Lois' help in coming up with the idea for the Spandex-clad superhero. In a rare few, he took sole credit for creating the avatar of his works, and, rarer still, there were universes in which Superman became the dominant personality, with the mild-mannered reporter being his cover. Tempus didn't meddle in those universes much. The risk of getting caught was far too high in those cases. And the risk of failure there was too great, even if he did not get caught.
So far, his plan to permanently separate the Lois and Clark of this universe had failed. He'd been all but certain that the Lane woman would get herself killed in the Congo. He'd paid that guy - Karl - handsomely to set her up for failure. He'd paid him to murder the reporter. It seemed that Karl had let him down.
Well, no matter, Tempus mused. I still have an ace up my sleeve.
There was still one person crazy enough in this universe to help him. All he had to do was find him. He wouldn't even have to persuade the man.
This was going to be easier than Tempus thought.
***
October 4, 1994
"You sure about this, Lois?"
"Completely."
"All right." Clark sounded resigned.
"You don't trust me, do you?"
"Of course I do. You know that, honey."
"Honey, huh?"
Clark allowed himself a grin. "Yep."
"I never thought of myself as a 'honey' before."
"You don't like it?"
Lois smiled. "Oh, no, I do. I think I just had to hear it coming from you in order to like it."
Clark chuckled. "So...I can still use it?"
"You'd better. What else do you have up your sleeve?"
"Let's see...Sweetie. My love. Dear. Love of my life. My heart." He paused for a moment.
"Is that all?" Lois teased him.
"No. I could go on, if you'd like."
"Later. We're here."
Lois brought her car to a stop outside the abandoned, condemned warehouse. A fire had gutted the building several years before. The owner had never bothered to rebuild, since his insurance on the place had lapsed and he hadn't been covered for the loss. Blackened bricks and scorched paint were still visible as Lois and Clark left the car and entered into the building. A couple of feral cats streaked by them as they walked along. Clark neatly sidestepped the felines, and examined the twisted, melted pieces of metal that lay slumped against some of the walls. He pulled his glasses down the slightest bit, x-raying the place as he walked.
"See anything yet?"
"Nothing."
"Damn."
"Lois, maybe Babbling Bruno was wrong about this place."
Lois shook her head. "You know he's never wrong."
"There's a first time for everything."
"Oh, come on, Clark. We've barely scratched the surface."
Clark let out a controlled breath. "Okay. We'll keep looking."
Lois nodded, though she was getting the impression that Clark might be right. The warehouse seemed pretty empty. Piles of trash stood here and there, mostly comprised of empty beer bottles. Either the warehouse was a magnet from some of the overwhelming numbers of homeless people in the Hobbs Bay area, or it was the meeting place for groups of underage drinkers.
Maybe both, Lois thought, as she brushed aside a lock of her hair, tucking it behind her ear.
Babbling Bruno, one of Lois and Clark's most trusted snitches, had contacted them earlier that day with a hot lead for them. The warehouse, he had said, was the storage base for a drug ring. Sensing a story, Lois and Clark had jumped at the tidbit, coming down to the burnt out warehouse at Pier Sixteen. They had anticipated a relatively easy story. They would collect their evidence, a few photographs here, a few swiped bags of weed, or cocaine, or whatever drug there, to bring to the police station. But, there was nothing here.
"Anything yet?" she called to Clark, her voice echoing around the vaulted ceiling.
Clark emerged from what had once been an office. He shook his head. "Nope."
"You want to...you know...?" Lois made their secret hand gesture, which stood for Clark's super abilities.
Clark silently scanned the place, ensuring that there was no one to bear witness as he employed his powers. It simply wouldn't do if some half-drunken homeless man suddenly popped out from behind a shabby, moldering box as Clark did his thing. But, he saw nothing. He heard nothing, except a few birds flying around in some back area, trapped and confused, looking for the way out. Clark nodded to Lois, then went to work.
Using his speed, he checked the entire building. He looked into every office. He delved into every rotting box and sack of trash. He checked every melted file cabinet and desk drawer. There was nothing to be found.
In the span of twenty seconds, he was back at Lois' side.
"Nothing," he said, shaking his head. "Are you sure Bruno said Pier Sixteen?"
"Positive. Besides, this is the only burnt out warehouse that I know of around here. There was another, at Pier Forty-Seven, but that got torn down over two years ago, and the city turned it into a parking lot."
Clark said nothing. He only rubbed the back of his neck in thought.
"I don't get it," Lois continued. "Bruno never contacts us unless he knows his leads are good."
"I know," Clark said. "Maybe he got his information confused? Are there any other places he could have meant? West River, maybe?"
"I don't think so," Lois said, shaking her head. "He was pretty adamant it was here. Maybe the drugs were moved?"
Clark shook his head. "I don't think so. Bruno indicated that it was a lot of drugs. How could they have moved it so fast? Besides, if there had been drugs here, I could probably pick up some trace of them in the air, depending on what it was. I don't smell anything except, well, stale beer and animal waste. At least, I hope it's just animal waste."
