Superman III - The Richard Donner Edition

[Helios]

Ever since Superman III, IV, and Returns did not help the franchise get any better, I've always wondered what would have happened if Richard Donner had directed III and beyond that.

I've been experimenting with that thought by writing a fan fiction version of what Superman III should have been.

So to cut things short, here are some chapters that I have written. Think about it. What better way to post a Superman story than to post it here in the
fan fiction section of BIZZARO WORLD.

I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I have enjoyed writing it.

All comments and criticisms are welcomed.

[Helios]

SUPERMAN III(The Richard Donner Edition)

written by Christopher Michael Dalton

Copyright(C)2008 by Warner Bros and DC Comics
All Rights Reserved



Disclaimer (Lengthy):
"Superman" and his related characters and settings were originally created by Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster,
and is published and licensed by DC Comics, which is a Warner Bros. entertainment company.

This story takes place after Superman II(either version), written by Mario Puzo and David and Leslie Newman and Robert Benton(and Tom Mankiewicz, uncredited). The character of Brad appeared in both Superman and Superman III, written by David and Leslie Newman. I do not own any of the characters who appear in this story.

This work is not intended for commercial use, and no permission is granted for reproduction of the text of this fiction on any other website without the
express permission of the author. This is a fan work made by fans, for fans for entertainment reward only, and no money was made through the production
and distribution of this work. Immediate removal of this work will occur upon presentation of a reasonable and legal request from the above named parties
and their representatives, or the action of a DMCA notice.

Although I have retained and recycled some elements from Superman III, IV, and Returns, those movies do not exist and are entirely ignored as far as
this author and many die hard fans the author knows are concerned.

I don't own any of the characters or places, I merely have them on unauthorized loan - but I promise to return them if and when anyone from the above list
(or one of their legal representatives) asks me to.

[Helios]

For Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster who started it all.

For DC Comics and its creators who have kept Superman alive and well for seventy years and counting.

For Mario Puzo, David and Leslie Newman, and Tom Mankiewicz for the great scripts that were Superman-The Movie
and Superman II.

For Richard Donner for bringing to the Man Of Steel the dignity he deserves.

For Michael Thau and those who brought Superman II - The Richard Donner Cut to life.

For Marlon Brando who made the role of Jor-El his very own.

For Glenn Ford who made this author wish he had father as wise as Jonathan Kent.

and finally

For Christopher Reeve, who brought the Son Of Jor-El to life on the cinema screen during the Bronze Age
of Superman.

Shame On Jack O'Halloran for his uncalled for remarks.

[Helios]

____


In memory of Christopher Reeve(1952 to 2004)who is still to this day, a true Superman.

Chris' beloved wife, Dana Reeve(1960 to 2006), who was a very courageous and
remarkable woman.

Marlon Brando(1924 to 2004), who was one of the greatest actors on stage and screen.

Glenn Ford(1916 to 2006), who was also one of the greatest actors in cinema.

Geoffrey Unsworth(1914 to 1978), who made the 1978 classic come to life with his
remarkable cinemaphotography.

John Barry(1935 to 1979), for his excellent production design on Superman - The Movie and
Superman II.

and finally to Trevor Howard, Harry Andrews, Maria Schell, Phil Brown, Robert Beatty, and
John Hollis for their legendary performances in the films.

Thanks for the memories and may God Bless You All.

____

[Helios]

CHAPTER ONE


The war to seize control of Krypton was at stalemate.

General Zod was plotting the next battle when news reached him that his betrayer had been captured alive.

Zod ordered that he be brought before him. The betrayer, his son. The son that no longer even carried his name.

He had changed it to his mother's family name. Zod had decided to display his justice to all his followers.

His son was brought before him, injured from the battle.

In Zod' base he was put on trial.

Throughout the trial Dax-Ur, as he now called himself never said a word. What was the point. His father would put him to death.
Zod had promised that all those who opposed him would be executed. Dax-Ur inwardly laughed at this mockery of justice. Proclaiming
him a traitor, what a joke. His father had abused his genius and stolen the Brain Interactive Construct, corrupted it.

Dax-Ur had wanted change like his father once preached but not a full scale war that was achieving nothing. All his father's plots
had achieved was death and destruction. Change can't be achieved by force only by persuasion. At his core Dax-Ur was a scientist like
his mother. His research was supposed to help the people of Krypton, not subjugate them. When he learned of his father's plans he had
gone to a fellow scientist, Jor-El.

Jor-El helped him deactivate Brainiac and persuade the council to let him join the fight against his father.

Jor-El had become his friend. But in the last battle he had been injured and captured and now here he was.

After a trial that literally lasted only about a hour he was found guilty. He awaited death but it never came.

His father proclaimed that he would live with his betrayal forever.

Dax-Ur did not know where.

Zod had gained access to the means to send him to the Phantom Zone.

Dax-Ur's last image of his father was one of disappointment.

It was following that incident that Non broke the neck of a Kryptonian guard, allowing Zod to break a red crystal in a console panel
that had a symbol of the El clan engraved onto its transparent surface.

How little did Zod, Ursa, and Non realize that they fell into a trap set up by the Kryptonian Council of Elders.

A trap to put an end to Zod's plans for a new order, his treasonous acts, and ultimate aims of sedition.

Zod, Ursa, and Non were ultimately imprisoned in the double rings of a containment field and then encompassed by a Phantom Zone prism.

Jor-El had looked on as the prism flew off into the eternal vastness of space.

And with it the memories of other criminals from long past.

Criminals such as Jax-Ur, Kru-El, Faora, Az-Rel, Mala, Nadira, Vakox, and Zi-Kree.

The orbit of Krypton had shifted.

The Kryptonian Council did not believe Jor-El's findings about Krypton's ultimate destruction.

Jor-El and Lara sent their infant son Kal-El into space, toward Earth. A planet that orbited a single yellow sun, whose solar rays would
give their only son the strength he would require for his survival.

The red sun of Krypton, and the planet itself, were destroyed in a single fiery blast.

Brainiac, the Brain Interactive Construct, recalled those specific, yet fully restored, memories all too well.

Especially after rebooting its holographic memories.

Thankfully, Brainiac's shutdown did not erase them.

A loyal servant of Zod. It had been created for one purpose, obey Zod.

But it had been neutralised by Jor-El.

When it became aware of its surroundings again it found Krypton destroyed. Centuries past and it floated in the ruins of the planet.

When Krypton died in the fires of the supernova, the molecules of its living crystal technology melted and transformed into a burning
green radioactive mass. The mass came together for only a moment, solidifying into a single entity, then it exploded into millions of
smaller fragments, all burning with that same radioactivity.

The pieces cooled into small rocks as they spread across the galaxy. They crashed onto many planets.

Brainiac detected something unusual, a ship of unknown origin.

Its creators may not be all dead.

It watched the ship.

The robotic probe seemed to be exploring the planet, for other survivors perhaps.

Brainiac knew there were none.

The ship soon sent a binary signal from its transmitter, then turned and left.

Brainiac focused its sensors on the transmission the computerized probe sent back to its point of origin.

It reordered its molecular structure into a crystal ship and followed the transmission signal.

It's destination a half a galaxy away.

[Helios]

Earth.

A bauble of green and blue and white swirls of cloud cover.

The eerie whistle of cosmic rays was drowned out by static and someone singing 'MY WAY' - in Russian.

Gleaming white with the black letters CCCP on its side, the Soviet space capsule floated above the planet, while a Russian cosmonaut in his environment
suit, helmet, and oxygen pack was outside, repairing radio antenna.

He was the one singing.

Inside the capsule, three other cosmonauts(two men and a woman)in gym shorts and red T-shirts, were busy floating to their stations.

"Spare us the serenade, Comrade Sinatra," the commander teased his space walker. "You're not at home."

"At home my kids tell me to save my singing for space," the cosmonaut smiled.

Unbeknowest to the space walker, a piece of spare debris drifted dangerously close to her.

It was a discarded chunk of a failed satellite.

The cosmonauts noticed the debris on its deadly course toward the space walker outside. Looks of consternation were exchanged.

The space walker saw the debris moving toward him.

He tried to react, moving first right then left.

The debris struck the ship and immediately sent the space walking cosmonaut into space.

"Bozemoi!" the space walker yelped over his suit comline.

Tumbling helplessly out of orbit, head over heels, out of control, the cosmonaut immediately thought of his cousin, comrade cosmonaut Boris
who had died on the moon, when the three Kryptonian criminals had come to conquer the Earth.

The door hatch to the probe was clearly damaged.

Trying desperately to regain control of the ship, the cosmonauts were tossed about like clothes in a spin dryer.

Alarms and computer beeps sounded, followed by flashing warning lights.

Suddenly the spinning stopped and the cosmonauts exchanged startled looks.

"What the..." the commander began to speak.

The Russian spacecraft moved slowly, now upright and in control, gliding through space.

Carrying the space probe gently, was none other than Superman.

His face shined with the same familiar resolve, the same steady strength, the same calm in the heat of crisis the world expected.

He turned and saw the lost cosmonaut moving away in space.

Superman immediately flew off towards him.

The cosmonaut was losing consciousness as something overtook him.

He stopped tumbling!

Through his helmet, Superman could see the Russian's surprise as he carried the cosmonaut to the capsule.

He maneuvered the Russian to the airlock and eased him through the hatch.

