Jonathan stared at the television, waiting to witness the historic event about to unfold in his living room. He heard Martha and Clark come in and sensed them standing behind him, but he didn’t take his eyes off the screen. “The colonists are just about all on board,” he told them. “Historic occasion.” He turned to address his son. “Remember when you were little, Clark, and we saw the first moon landing...” His voice trailed off as he registered the sight of Clark in his new costume. Never one to pass up an opportunity to tease his son, Jonathan stood and gave Clark a slow once-over. Raising an eyebrow in amusement, he said, “That's my boy.”
Martha frowned. “He's right,” she worried out loud, “what if someone recognizes you?”
Clark shrugged off her concern. “I don't think they will, because it won't be me,” he assured her.
The three Kents returned their attention to the television. The countdown to lift off ticked away in one corner of the screen. The clock got down to thirty seconds, but then the public affairs officer who had been narrating the historic launch broke in. “Due to a mechanical failure, we have suspended countdown at twenty-nine seconds,” he informed the world. “We will advise.”
“I don’t believe it!” Jonathan exclaimed. “Something’s gone wrong. Clark…” he turned to see his son’s reaction, but Clark had flown—literally.
*****
Clark flew as quickly as he could toward the launch site. This wasn’t the way he’d planned to make his public debut, and he didn’t really feel ready, but if Dr. Platt’s suspicions and Lois’s instincts were right—and it sure looked that way—then hundreds of lives were in mortal danger.
As he neared the transport, he quickly scanned the vehicle for signs of trouble. Nothing looked out of the ordinary in the engine—not that he would have the first clue what to look for in a spacecraft engine. The colonists were all strapped into their seats ready for take-off.
Wait; make that *almost* all the colonists. One woman with a dark ponytail stood in front of a tangle of broken wires, a pair of bolt cutters in her hands. His jaw dropped when he realized who it was. It figured.
Still cutting wires as quickly as she could, Lois kept repeating one desperate phrase: “It’s a bomb!”
With no time to waste, Clark used brute force to rip open the door of the shuttle. Lois turned toward him, but by the time she got her head around he’d landed on the floor of the transport. Without bothering to greet her, Clark strode to the access panel. He could see the small mass of C-4. He could smell it, too. What he couldn’t do was figure out how to disarm it.
As he was calculating how quickly he could fly it away up into space, he felt himself being pummeled by ineffectual blows. “Hey! Get away from that!” Lois yelled as she pounded. Ignoring her, Clark pulled the bomb from the wall. “What kind of lunatic—“ Lois began.
It was too late to maneuver the bomb out of the transport and far enough away to ensure that no one would be hurt. Clark could think of only one solution. He popped the explosive in his mouth and swallowed. A moment later, he couldn’t prevent a very undignified burp from escaping. “Excuse me,” he said automatically.
The danger averted, the invulnerable man and the intrepid reporter faced each other for the first time. Slack-jawed, Lois stared at the hero in silence for half a minute. Then, incredulous, she blurted out, “Clark? What in hell are you doing here?”