"Why would Bruno send us here then?"
"I'm not sure."
"Well, I guess we're not going to accomplish anything here. Let's head back and regro..."
"Ssh!" Clark said suddenly, cocking his head to one side.
"What's the matter?"
"I heard something."
"What?"
He listened for another moment. "I think someone's coming. Come on, we'd better hide."
"The drug lords?"
Clark shook his head again. "I'm not sure. I can only hear footsteps, no voices. Come on."
With a burst of speed, Clark flew Lois across the warehouse. He found a small, well hidden crevice within an old supervisor's office on the narrow second floor, which overlooked the vast expanse of the main floor. The crevice was just barely big enough for Lois to hide in. Most of the office was still intact, though the large panes of glass had been blown out in the heat of the blaze which had torn the building apart. Lois crouched in her hiding place.
"Stay here," Clark whispered. "No matter what."
"What are you going to do?"
"Look for a spot to hide, see what I can see. If these are the drug lords, we don't want them to know we're here."
Lois nodded. In the next second, Clark was gone, across the opposite side of the warehouse. From her vantage point, Lois was able look down on the main floor, right at the entranceway. She could see Clark below, looking for a spot to hide. Finding nothing satisfactory, he simply crouched behind the charred remains of some kind of heavy machinery. It was so badly damaged that Lois couldn't quite figure out what it had once been. He shook his head, then moved to the far corner of the room, and wedged himself behind a different machine.
Six heavily armed men in army fatigues entered into the warehouse. No one spoke. All communication was done via hand signals. The men fanned out, covering the various corners of the warehouse. One even started to climb the concrete steps that led up to the second floor, right near Lois' hiding spot. She held her breath, bracing herself. But a sharp snap of the leader's fingers stopped the man in his tracks. The leader frowned, shook his head, and pointed.
Lois's eyes followed the leader's finger.
He was pointing to where Clark was attempting to hide.
Lois stifled the shout that was growing in her throat. She could see that Clark was aware of what was going on. Drawing the men's attention to her would not do any good. She forced herself to be patient and see what would unfold.
"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" the leader asked, as he crossed the room toward where Clark was.
For his part, Clark could scarcely believe what he was hearing. That voice. It couldn't be possible. There was simply no way.
It was the voice of a dead man.
"Come out from behind that machine," the leader ordered, as he and the other men continued to tighten like a noose around Clark's position. "Don't make us shoot."
Clark obeyed, simply to buy himself some time. He slowly stood from his crouch. After only the slightest of hesitations, he came out from around the machine to face the leader of the group. He blinked as he did so. It simply couldn't be.
Cameron Trask was dead.
And yet, there he stood, alive and well, looking the same as ever. Clark couldn't quite believe his eyes. The man hadn't seemed to age. That thought sent a tremor down his spine.
Except...
Trask would have to be in his late sixties or early seventies, Clark knew. The man before him appeared to only be in his late thirties or early forties, tops. Sure, some people aged well, but that didn't explain things to Clark's satisfaction.
"You know who I am," the man said, fixing Clark with a cold stare.
"Cameron Trask?" he asked, the name like poison on his tongue.
"Not quite," the leader said, mockingly putting a hand to his heart. "I'm hurt. Don't you remember me?"
"Jason," Clark said with certainty and sudden realization. It was not a question. "Jason Trask."
"Not as dumb as he looks, boys," Trask said, eliciting a chuckle from the rest of the men who were with him.
"How did you find me?"
Trask smiled evilly. "Just like you, I have my sources. They get me what I want."
"What do you want, Trask?"
"Well, it's simple, Mr. Kent. Or should I say, Specimen S? I want you."
Clark couldn't help it as his entire body froze up. Hearing that name, that title, in that perfect clone of a voice, stopped his heart for a beat, halted the blood in his veins, rooted his feet to the floor. Instantly, he was a powerless, helpless child again, the captive of Cameron Trask.
Jason saw what effect he'd had on Clark and laughed to himself.
"Old habits die hard, huh, S? Glass, Ashton, check the perimeter. Make sure we're alone."
"We're alone," Clark said, trying to sound as sincere as he could. It was imperative that Trask not find Lois.
"Why should I believe you?"
"Why would I lie?"
"I don't know. You're in a burnt out warehouse, on a tip that I planted. You're part of a reporting team. Might I be so bold as to suggest that your partner is around here somewhere? Oh, Miss Lane! Come out, come out, wherever you are!"
"She's not here, Trask. I'm alone. I was on the trail of what could be a huge story. Maybe something award worthy. I didn't want to share credit, so..."
"That sounds distinctly unlike the Clark Kent that the Daily Planet has published so far," Trask said, his voice mocking.
"Hey, it was your own father who taught me the idea of kill or be killed," Clark said, shrugging casually. "Lois is just a front. I used her experience, rode on her coattails, until I was able to make a name for myself."