Which was then followed by repairing the damaged door.

"I think you'll be safer in here, Sir," Superman replied in perfect Russian.

Inside the Russian spacecraft, the cosmonauts strained to look out their porthole.

Superman slid by the window as the crew clasped hands in thanks.

The Son of Jor-El smiled humbly and then dived backward toward Earth.

[Helios]

CHAPTER TWO


Lois woke up sweating. A few days ago she had been haunted by dreams, erotic ones.

They were of her and Superman, somewhere white, in a bed of silver sheets.

Superman flying across the skies of Metropolis, enjoying the rays of the morning sun.

A particularly vivid image of his face, superimposed on a field of white, occupied her thoughts.

Were these more than dreams?

That whole time bothered her greatly.

She had always remembered sleeping with Superman but almost every other detail of that time was gone like where that place was and how they ended up there.

A man as hugely muscular as him, if not more so.

Raven black topped a handsome face with the bangs falling in a single curl over the forehead. The man was attired in a blue suit with red briefs, cape,
boots, and an S emblazoned on his chest.

Tall and extremely well muscled, a fact made obvious by the black bodysuit he wore.

His brown hair was disheveled and a slight stubble covered his handsome, chiseled face.

She sighed and got up.



The newsroom at the Daily Planet was solidly in the middle of its chaotic twenty-minutes-to-deadline cycle.

Before around 4pm the large open office space with its hundreds of messy cubicles was a congenial, if fast-paced, environment.
People chatted at the watercooler about the accomplishments of their children, and about the upcoming weekend.

Telephones rang and were politely (and promptly) answered by the beat reporters. The sports guys hung out near the media enclave with the flatscreen 40" TV monitors, scanning for game highlights and scores. International Affairs had a friendly rivalry going with Sports; they exchanged banter and placed bets on obscure team sports like water polo and ultimate Frisbee because none of the Planet sports writers knew anything about them.

It evened things out on the endless office betting pool.

The background chatter and hum of telephones, fax machines and the endless clack-clack-clack of world-class keyboardists increased as the day went on.
If he had been forced to duck out for a moment or two during the course of the day, Clark simply had listen to the decibel level at the Planet to determine
how much time he had before the five o'clock deadline. After lunch things really picked up: the banter was replaced by questions about story details,
research and the exact layout of the evening edition. Fact-checkers and copyeditors wove through the maze of cubicles as they were needed, sometimes
colliding with fresh-faced interns bearing heavy cardboard trays of steaming black coffee. As the minutes ticked by the noise increased. Telephones rang
more frequently, the whine of fax machines dialing and receiving became a steady background hum, and the sound of Perry's voice booming from his glass-lined office seemed to make everyone work just a little faster to make the deadline.

Such was life at the Daily Planet, the highest-circulating metropolitan newspaper in the country. Clark loved the controlled chaos of the office. It was
dependable, in its own way, revving up from the relaxed rhythms of the morning to the fever-pitch whine of the late afternoon. He loved listening to the
way his fellow reporters lobbed rapid-fire questions at one across the crowded newsroom. They always sounded like seasoned pitchers offering up the throw
that would win them the pennant. The goal wasn't always to trip the other guy up, but any answers had to be shouted above the cacophony of office noise and they had to be given quickly. Reputations were placed on the line with those questions and answers.

In his five years of working at the Planet, Clark had never heard anyone ask a pointless question or give a disinterested reply.

Reporters.

He loved them.

And he loved the questions of one reporter in particular. Two years ago he had finagled a desk near hers just to be the one to answer the bulk of her queries.. In terms of the strict hierarchy that ruled the Planet office Clark didn't really deserve to be near Lois Lane. Desk space at the Daily Planet was awarded based on its proximity to Perry White's office: you knew you were on your way up if you were within shouting distance of the newspaper's editor-in-chief.

As a city reporter praised more for his fast typing and ability to meet any deadline than for his writing ability Clark belonged in a smaller cubicle near
the Siberia of the lunchroom. With a desk just outside Perry's door Lois was Planet royalty: she had interviewed nearly every world leader who controlled
anything bigger than Uzbekistan. Celebrities, movie stars, sports heroes, politicians and economic trend-setters had all sat down with the intrepid Ms. Lane,
and she had scored the biggest reportage coup of the century: she seemed to be the only journalist in the world with no-holds-barred access to Superman.

No one, not even Perry White himself, could explain how she had done it. Lois had made her reputation through old-fashioned hard work as investigative
reporter before she had ever sat down with her first UN delegate. Some of the more jealous reporters on the Planet staff speculated that she had discovered Superman's real identity and had used the information to blackmail the hero into giving her countless interviews. The idea seemed to fascinate her envious colleges. The scenario had been batted around the bullpen by both seasoned and cub reporters: Lois, through her almost supernatural investigative ability, had tracked Superman down to wherever it was he called home. They imagined the petite, pretty Lois Lane, in her wrinkled suits and messy hair, pressing a fine-boned index finger into the iconic "S" shield on his Superman's chest and demanding an exclusive.

Even Superman, blackmail or no, would have to yield to her dogged requests – Lois was not quite a harridan, but she was exactly like a pit-bull when she
smelled a good story. Once her jaws closed around the details of a juicy article, she would have to be pried away from them with a crowbar.

Clark, who knew exactly how Lois had obtained her unprecedented access to Superman, was fully aware of what was said about Lois Lane in the Planet offices.

The rumors of blackmail were the least of it. Men who had worked on the paper for years and had never risen any higher than a shared desk by the elevators hated her. They said that she was too young to be a world-class reporter. Too pretty. Too abrasive for a woman, but not enough of a cutthroat for the rough-and-tumble world of editorial news. Some had even gone so far as to suggest that rather than blackmail Superman into a story Lois had simply enticed him with sexual favours. Clark frowned at the thought of the vicious rumors. Lois was a consummate professional.

"Hey, Clark – how many 'e's in "liaison?"

Clark smiled a little ruefully, pushing his glasses more firmly into place on his nose. Lois had not even glanced up from her computer screen. She was
chewing on a pencil distractedly, tapping at the keys slowly with her index finger. Much to Perry's frustration, his star reporter had never learned to
type properly. She wasn't much for the niggling grammatical or orthographical details of the English language, either.

"None, Lois. It's l-i-a-s-o-n."

"Is that the British spelling?"

"No," he assured her. "That's the French spelling."

This time, Lois did glance up. She was a bit disheveled. Like the increasing noise volume in the room, Clark could usually gauge how close the afternoon
deadline was by the amount of hair that had managed to escape from the uneven bun at the base of Lois' neck. Wavy brown tendrils now framed her face, which meant it was nearly 4:40pm. She would occasionally pause in her pecking at the keyboard to brush some of the errant strands behind her ear, or unconsciously twist a curl around her index finger as she debated word choice or sentence structure. Her suit was wrinkled, the jacket long ago discarded and thrown carelessly over the back of her chair. The white silk blouse that hugged Lois' gentle curves required a good steaming and Clark could only guess at the rumpled state of her skirt. She had already chewed off her lipstick and her mascara had smudged at the corners of her eyes, giving her the appearance of a rather distracted raccoon. He suppressed a smile as he met Lois' expectant brown gaze.

"Are you making fun of me, Mr. Kent?" Lois grinned. He chuckled and shook his head, awkwardly avoiding her gaze in his best display of farm-boy shyness.

"N-no, Lois. I'd never-"

"Good." She resumed her painfully slow typing. For the thousandth time that day Clark had to check himself before offering to type up her story for her.

Even with all his abilities, he was completely unable to decipher Lois' messy longhand scrawl. She had always insisted it was deliberate: no one could
steal her notes if they couldn't read them. Clark privately suspected that, like the typing and her messy, wrinkled appearance, it was a way to convince
people she wasn't as dangerous as she really was. All truly great reporters cloaked their skills in eccentricity – Lois had simply taken it one step
further than most ambitious appearance-conscious female reporters were willing to go. And it annoyed Perry, which probably added an extra layer of appeal.

"Kent!" Perry boomed. He didn't need to yell: Clark's desk was a scant three feet from the editor's door. Perry White simply liked to keep everyone's nerves
on edge, and Clark would willingly indulge his editor. He jumped up and knocked over a mug containing several pens and pencils. They scattered across the
well-ordered surface of his desk and onto the chaotic no-man's-land of Lois'. He mumbled an apology; Lois barely spared him a glance, waving him off with a delicate flick of her wrist.

"Better get in there. That's his 'I've-got-a-lousy-assignment-for-you' bark."

"Wish me luck," Clark muttered, reflexively keeping his shoulders a little stooped. Ill-fitting suits and bad posture helped him conceal his unusual height
and large, muscular frame, but even after three years at the Planet Clark couldn't quite shake the fear that someone, somehow, would see through his
disguise. He stumbled into Perry's office and knocked on the open glass door.

"You wanted to see me, Chief?"

Perry White didn't look up from what he was doing – Clark couldn't tell if his editor was going over a feature story with his fearsome red pen or simply
doing the Planet's supersized crossword.

"Kent, you know much about astronomy?"

"Uh, sure. I mean, a little. I took a course on it at Kansas State, and-"

"Fine fine," Perry said dismissively, scratching something out with his red pen and scribbling a necessary change. Feature story, then, and not a crossword:
Perry never had to erase any answers when he did the crossword. "Some scientists at the Huntington Observatory are putting on a press conference tonight.
Seems they discovered a new planet or some damn thing. I want you and Lane to cover it."

"M-me and Lois?"

Perry glanced up, his curmudgeonly expression softening a little. "Yeah, Kent. Lois interviewed the lead egghead on the project a few years ago for a story
we did on the Mars shuttle mission. She knows the guy, knows his work. But she doesn't know a damn thing about astronomy. You two can share the byline, if Lois will let you."

"When do we have to-"

"Six p.m. And wear a tux – the announcement is part of a fund-raising gala for the observatory. Discovering a new planet is a great way
to generate cash. Take that angle, Clark, if you want."

"Thanks Chief," Clark replied, backing out of the office. Perry stopped him before he had made his escape.

"And Clark? Make sure Lois cleans herself up – I might want a picture of her with this scientist guy. Kid's got a good mug."

"I'm sure she'll be happy to hear that you think so," Clark said, turning as Perry let out a snort.

"Sure she would," he grunted, returning to his work with the red pen.

[Helios]

CHAPTER THREE

The observatory was crowded with a who's-who of Metropolis elite. Investment bankers, venture capitalists, scientists, politicians and social matriarchs
mingled over champagne and hors-d'oeurves while a six-piece string orchestra provided soft, unobtrusive background music. Lois fidgeted in her long, l
ow-cut indigo gown. She had bought it for a friend's wedding and the bridesmaid's dress was far more revealing than she would have liked. The neckline of
the silk dress plunged well below her bustline; Lois' married friend had loved styles that required double-stick tape and hours in the gym to pull off.
Lois couldn't understand the appeal: she had been waiting at the Observatory entranceway for nearly ten minutes, and not a single one of the countless men
passing by had even so much as glanced at her face. She folded her arms across her chest and tapped her high-heeled toe impatiently.

As always, Clark was late.

She sighed, turning to watch the throng of guests. Lois had interviewed most of them at one time or another, either for a feature story or a public-interest report on the balance of power in Metropolis. Most of them were either CEOs or hedge fund managers who had bank accounts several sizes larger than the gross national product of some countries. All of them looked either bored or drunk. Trophy wives, B-list actresses and not-so-super supermodels dangled off their arms like sparkly costume jewelry, and the men circulated the room like the well-fed predators they were. All of these powerful men looked alike, she realized. The younger ones were blandly handsome, their expensive tuxedos perfectly tailored to bodies sculpted by the best personal trainers, private chefs and most exclusive gym memberships Metropolis had to offer. The older ones were the embodiment of genteel decay, their graying hair carefully coiffed to conceal bald spots, their tuxedoes cut a little looser around the middle to accommodate the inevitable middle-aged spread. All of their wives and girlfriends seemed to hover somewhere around the median age of twenty-two.

Lois noted that the astronomers stood out like sore thumbs in this crowd. They wore cheaper tuxes and consumed less of the champagne. A few of the women,
older and dressed much more conservatively than the wives of the businessmen, were probably the female contingent of the Huntington's astronomy staff.
They circulated awkwardly, chatting about funding shortfalls and the need for better equipment with guests who only listened with half an ear. Such men
were used to being asked for money. Lois shook her head, doubting that this crowd would support the Observatory unless they were offering stock options in
the newly-discovered celestial phenomenon.

With a sigh, she blew a strand of hair out of her eyes, feeling with one hand the way the complicated style she shouldn't have tried had already begun to
unravel despite copious amounts of hairspray and pomade. She had never really been good at the girl stuff. It was only at moments like these that it
bothered Lois Lane. Shouldn't her heart be all aflutter at the close proximity of so many handsome, wealthy, well-educated men? She surveyed the crowd over
her shoulder one more time, finally deciding to step into the cool night air and wait for Clark on the steps leading up to the Observatory. Maybe it was the
company she'd been keeping recently. Spend enough time with Superman, and any red-blooded woman would find mortal men a little... lacking.

She rubbed her bare arms against the chilly spring air, watching the lights of Metropolis troop down the winding hills and valleys away from the Observatory
and out to the sea. The view wasn't as good as it was when... she deliberately shifted her thoughts away from that line of consideration. She was on
assignment. No distractions.

Lois' best-laid plans went to hell the moment she felt that unnatural wind brush against the long skirt of the indigo silk. She refused to turn around. He
had to know she was working.

"Speak of the devil."

There was only his soft chuckle in the darkness behind her, and then a warm hand on her shoulder, heating her skin through the gown's thin strap. He was
always so warm.

"Lois," he said, his voice soft and deep as the night. She turned, her heart beginning to beat in that staccato rhythm it seemed to fall into each time she
saw him. Not that she blamed her poor heart – he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. Finely-chiseled features, those sincere and watchful blue eyes
,that slightly sardonic tilt of his lips that suggested he could laugh at himself. And a body that seemed to belong in a museum exhibit along with all the
other old classical statues of Grecian gods and Roman emperors. Mortal man wasn't supposed to be so...perfect. Superman seemed to make everyone else fade to
gray.

"You look lovely," he told her, and fearless reporter Lois Lane blushed. She glanced down at her body, casting a critical eye at the dress but not quite
hating the plunging neckline as much as she had while standing in the Observatory's entranceway.

"Thanks," she smiled, worried she was grinning at him like a gap-toothed moron. She tried to harden herself against his appeal and cleared her throat. "So,
is this just one of those fleeting moonlit encounters where you compliment me and then have to dash away?"

Superman shook his head, his smile lighting his face and making his teeth gleam white in the moonlight. Of course he had perfect teeth. And Lois doubted it
was from years of adolescent orthodontics.

"I thought you'd like to go flying."

The pulse at the base of Lois' neck skipped a beat, and she knew he could hear it. Her mouth dropped open a little and she raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"I'm working, Superman."

"We'll be fast," he promised.

"Ten minutes, and no more. Okay?" He nodded solemnly in confirmation. Lois didn't doubt for an instant that he would keep his word. She gave him one final
long, searching look. "Okay," she relented, playing up her defeated resignation even as her heart sang and the blood surged in her veins. Nothing could ever
compare to this. She slipped off her high heels and moved closer to him.

Superman worked hard to keep the smile off his face. Lois stepped onto the cold stone pavement in her stocking feet and he took her hand in his, feeling as
nervous as a teenaged kid on prom night. He had waited all day to touch her, waited for her to meet his eyes and see only him. He guided her forward until
she brushed up against the length of his body. They had done this perhaps a half-dozen times, but each time it felt like something new and fragile. She
stepped up onto his boots, and he could almost feel her pulse through the stocking-bare soles of her feet. She smelled like clean, fresh soap and a faint
hint of vanilla; whatever she had used in her hair was artificially citrus-y. His hands came to rest on her waist, warm and soft beneath the indigo silk.
She looked up into his face and his breath caught at the expression of trust that lingered there. Superman had spent the entire day observing Lois at work
where her emotions were firmly shuttered behind a mask of professionalism. Only now, like this, with him, did she allow something of her true self to shine
through.

They were already levitating, floating gently just a few feet off the ground. He never rushed this first part. It was partly because he wasn't entirely sure
what would happen to her system if he ascended too rapidly, and partly because he enjoyed the feel of her against him before gravity and centrifugal forces
did their work. He knew she liked this first part too, because of the way she went quiet and thoughtful, content to rest her body against his, her arms loop
ed loosely around his neck.

"Where were you before?" she asked, ever the reporter. He began to take them up more rapidly now: already the Observatory was just a fading light in the
darkness of the hills around Metropolis.

"There was a cave-in in a mine in North Carolina," he said, hand cupping the small of her back. He worried she was cold.

"Anything worth writing about?"

"Everyone made it out okay," he assured her. She closed her eyes in relief and this time he did not try to hide his smile. "How was your day?"

She grinned. "No disasters prevented, but I did snag an extra bag of potato chips at the vending machine. Big day."

Lois looked down at the lights of the Eastern Seaboard spread below them like a more luminous reverse of the night sky above. "I was hoping to see you
tonight, y'know."

Her softly-worded confession made him smile. He had known it; sometimes she dropped innocent hints to Clark, or a particular expression would steal over her
face at work and he knew she was thinking of him, some joke they'd shared, some detail she'd forced out of him for one of her stories. He lived for those
small moments; it made all the rest of it, all of the secrets and half-truths and embarrassments of being Clark Kent, worth it.

"I'm sorry we had to cancel that meeting on Tuesday," he said. "I know you wanted to ask some questions about Luthor-"

"Let's not talk about him," she shivered, cutting him off. "Let's just enjoy the flight. I can always get the story later."

If there had been any doubt in his mind about her feelings before it was impossible to deny the truth now. She was head-over-heels. It was the only thing
that would ever make her let go of a solid lead.

He pulled her closer and they burst through the cloud cover, into that startlingly-clear region between heaven and earth. The stars were brighter here than
any city light; it was, privately, his favorite place to come to think. The moon was slung low in the sky, framed by twinkling stars.

"Are you warm enough?" he asked, and she nestled closer against him.

"Yes. Are you?"