"Very clever. Boys, apprehend Specimen S, please. Now."
"Jason, don't be foolish here. I know it's been a long time since you last saw me, but trust me when I say that I am far more powerful than I once was."
The men Trask was leading all grabbed hold of Clark's suit. Clark set his jaw, trying not to show his relief that Trask had seemed to move away from his desire to have the warehouse searched. He knew he could shake the men off him easily, but he was unwilling to hurt them. He'd sworn to himself years ago that he would never use his incredible strength to cause harm to another living thing.
"Oh, I know that, S. But, you won't take off on me."
"You sound pretty confident about that."
"My father didn't teach just you to be ruthless, S. All those years, I watched and learned. And the thing that I learned was 'always be prepared.' I have your parents, S. Or should I say, I have the human traitors that sheltered you all these years. Be glad I haven't executed them for the traitors they are."
"I don't believe you," Clark said defiantly, but he did not move from where he stood.
"Believe it," Trask said, and the coldness in his voice convinced Clark that he was speaking the truth. "You leave, you'll never find them. Not even a bone or fingernail. You kill me, you'll never find them."
"Leave them out of this," Clark said, trying to stall for time while he tried to figure out his next move. "It's me you want."
"Oh no, S. Not a chance."
Trask snapped his fingers. One of the men with him drew a small lead box out of a deep pocket. Clark became very uneasy. He tried to back up, but the men held him firmly, and he still wasn't willing to hurt them. His heart began to race in his chest. He could hear his pulse whooshing in his ears. Somehow, he knew exactly what the box held, even before the man flipped open the lid, a second after it appeared in his hands.
As soon as the green, glowing rock was exposed, Clark felt his legs go to rubber. The pain was unmistakable, though it had been more than a decade since he'd last experienced it. It was like knives jammed into his body, a lance thrust into his brain. His head throbbed. His skin felt aflame. It became hard to breathe and impossible to stand. Clark crashed to his knees, groaning, and holding his hands to his temples as the men let go of him.
"Trask...no," he managed through gritted teeth. "Don't."
"I'm afraid it's necessary. You didn't think I'd trust you to just come along quietly, did you?" Trask asked, mock sympathy dripping from his words.
"Why?" Clark asked.
He had to know. And, more importantly, he hoped Lois would be able to hear everything that was going on. He knew that Trask wasn't going to let him go. And if something happened to him, perhaps Lois could help somehow. He trusted her, knowing on a deep, primal level, that his very life rested in her more than capable hands.
The agony caused by the Kryptonite did not abate. It grew worse with every passing second. Clark fell forward. He tried to break his fall with his hands, but his muscles had turned to water. He crashed to the floor and lay on his side, curled in a loose fetal position. He continued to fight the grunts and groans of pain that battled to escape him. Every breath felt as though he were inhaling fire and jagged glass.
"Because, S. My father spent the remainder of his years looking for you. He divorced my mother. Abandoned me. Said it was for our own good. He got wind that the police were looking for him. But, he never stopped looking for you. He kept detailed records of his search that I found after his death."
"He should have...left...me alone," Clark gasped out against the assault of pain in his body.
"Oh no, S." Trask stooped and slapped Clark roughly on the cheek with the back of his hand. "He was right to want to control you. And now, you'll either submit to me, or watch the people you care about die. Boys, take this...creature...away." He snapped his fingers sharply.
Two men roughly grabbed Clark under his armpits. They tried to haul him to his feet, but he was a dead weight in their grasp. It was clear that he couldn't stand, not with the Kryptonite savaging his body. They looked to Trask but the man shook his head. He was not going to risk having the box closed. There was no telling how quickly the alien's powers might come back. His father's notes had debriefed him on it all - how, early on, during the first few encounters with the lethal rock, S' powers had taken a long time to rebound. But as time went on, and he had more exposure to the radioactivity, his recovery time got shorter and shorter until it was almost instantaneous.
The men holding Clark squared their shoulders, and, with a little effort, dragged him from the warehouse. Clark's head nodded freely at every bump and movement. He no longer had the strength to resist even that much. His grip on consciousness was slipping, faster and faster as time passed and the lead box was kept open. He was only dimly aware of the man holding the box, keeping step behind the men who were dragging him, but just out of reach in case Clark managed to muster the strength to lash out with a leg.
Through a haze of pain and growing darkness, Clark watched as he was thrown into the back of a plain silver van. Heavy gray curtains blocked out the windows, robbing him of the much needed sunlight. Trask's men tossed him in like a sack of potatoes and his head hit the floor with a healthy smack. But he was in such excruciating torment that he barely felt the impact. The doors were shut behind him with two solid thunks after one of the other men climbed in the back with him to keep watch. The man kept his gun trained on Clark, lest he make a move. Clark kept still, not willing to risk a bullet, even if he had been able to move at all.
"Glass. Blindfold him."
But there was no need. Clark lost the battle to stay conscious and slipped into the void.
To Be Continued...