He grinned and, catching her pert little chin with his thumb, tilted her head back. He brushed his mouth across hers, listening to the way her breath
hitched and the blood pounded in her veins. He felt an electric spark pass between them at that soft, brief touch. Her eyes drifted close and he met her
mouth again, this time more firmly. Her arms tightened around his neck and he felt her lips part. For an instant the universe faded and opened to him: she
tasted like exotic honey and some deep-seated secret of life. Lois sighed against his mouth and he broke the kiss, resting his forehead against hers.

"You have a press conference, Ms. Lane," he breathed, his body warm and trembling for her.

Lois brushed her hand across his forehead, combing aside the ever-present spit curl. She cupped his cheek. "Is there..." she hesitated, closing her eyes.
"We've been doing this for months. Is there any way we could-"

He met her eyes, heavy and dark with the desires he'd stirred in her. Something dangerous passed between them. He had never expected to cross this line, had
never anticipated that-

But it was natural and, somehow, inevitable. She had always been on the verge of making this request, and he had always been ready and willing to accept it.
He'd been in love with her, in one form or another, for the better part of three years. And he knew Lois cared for him, or at least the part of him she could
acknowledge. They could-

"When?" he asked, his voice sounded a little ragged. She didn't seem surprised, only thoughtful as she mentally composed her reply.

"Tonight. I...I want this."

"Me too," he acknowledged, pressing his hand against hers as it rested upon his cheek. He kissed her palm softly, her other hand splayed across the 'S' on
his chest. "I don't know if I can...if you and I will be able to..."

"We'll figure that out," she assured him, glancing at the moon that hovered low in the sky. "Ten minutes are almost up."

His only answer was to lean closer and brush his lips against hers. Lois closed her eyes and leaned closer to deepen the kiss.

One minute and fifty-four seconds later Lois turned just in time to catch sight of Clark stumbling up the long flight of marble stairs leading to the
Observatory's entrance hall. Kent looked good in a tux, she'd have to give him that. His suits were usually badly-tailored, baggy affairs in dull colors
paired with uninspired ties. She knew he had the basic points of attraction down pat – he was tall, dark-haired, and his face was strong-boned and angular
enough to satisfy the current trends in masculine beauty. Still, there was something...off about him. Lois had never been able to pinpoint exactly what it
was. Perhaps it was his sweet, awkward Kansas roots. Unlike the men in the room behind her, Clark was goofy and harmless: she had long ago come to think of
him as a hapless puppy lost in the big city and in need of guidance. Harmless. She smiled, tilting her head towards the big clock that hung suspended over
the mezzanine.

"You're late."

"Sorry," Clark blushed, starting up the final flight of stairs into the Observatory's main reception room. "Got caught in traffic."

She sighed. "Sure, it's a real rush-hour around here. I must have seen...what, ten other cars on the highway on the way up. Can't you just admit that you
got lost?"

He hesitated for an instant, and she grinned, her annoyance at his lateness evaporating. "You're such a man, Clark Kent. And it's okay – Huntington is tough
to find, and I had a cabbie who knew where to go."

Lois paused on the step just above him and frowned in the bright lights of the entranceway. She brushed at his shoulder – his tux jacket seemed to be covered
in a thin layer of dust. Clark met her eyes, his mouth held open a little. The light reflected off his glasses. Beneath her fingers his shoulder felt
surprisingly firm. Perhaps Clark, like the men in the reception room just behind her, spoiled himself with a good gym membership. For some reason the thought
surprised her. She had never suspected Clark Kent of vanity.

"You're covered in...what, dust?"

He dipped his head. "I don't know. It's...it was a rental."

"Oh," Lois replied, pausing in what she did, her hand held mid-sweep as she brushed the remaining dust off his shoulder. She hadn't intended to embarrass
him. Poor Clark.

"C'mon, they're starting," she told him, leading the way. One of the astronomers, the one she had interviewed for the Mars piece, took his place behind the
podium and cleared his throat.

Dr. Peter Carey was an older man, and despite his visionary work on the Mars project Lois had always thought him to be entirely the product of some other
generation. His muttonchops and slightly outdated eveningwear contributed to the impression, and his stilted Victorian manners had further convinced Lois
that Dr. Carey was a man out of his time. Still, he possessed the kind of genius that had secured him a leading role in NASA missions for the last twenty
years; his work with the Huntington Observatory had brought an infusion of much-needed research funding to the beleaguered outpost, and Lois hoped that this
new discovery would put the Observatory firmly in the black. Metropolis was, quite famously the City of Tomorrow, but the city council was rather stingy
when it came to warding grants or public funds to its scientific community.

"Thank you all for coming," Dr. Carey said, his voice carrying to the end of the room. "We have a very exciting announcement for you today, so I'll get right
to the point. Lights, please," he said quietly, and immediately the room was plunged into darkness. Lois smiled: the scientists were clearly aware of the
value of theatricality when pursuing donations. Hidden projectors scattered around the reception hall began to cast a series of celestial images over the
walls and ceiling.

Lois felt like she was back in sixth grade at the Metropolis Planetarium. Fiery Mars, cool Venus, the beautiful blue orb of Earth sped by
in quick succession, followed by the moons of Jupiter and the rings of Saturn. The presentation accelerated, and Dr. Carey began to lecture the gathered
crowd as they watched the solar system pass by.

Followed by a field of stars.

A vast panorama of stars and galaxies would have appeared if it had ventured out further.

"As you know, NASA and other terrestrial organizations have launched several probes into deep space. The images being beamed back are astonishing. We live
in a strange and beautiful universe, my friends" he said, his knobby fingers gripping the sides of the wooden podium. Pluto shot by, and then for a long
time there was nothing on the display but a long, endless field of stars.

Clark leaned closer to her. "Some show, huh?"

"It's not nothing," Lois muttered, her eyes widening when the stars began to zip by at lightening speed until they were simply long streaks of light.

She felt a bit dizzy and glanced at Carey: he was staring at the images flickering on the walls and ceiling intently, his eyes ablaze with something Lois
couldn't quite define. That reporter's sixth-sense, which had served her so well in her career, snapped instantly to life. Something about Carey was fishy;
she'd stake her inevitable Pulitzer on it.

About as fishy as the space shuttle test flight accident that took the lives of astronauts Tiffany Murphy, Brittany Motley, Kristyn Clark, Christopher Paige,
Seth Hollander, Shawn Chandler, Jacob Boston, and Dennis Marckech.

An accident that occured in 1977. A year before Superman had arrived that night in Metropolis, when he rescued her from that helicopter accident on
the Daily Planet's roof.

How Lois wished that he had been around, then.

She glanced at Clark to see if he'd caught on but the Kansas farmboy seemed entranced by the lightshow. She glanced up at the ceiling and instantly forgot
all about Carey. The simulation passed through an ion storm of some kind, and then was promptly swallowed by a massive red anomaly. The speed of movement
picked up and they were zipping along a twisting, winding tunnel of some kind. A wormhole? she wondered, confused. Suddenly they were on the other side of
the universe and the simulation shot out into an unfamiliar field of stars. The scientists had set up some kind of sound system to go along with the
presentation: she had scarcely been registering the passing swoosh! of planets or the quiet hum of stars but, as the presentation entered an asteroid field
of some kind the entire reception hall seemed to vibrate as the camera's eye passed over thousands of glowing green rocks.

The simulation felt entirely real at that moment, so much so that Lois unconsciously reached out for Clark's hand. His palm felt warm and secure; she
realized that she had always suspected Clark's hand would be clammy and a bit twitchy. And then all thoughts of Clark Kent and his surprisingly-warm hand
fled as, in a brilliant burst of green and crystalline light, the much-heralded new planet came into focus.

Lois, along with nearly everyone else in the room, let out a shocked gasp. The new planet was massive, a wintry-green orb of brilliant light in an otherwise
empty sky. The asteroid belt hovered somewhere behind and Lois felt her eyes well with unexpected tears. She could not account for the way she felt: this
new planet was...it was...

"Krypton," Dr. Carey supplied from his podium. "Yes, we think it was."

The room was utterly silent. Lois was dimly aware of a sudden, intense pressure on her hand. Clark. He was squeezing her palm so tightly the sensation
became almost painful. She winced and jerked her hand away; he barely seemed to notice. He was still staring up intently at the simulation, his mouth agape. Like everyone else he seemed surprised, but...but there was something different about Clark's shock. Lois was used to seeing Clark look astonished – he almost always seemed confused or amazed by the rushed and frantic pace of big city life. This wasn't it. He looked almost...ecstatic. And heartbroken. And...

No, she decided, cutting off her train of thought. She was reading too much into it.

"What makes you think this was Krypton?" she yelled out, not waiting for Carey to formally begin the question period.

Dr. Carey paused, squinting into the darkness to locate her among the crowd. "Ah, Ms. Lane. I'm glad you could make it to our press conference. I'm sure
your favorite interview subject will be very interested in our discovery. We believe this was Krypton because we have compared radiostatic isotope readings
from that green asteroid belt to some of the Kryptonite collected by the United States government. The radioactive frequency given off by those asteroids
is a precise match to the Kryptonite samples."

"But I thought the planet Krypton was destroyed," Lois shot back, suddenly feeling like the room was far too warm. The hair at the back of her neck prickled
and the familiar sensation of panic threatened at the edges of her vision. "Over forty years past."

Would this mean...

"Apparently you were informed correctly," Carey replied. "Our full report to NASA will be submitted in the morning, as well as details about the radioscopic
tests. We have tested and re-confirmed our findings, and I think our conclusion will eventually be proven to be correct. This," he said, sweeping an arm
towards the simulation with the air of an old showman, "was Krypton."

"It cannot be seen from Earth, of course," he continued, more P.T. Barnum than Nobel laureate at the moment. "Ihese images were transmitted via our farthest
probe, launched in 1971. It has taken more than forty-three years for our probe to get close enough to the remains for a snapshot. If this is indeed the
remains of his home planet, Superman traveled a very long way when he came to us. Something to ask him about next time you see him, Ms. Lane," Dr. Carey
said. "Next question."

Lois raised her hand again and looked to see if Clark was doing the same. He still seemed stunned and she elbowed him in the side.

"You okay?" she murmured, listening with half an ear as Gregul from the Post asked about possible life on Krypton. "You look a little green..."

"Shrimp cocktail," Clark replied, seeming to snap out of his strange mood. He blinked and ran a trembling hand over his forehead. Lois frowned.

"You're sweating."

"I- I am," he stuttered, adjusting his glasses. "Lois, you mind if I duck out? You can have the byline."

"Clark, this is the story of the century! It'll be on the front page for weeks! You can't just-"

"I really think I'm going to be sick," he said, casting another glance upwards at the still-hovering simulation of Krypton. Lois sighed.

"Sure. But you're never going to get off the city beat if you don't push yourself, Clark. I-"

Her next words were forgotten when the McCloud, the cable news guy, asked about a manned mission to Krypton.

Lois barely heard Clark leave.

[Helios]

CHAPTER FOUR


With tundra stretching out for miles; snow dunes, outcrops of frozen water and perilous gaps where one might fall into the freezing ocean; one would think
it inconceivable that anything would decide to make the Arctic ice-sea its home. And that's true, this vast barren place with white as far as the eye could
see did not support much life, save for the hardiest of creatures such as the polar bear that plodded along under the aurora of the twilight sky. If the
noble creature was disturbed by the flying blur of blue and red soaring high above it, it did not let this show. If anything, it recognised what was another
neighbour it had come to get used to over the course of time. As if nodding to itself after waving off a passing acquaintance, the animal continued to
search for a fresh hole in the ice-flow from which to catch fish.

The primary clad figure altered his descent towards a glittering structure that appeared to climb out of the very snowy wastes itself. It seemed as though
it were embedded within the crevasse, constructed from enormous, uniform pillars of glass and quartz protruding, each at the same acute angle from the
ground.

A lattice of interlocking crystal spires and peaks that formed its framework.

Hints of sparkles reflected from the starry sky, a touch of colour mirrored from the myriad of prismatic glows from the ozone above.

To any other person on this Earth, the sight would be fantastic to behold.

An eighth, new modern world wonder on the face of the planet.

To Kal-El, Superman, it had a greater and infinitely more important significance: it was the very final gift conferred to him in spite of cataclysm.

He had learnt who he was and of his destiny here.

He received a far more extensive education than he ever could have at any school or college in the galaxy under the tutelage of both of his birth parents,
this place housing all the remaining knowledge of Krypton and the dozens of other worlds in the known universe which teemed with sentient life.

He had come to call this a temporary respite while on his journeys across the globe, as he discovered himself and his vocations, both as a
journalist and as the hero both sets of his parents would be proud of. He had shown this place to the woman he had hoped would be his wife and they had
spent two wonderful days and one night in this place.

There were equally important and difficult milestones here too. He first came to this sacred place shortly after his eighteenth birthday and the death of his
foster father, Jonathan. Some years later, he had had a bitter argument with the recorded simulation of Jor-El, his birth father. That argument had spilled
over from a discussion about how it could be possible to live with and love a human woman. He had given up that same wonderful and craved for relationship
for the sake of the people he was a beacon of hope to; the Kandorian hieroglyphic iconograph meaning "hope," after all, was the symbol adopted by the House
of El.

His people and his former home in the universe, were nothing but lethal Kryptonite radiation whilst bathed in the red sunlight of Eldi-Rao, a silent
graveyard in the void of space.

Zod had been right about one thing, though.

The Fortress Of Solitude was nothing more than a sentimental replica of a planet long since vanished.

As he drifted down to the console, Kal-El drank in the sight of his spiritual home on Earth. With its ornate – some opaque and some colourless – crystal
buttresses and walls the Fortress resembled in part the very spires of Kandor and Kryptonopolis. The cities of his birth and his flight. In a way it was
ironic then, that the word "Krypton" roughly translated to "Glacier." That's exactly what the place would feel like: cold, desolate and as immovable as
the Arctic itself. Thinking back to the last time Kal-El had come here to seek guidance and answers from his long dead father, such a description seemed
appropriate.

He had finally retrieved the last of the remaining sunstone crystals he safely could after several long months of searching.

Despite his flight, near-invulnerability and being able to hold his breath for approximately twelve hours, it had been a treacherous labour.

The time spent doing this cut down on his time spent helping the people of Earth, and this gnawed at him. He couldn't help it if he felt compelled to save
others, it was his calling, it was his purpose. What he gave of himself was who he was and there was no changing it. Even if he could give up all of these
gifts to be the same as each of those lives he saved tirelessly, he wouldn't – because to do so would be like tearing off a limb. Besides that, the one time
he did give up his powers it had nearly led to the Earth being crushed beneath the heel of General Zod's New Kryptonian Order three years ago.

So he had felt a little ashamed as well as somewhat embarrassed when he was asked to attend a ceremony in his honour in Centennial Park to unveil that bronze
statue of him standing there with an eagle resting on his outstretched arm. After all, didn't Jor-El once tell him that his deeds had no need of, "thanks
or approval"? It had made him feel far less virtuous than the people gave him credit then and there. He felt even more guilty as he heard screams of people
all over the world crying out for his aid or for someone to save them, and he had silently prayed that no one had needlessly died when he had been present
to receive the accolades. The only reason he'd been there at all was because he knew Lois was covering the ceremony, and he had had a faint hope of being
able to talk to her there if there was a quiet, private moment. It never happened, much to his hidden disappointment.

"They can be a great people, Kal-El, they wish to be. They only lack the light to show the way." The words of his long-dead father brought a fresh smile to
Kal-El's face, "For this reason above all, their capacity for good, I have sent them you... my only son."

Those words from his late father still echoed in his mind after so many years.

Words of wisdom and to live by.

Still, he had collected the sunstone crystals as he sought much needed answers. He used any spare moment he had between his day-to-day work rescuing others
and his job as a reporter for the Daily Planet because of the new addition to his routine. Every night now. For as long as he had been searching for the
crystals and the answers he hoped were in them.

With his feet now firmly on the rostrum he slipped the shard of sunstone into the tube-like receptacle on the control-panel in front of him. As soon as the
crystal was in place, the console was illuminated. The very walls of the Fortress seemed to writhe with dancing lights, slowly cohering into a holographic
image of a face, replicated many times around the caped figure of the Man of Steel.

A deep, rich and precise voice echoed around Kal-El speaking to him once more in familiar words, though not exactly the words that Kal-El had been
anticipating.

"My son. You do not remember me. I am Jor-El. I am your father. By now, I will have been dead many thousands of your years. You are the only survivor of
the planet Krypton. Embedded in the crystals before you is the total accumulation of all literature and scientific fact from dozens of other worlds,
spanning the twenty-eight known galaxies. There are questions to be asked. Here, in this Fortress of Solitude, we shall try to find the answers together.
So, my son, Kal-El, speak."

Kal-El was confused, he had expected that perhaps the message would mention something of the length of time since the recording and simulation of his father
had been activated, as it had done when Kal-El had used the Fortress to build his ship for the journey to Krypton. Sadly, this was enough to worry Kal-El,
for it confirmed his worst fears that some of the data had not survived. He knew that the crystals could not actively recognise Kal-El himself, otherwise
some would have been unable to enter and steal the sunstones from the Fortress in his absence, but between the destruction of the original control panel
and the loss of two of the last sunstone crystals meant that the damage was indeed extensive.

It caused him concern now that perhaps speaking to the recordings of both of his birth parents would only bring him about in circles.

clearly the damage to the sunstones was enough that he may never have the answers.

But he had to try.

He decided to run a diagnostic by asking a certain question.

One that he already knew the answer to.

"Father, I would like to have a family of my own, I want to know if there is any way at all that this might be possible."

"Kal-El, I can understand the desire you express with your question. I understand it because I have felt it personally. The longing for a family – for a
child of your own. It is only natural for you to feel such things. On Krypton, your desires would be encouraged, for we value children and recognize the
importance of continuing the family line.

"However, you are not on Krypton. You are surrounded by beings that are genetically inferior to you. That which you ask – to have a family of your own – is
an impossibility."

"You will never have a child of your own," Jor-El continued. "You will never have a family of your own. Furthermore, were you to join your life with that
of a mere mortal – you would be going against everything I have taught you and would place yourself in a potentially very dangerous position. I urge you,
Kal-El, to avoid such attachments."

The words stung, they had been the same ones used long ago when Kal-El had asked if it were possible and the response was still the same.

At least that experimental diagnostic had been successful.

Deciding that it was futile to argue with the recording, for clearly it had lost its ability to remember and learn due to the lack of sunstones at Kal-El's
disposal, he continued. "Father, If I were to have a child, what would become of him?"

"In choosing to send you to Earth, your mother and I both knew what impact this would have on your life. We understood that we were sending you to a world
where you would never be able to live the life of an ordinary man. We knew that it would be difficult for you to accept many of the facts of your nature,
including this one. It pains me to know you suffer because of this. But Kal-El, it is for the best.

"Consider, if you will, the difficulties that would be inherent in such a child. Biologically, the child's body would be exposed to the bombardment of what
his human DNA would interpret as foreign cells. Likewise, his Kryptonian DNA would try to dominate those aspects that were more human. Theoretically, the
basic genetic make-up of such a child would be in constant turmoil, human and Kryptonian battling for control of a body in which they were never meant to
coexist. The abnormalities that would be present in the body would be devastating and potentially dangerous. I shudder to think of the challenges and
difficulties that would face such a child. Be thankful that your own biology makes such unbearable ideas impossible."

But it had not been impossible, Jason was proof positive of this. Pondering this carefully, Kal-El came to some conclusions. First was that the boy's frail
health as a child may have been a symptom of this, and perhaps the condition could worsen over time. The thought didn't sit with him well and he prayed
that this would not happen. The other conclusion would be that the boy would probably exhibit at least some of his own abilities either as intense as his
own, or perhaps lesser. It would take a while for him to discover what lay ahead.

"I sense your distress over this matter, my son."

Kal-El silently admitted that he was.

"You must remember you were sent here because you look like one of them – but you are not one of them. Our culture survives with you and the hope we had
for the future can be shared with the people of Earth by you: the last son of Krypton. All that I have, all that I feel, all this and more... I bequeath
you, my son. This is all I can send you, Kal-El. But remember that no matter how isolated this leaves you, you are not alone. You will never be alone."

Alone. Despite all of his father's good intentions and promises, that is exactly how Kal-El felt at this precise moment. He could not blame the recording
though, for unlike the true and long-dead Jor-El it was not sentient.

As sophisticated as the simulation of Jor-El was, ultimately, the damaged program was incapable of learning and accepting new information as it was.

The result was that all that was left of his father and mother were the resounding echoes of voices long dead.

Yet another memory to taint the sanctity of this second home.

Still, he had a lot of work to do, holding back the tears that threatened to come bidding, he asked, "Father, I need to know how to add to the records of
Krypton's history and to adapt the sunstones in order to add new records of the sciences. How can this be accomplished?"

Jor-El's visage wavered and faded away. In its place was a different recording, this time of a woman with long, curly brown hair cascading down the sides
of her face. Kal-El recognised this to be his mother. After a short pause, with two new sections of the control panel rising from their hidden locations
either side of Kal-El.

"Kal-El, my son. As keeper of the archives of Krypton, it falls to me to explain this task you wish to undertake.

"To your left is the main console used to reprogram the archives and reconstruct them. For this you will need to place the master crystal within the
receptacle to use it. The panel on your right allows you to place a blank sunstone crystal in it to program it as you need it."

The hologram paused for an almost imperceptible instant as the recording changed.

"This console can be used to empower or reformat a crystal to form whatever you choose from our technology, such as a craft similar to what carried you
here to Earth. And it can be used to alter a crystal's purpose."

Kal-El knew this well. As his mother had been a prominent astronaut, it had been her expertise that Jor-El had used to construct the ark which had carried
him to Smallville. Provided with power and water, the crystals were infinitely self replicating using whatever blueprints and computational nodes were
within them. Unfortunately, with the master crystal having disappeared when Kal-El had sealed the Fortress, his only choice now would be to use the crystals
that made up the craft he had used to return to Krypton and Earth to do this. It would be a painstaking task, but one he was willing to put himself through.

"Tell me what I need to know..."

[Helios]

CHAPTER FIVE


A blank screen.

She had been sitting at her computer and staring at a blank screen for what seemed like an hour, watching the little line blink back at her much like her
brain was operating at the moment; a thought then nothing, an idea but nothing to give it life. She couldn't think. Nothing seemed to work, and even writing
down the words I have nothing to say about this; why can't I think? didn't seem to help.

Lois Lane slouched in her seat. She never slouched. She was always poised, at the ready, out for whoever was ready to read a great story with her to provide
it, another Pulitzer on the way for whatever reason she could think of. A simple outline shouldn't have been that hard to think of, but if your partner was
happily whistling away while he worked, seemingly unaware of your distraught, you would be slouching in your seat too.

The line blinked. Lois blinked back.

Finally, she groaned and removed her glasses, rubbing a hand over her eyes and all but feeling the headache that was creeping out to get her. She had to
focus. Perry wouldn't tolerate more 'family magic' as an excuse. A simple outline wasn't that difficult to think of, anyway.

So… why couldn't she think?

"Lois?"

Lois lifted her head and glanced at one Clark Kent, obviously concerned but unsure about what to do. He pushed his glasses back to the bridge of his nose
when she didn't vocally respond. "Uh, are you doing alright? You seem a little tired over here."

She smiled, doing her best to deceive him. "I'm doing fine, Clark. I guess I didn't get enough sleep or something."

"Are you sure it has nothing to do with the outline Mr. White gave us? It doesn't look like you've gotten very far."

She resisted the urge to block the monitor with her hands when he leaned over and gestured at the screen to prove his point. "There's nothing wrong, Clark.
I'm doing fine."

"Oh, uh, alright. Well, you know where I am if you need me." He jerked his thumb to the empty desk behind him, making his way back to it and bumping into a
man carrying files when he turned. "Excuse me. Sorry." He mumbled, adjusting his glasses once again, and throwing a wave in Lois' direction.

She didn't respond. She only watched him sit back in his seat and reveled in the way his fingers flew across the keypad, the words flying onto the screen
faster than her brain was connecting coherent thought. It almost felt like he was mocking her.

Perry was right. He was the fastest typist she had ever seen.

Darn the man. He didn't have a family and a certain blue-suited hero to worry about.

At least he seemed to recover from his bout with food poisoning last night.


It was only an hour later, but it felt like an eternity. When the second hand finally, finally, made its way past the twelve, Lois felt the burden of work
replaced with the desire for food. A burger with everything on it sounded good, or maybe some Chinese from that place a few blocks from the Planet.

That left her feeling concerned and upset over how she had handled everything.

Darn it all, she needed a cigarette. She needed one now.

Snatching her purse, she pushed her chair back and grabbed her coat, intent on making her way to the elevator in order to clear her thoughts.

When she made it inside, happy with the way she had beaten the rush, a voice called out to her and footfalls pounded against the tiles.

"Going down! Lois, hold the elevator!"

Instinctively, she reached out and blocked the door. Clark poked his head in a moment later, his briefcase nearly hitting her when he turned and pressed
a button. "Thank you Lois. I don't think I would have made it out waiting with all those other people."

Lois wasn't sure about these 'other people' he had mentioned when the room had been empty, but decided not to ask. "It's not a problem, Clark. Heading home
for lunch?"

"Uh, actually no. I was thinking about going to a Chinese place just a few blocks from here. I think clearing my head might help me with that outline on
the Creighton scandal. How are you doing with yours?"

Its non-existence is about as prominent as the air around us, Smallville. "Alright, I guess. I've just got other things on my mind right now. It's been a
little hard thinking of something."

He set down his briefcase and put his coat on. "Well, uh, if you're interested, you could join me for lunch… you know, if you wanted to talk."

Lois turned and looked at him, smiling at the way he was picking lint off his sleeve so he wouldn't have to face her. The shy country boy was considerate,
and a conversation was something they hadn't had in a long time. He always seemed to listen to her when she talked. Heck, if she was lucky, the gentleman
in him would fully show by buying her lunch.

"Sure, Clark. I'd like that."

He obviously wasn't expecting that. He turned to her with eyebrows raised. "R-really?"

"Why not? We still haven't had a chance since that observatory story."

He gave her a goofy grin that spread from ear to ear. When the 'ding' sounded a moment later and the doors opened, he chuckled. "Swell!"


Clark turned to look at Lois as they made their way through the busy streets, hoping she was staying warm with that jacket she was wearing. The skirt
didn't look like it helped much, but he wouldn't know unless she told him.

"Uh, are you cold Lois? We can get a taxi if you'd like."

She waved an arm at him. "I'm fine. It's not that much further anyway."

Translation: she was cold but she wasn't going to say anything about it. His Lois was still as stubborn as ever.

She's not yours, he reminded himself, turning to face ahead before he ran into anymore people. The thought, while painful, was true and he had to do
everything he could to make sure he remembered that. Well, she might not be yours, but…

"It was no problem." He said when he realized he hadn't answered. "I'm just happy he's feeling better."

"The cold weather doesn't help," she muttered, thanking him when he opened the door and made their way to the warm entrance of the Chinese shop.

It was a small place lined with old tile walls and older Chinese music. The Oriental workers on the other side of the bar seemed like they could
barely speak English while the American counterparts were busy taking orders. Deliveries must have been prominent at that hour.

"Gee Lois, I didn't even think to ask you if this place was alright. Do you want to go somewhere else?"

Lois caught the glare from the young man behind the counter after Clark spoke. "No, this will be fine." The young man turned away and his features softened. So much for customer-friendly service.

"Are you sure? It wouldn't bother me if we went somewhere else."

She grinned at his insecurity. Or maybe it was his shy, farm-boy nature that was getting the best of him. Whatever it was, she dismissed it when she shook
her head, leading them both to a table. "It's fine, Clark. Really. I'm just… taking it in."

"Ah, reporters instinct. Taking in every detail the moment you encounter it." He adjusted his glasses, squirming when her eyes narrowed in surprise.

"It's something Mr. White told me I lacked. A long time ago."

"I hope it was a long time ago. You're a good reporter, Clark."

His grin was lopsided. "It was. Sometime around my first few months of being at the Planet, he called me into his office and offered me 'constructive
criticism', saying that I needed to be more aggressive and take more risks. It sounded to me like he wanted me to become like a certain hard-nosed
reporter he had paired me with on different assignments."

Lois remembered a similar time when she had offered him the same advice. "It wouldn't have worked out. Your calm balanced nicely with my attitude.

If you had become me I wouldn't have been able to stand you."

He said nothing, only staring at her for a moment before leaning back in his seat when a waitress came and dropped menus in front of them.

Both decided on waters, and when the waitress left Lois turned to him and leaned forward. "I was giving you a compliment, Clark."

"Oh, of course Lois." He said, taking the silverware out of the napkin and laying them in order next to an imaginary plate. When he glanced back at her,
she was still looking at him. He raised his eyebrows and adjusted his glasses once again.

"You're fidgeting."

His eyes blinked rapidly. "I'm sorry?"

"You get fidgety when you're nervous. What's wrong?"

His heart swelled at the thought that she knew him so well. He shifted in his seat again and wondered if fixing his tie was looking a little too nervous.

"You wouldn't have been able to stand me?"

She sat straighter. That's what he was worried about? "I was just saying that I like you as you are."

There was that lopsided grin again. "You do?"

"Of course. You're a great friend, Clark."

Absently, he wondered if she remembered their conversation so many years ago in her office. It had played out similarly to this one.

"It's good to know you still think so."

A small smile came to his face, remembering the one time she had been there was the one moment she needed saving. Just before General Zod invaded.
Just before their trip to Niagara Falls. Just before she discovered his secret. "It's beautiful. Not as great as Niagara Falls, though." He stared
at her over his water glass, hoping in some corner of his mind that she could catch on.

"You went to Niagara Falls, too? I've heard that's another great sight!"

Disappointment filled him, but he hid it behind a smile. "You've seen it before, Lois. Remember? The Honeymoon Hotel scandal that Mr. White assigned us to?"

Her brows furrowed. "When was that?"

"Three years ago."

He lifted his menu, pretending to casually take a peek at the lunch special. He closed his eyes, hoping that she would remember but dreading the thought
at the same time. He had only wanted her to forget that Clark Kent was Superman, not every other event that happened in the days following.

Why had he said so much?

"Oh! I remember!"

He froze.

"Didn't the room have a polyester pink bear-skinned rug? There was some kind of fire place thing in the middle of it, wasn't there?"

He was sure she could hear his gulp. There was no way she could remember…

"That was our room, yes." He said, flinching behind the menu when his voice cracked.

"I remember that trip. What happened to that story? Did we ever get it figured out?"

Thankfully, the waitress returned to take their orders, buying him time but not much. He concentrated for a moment, thinking of something that would
satisfy the reporter in her.

"Are you gonna tell me, or do I have to find out myself?"

"No!" his voice cracked again. "No. We, uh, we found out that the whole thing was a sham. Mr. White was given the lead by a fellow Planet worker who
thought it would have been funny to have the two of us posing as newlyweds."

Another half truth. That was the story Lois said she was going to tell Perry when Clark walked back to the Fortress to see if he could get his powers
restored. Whether or not the lead given to Perry was real or not, he didn't know, but Lois was able to act well enough to make him believe her.

Thankfully, Superman had returned before anything worse could happen.

"That's when you said you were going to get me a burger with everything on it, right? Right after I got dizzy in my office?"

"Yup. That's it." He grinned, hoping that his use of her cover worked.

"Yeah, I remember that now. There's a few details that are a little shady, but… yeah. Wow, Clark, you've got an incredible memory."

She noticed his watch. "Oh, no. We need to get back! Perry will give us an earful if we're late!"

They paid for their food and rushed out the door, Clark doing his best to keep his long-legged stride slower than usual so she could keep up with him.
Thankfully, the Planet was only a few blocks away. The march back to their desks had been quiet, but Clark couldn't stop the smile that came to his face
when she saw how easily she got the rest of the outline finished.

[Helios]

CHAPTER SIX


Clark thought about another outline, after he came home from work. His apartment, which was about three blocks away from Lois's.

One concerning about a Metropolis police officer who had been killed in the line of duty, while trying to locate Lex Luthor.


"He was my partner," Aramus said simply in response to the reporter's question. "What else can I say?"

The dimly lit funeral home was filled with cops in suits, their nervous wives in dowdy dresses. The reporter shifted nervously from one foot to the other,
pushing his glasses back on his nose with his middle finger. Aramus had already forgotten his name.

"I know it was kind of a clichéd question, Detective Aramus," the reporter said. "I think it's important, though, that I write something about who he was,
so people remember him as more than just a --" He broke off, embarrassed.

"A statistic?" Aramus finished for him, his voice devoid of emotion. Since the moment it had happened he hadn't felt much emotion. He knew it was only a
matter of time. "The second law enforcement officer killed in Metropolis this year, the city's forty-seventh murder victim since January 1st, the fiftieth
fatality on railway tracks in the city in the last ten years…"

"Why don't we start by talking about how the two of you first met?" the reporter asked. "When was he assigned as your partner?"

"Five years ago," Aramus said, frowning as the mayor's wife entered. She always showed up at cop funerals. He remembered the time she had referred to
Patrolman Chris Andrews – killed by a drug dealer a year ago now – as "he". Andrews' widower wasn't happy.

"What was your first impression of him?"

Aramus smiled.

"I thought he was sloppy, careless, and too eager to get promoted," he said. "And I think he thought the same about me."

Aramus paused, collecting his thoughts.

"The first time I saw Harry, he was sitting at my desk, with one of those weird hats of his lying in front of him. We had both just been reassigned, so how
was he to know which desk was his? But I chewed him out good.

"We started out working on a murder case – some kid from the slums no one more senior was likely to work on. I saw what a hard worker Harry was. He would
spend hours on the phone tracking down a lead. If he hadn't been a cop, he would have been a great reporter."

The newspaperman smiled.

"And he had the guts to talk to the young man's family for hours – to pick up the phone when we knew it was the kid's mom calling to scream at us for not
doing more. The day they convicted the guy who did it, she hugged me, but she kissed Harry on the forehead. Wonder what she's doing now. Heard she moved
away."

Soft footsteps approached. Aramus knew without looking that it was his wife.

"Darling, why don't we go home now? You should rest."

Aramus glanced at her without really seeing her. He did not feel ready to confront, or even think about, what she must be going through. The fear she
usually held at bay had manifested itself far too close to home.

"Mrs. Aramus? I'm Clark Kent from the Daily Planet."

"How do you do, Mr. Kent?" She shook the reporter's hand, maintaining a somewhat fragile composure. "I've been enjoying your series of articles on the City
Council."

"Thank you, Mrs. Aramus," Kent said. "Your husband was just telling me about his partner, but we could continue tomorrow. I could drop by the station house
--"

"No, that's all right," Aramus said. "I'll take you and Mr. Kent in the car and drop you off at home. I want to continue this interview."


Kent was silent for a long, awkward moment as Aramus drove him away from his house. Mrs. Aramus had clearly been very upset as they left her, but had
refused her husband's awkward offer to stay with her. Aramus broke the silence.

"You said you didn't have a car at the funeral home, Kent. Do you drive?"

"I have my license, but I don't usually drive," Kent said.

"How do you get around? Cabs?"

"Sometimes."

"Must be expensive for a reporter, every time there's a story…" Aramus leaned on the horn as a long line of cars in front of him slowly reacted to a green
light. "This city makes me wish I could fly."

Kent smiled, but then grew serious again.

"Where are we going? You said you wanted to show me something."

"Almost there," Aramus said as the car started forward again.

Aramus pulled up outside an abandoned building. He and Kent got out of the car.

"Gosh, Detective, this is an insalubrious part of town," Kent said, pushing his glasses back nervously.

"Don't worry, I'm packing," Aramus said, patting the shoulder holster beneath his suit jacket.

"I was actually more concerned about your car," Kent said.

"This will only take a few minutes," Aramus said.

The front door of the building was unlocked. They walked inside. From the expression on Kent's face Aramus knew he was wondering whether their unauthorized
presence constituted breaking and entering, but he said nothing.

They crossed a broad, empty, dirty room and entered a narrow corridor, their noses crinkling at the suspicious smells that assailed them.

"This is where Harry saved my life," Aramus said. Kent pulled out his pocket notepad and pen, nodding for Aramus to continue. "A perp came out of that room
down there – must have come in the back way – and was going to shoot me from behind. Harry saw him. Shot the gun right out of his hand."

"Did he receive a commendation or anything?" Kent asked.

"Yeah, yeah, some medal he put in his desk drawer. It's probably still there. He didn't go around bragging about it – didn't have to. I think I must have
told every cop here about it."

Aramus shook his head as though dazed.

"The way we used to kid each other about everything. Those hats of his, my haircuts… If he were here now, I'd start ragging him about the way he looked in
the coffin."

He looked over at Kent, whose pen was still hovering above his notepad.

"I never thanked him. I didn't know how."



Aramus was driving again, driving aggressively, taking corners too fast. Kent, clinging nervously to the seat cushion with his hands, was asking about where
it had happened.

"So your partner was about five hundred feet down the tunnel from the station?"

"Yeah," Aramus said, with what he realized was still an unnatural degree of composure. "He had been trailing that fat associate of Luthor's, Otis. But there
was no sign of Otis afterwards. We checked the whole area. He just vanished."

"Do you suppose, then, that Luthor might have some kind of underground hideout down there?" Kent asked.

"I think it's possible. The current train station was built on top of an older one about fifty, sixty years ago. There's no record that the old station was
ever demolished. Huge, elegant place, perfect for a maniac like Luthor. But the Department won't let me search down there. They say it's a wild,
unsubstantiated theory."

"And it's your belief that Luthor is some sort of criminal mastermind?" Kent asked.

"Oh, yeah," Aramus said grimly. "Me and Harry had been onto him for a long time. But not everyone in the Department agreed with us. Luthor's rich. Money
can buy you a lot of image and lots of people to look the other way."

He honked his horn at a slow group of pedestrians in a crosswalk.

"Well, now Luthor's killed my partner. And he's not getting away with it."

"Detective Aramus," Kent asked softly, "isn't it possible that this Otis is the one who killed your partner? After all, he's the one who's known to have been
present."

"No," Aramus said forcefully as the car lurched forward again. "It was Luthor. I'd bet my life on it. That Otis wouldn't have the guts to punch a dogcatcher,
let alone kill a cop."

Aramus turned his head for a moment to look at Kent. The reporter was listening intently, taking notes on his little yellow pad.

"Remember this, Kent. Luthor is very smart. He's charming and funny. People who talk to him always come away saying what a great guy he is. And I've met cops
in the past who knew he was a criminal genius, but secretly admired him for it."

Aramus turned back to the road.

"But now he's a cop-killer. That's all he'll ever be now. You're a reporter, Kent. Don't let people forget that, no matter how clever and witty he might be."

"I won't forget, Detective Aramus," Kent murmured.

"Good," Aramus said. "Don't."

Aramus pulled up outside a small concrete building surrounded by parking lots and billboards. A peeling wooden sign identified it as "Murphy's Bar". Blinking
neon signs for brands of beer and ale filled the windows. Traffic rumbled along a nearby overpass and sighed into the distance.

"The MPD's favorite hangout," Aramus said as they stepped out of the car. "No counting the number of late nights me and Harry spent in here, celebrating or
commiserating about something."

Kent seemed distinctly uncomfortable as they entered. Aramus idly wondered how often in his life this reporter had entered a tavern, other than times when
he was investigating a story. His thoughts were confirmed as they sat down at the bar.

"Ginger ale, please," Kent said to the thick-necked bartender. He turned to Aramus with an embarrassed grin. "I don't often drink alcohol," he explained.

"Maybe you're right not to," Aramus said. "Brandy, straight."

Kent looked uncomfortable again.

"Detective Aramus, I sure don't mean to interfere, but your wife is waiting at home --"

"And?" Aramus asked, more belligerently than he had intended.

"I just thought Mrs. Aramus might be unhappy if you were to return in an inebriated condition."

"Unhappy?" Aramus repeated. "Let her be unhappy. A little emotional release might do her good right now."

He paused, and then added, "It sure would do wonders for me."

Their drinks arrived. Aramus threw his back and ordered another. He began sipping the second more slowly, looking reflectively around the room.

"So many times we came in here," he said. "Sometimes I'd get here first and wait for him. I would know it was him when the door opened – I'd catch a
glimpse of his hat in the mirror behind the bar, or I'd hear his footsteps."

"You recognized his footsteps?"

Aramus glared at Kent.

"You bet I recognized them, after all those times we went into bad situations together."

Kent nodded.

"And if we weren't here, we were at the station house working on a case. I'm pretty sure Harry saw more of me than my own wife did most weeks."

Aramus paused again.

"When you spend that much time with someone, you know them so well, you know how they think, how they react… I feel like I was hit by that train. How can it
end just like that? I keep thinking of things to say to him the next time I see him. And I know I'll never see him again. But I can't get my head around it."

The door of Murphy's opened. Aramus quickly looked around, almost as though frightened, and then turned back, angry with himself. He drained the rest of his
glass at a gulp.

"Another."

After a couple of swallows, he turned to Kent, who was still nursing his ginger ale. He had put his notepad away. Aramus felt a red haze materializing behind
his forehead.

"Why are you so interested in all this, anyway?" he asked. "You could be working on that City Council series my wife likes so much, talking to politicians
in fancy offices. Not sitting next to a cop getting drunk in a lousy part of town."

Kent's reply seemed to come from a slight distance, even though the reporter was still sitting right next to Aramus.

"Well, gosh, Detective," Kent said, "this is about the most important story I can think of. People need to know about the people who are willing to risk
their lives for the public safety."

He took a sip of ginger ale.

"I grew up in a little town in Kansas, a place called Smallville. I don't suppose you've ever heard of it, Detective Aramus?"

"No," the detective grunted.

"Well, back there, just about the biggest thing in town was our high school football team. I knew this guy called Brad, and he wasn't a particularly pleasant
person. But he was the best football player in town. Lots of guys looked up to him."

Kent pushed his glasses back again.

"One Thanksgiving, Brad scored the winning touchdown in the football game. Everyone said he was Smallville's hometown hero. People were slapping him on the
back all night. But what happened the next day?"

If Kent expected an answer, he wasn't getting one. Maybe it was a rhetorical question. He went on.

"We had an early frost that year, and a nine-year-old kid – one of the Lewis boys – tried to go skating on the pond. He fell through the ice. Two police
officers were driving by. One of them was named John Stevens. He tried to rescue the boy and fell in too. His partner pulled the kid out, but Officer
Stevens drowned."

"Damn," Aramus said.

"The whole town turned out for Officer Stevens' funeral. I saw Brad there. No one was calling him a hero that day. And my dad said, 'That's how a man should
be – always willing to help others, no matter what it takes.'"

It was a long moment before Aramus spoke again, now with some difficulty. He had a vague feeling that what he was saying did not follow logically from the
previous part of the conversation, but this no longer seemed important.

"One of the last things Harry said to me was, if we got Luthor, we'd both make Captain by midnight. Of course, he'd never have been promoted with his
fashion sense. Those stupid hats…"

Aramus slowly raised his head to look at Kent.

"I guess you know his hat was what I found when… when…"

Kent nodded.

"One of the last things I said to him – maybe the very last, I can't remember now – was to be careful. Be careful, Harry. He just shrugged it off. Why wasn't
I there? Why wasn't I there?"

And suddenly Aramus was crying. He could dimly see how uncomfortable Kent was, but he didn't care.

It was a vast relief, like finally throwing up after feeling like it for hours.

"You know something, Kent?" Aramus asked some time later. He could no longer quite see whether the reporter was even there. "If there was some way I could
bring Harry back to life, I would do it, even if God himself told me I shouldn't."

"I think I have some idea how you feel," Kent's voice said. It sounded very distant now.

"When I wash a kid – When I was a kid! I never wash kids if I can help it – I used to wonder: What would happen if someone turned the Earth back on its axis?"

He illustrated his words by spinning his glass, first one way and then the other. It glistened as though there was water in his eyes again. The glass was all
he could see now; it seemed to be at the end of a swirling tunnel of light.

"What would happen?" the distant voice asked. "I don't know. Wouldn't everyone fly off into space?"

"No, no, you don't get it! The Sun rises and sets because the Earth spins, right? That's how we tell what time it is – by the Sun."

There was silence. Perhaps the reporter didn't understand what he meant.

"So if someone spun the Earth backwards, dime – time would go backwards! Cars would drive in reverse, water would flow uphill, things that were broken would
repair themselves --"

He stopped, breathing heavily, blood roaring in his ears.

"And Harry would be alive again," the distant voice said. It was kind and gentle. Aramus wanted to tell Kent he didn't need his pity, but he could not form
the words.

"Would that work?" Kent asked after a pause. "I don't know if that would work. It might, though. But who could turn the world back?"

"I don't know," Aramus said through gritted teeth. It took all his effort to speak. "I would if I could. No matter what."

Suddenly Aramus' eyes were closed. He felt the wooden surface of the bar under his cheek. A puddle of brandy seemed to be located under his temple. He didn't
care.

Detective Aramus slept for ten hours. He would awaken in his own bed the next morning to the sound of his wife's soft sobs. The last thing he remembered that
night was someone lifting him up from the bar and helping him toward the door.

He could not see whether it was the reporter.

If it was, he was stronger than he looked.


Returning from that memory, Clark relaxed in his recliner, purging his mind of other preoccupations.

Later that evening, showered and dressed for bed, Clark stared at a small photograph he had placed next to a framed picture of his mother.

He looked at his glasses on the bedside table. While they both were in the elevator, once again being the only two inside, she had turned and
taken his hand to get his attention.

"You're a good man, Clark Kent." She had said, then stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. It was only moments later when the doors opened and she had made
her way out that Lois noticed that Clark was rooted to the spot.

"Are you coming?"

He had blushed again and made his way to his desk, but not without stealing another glance at her. She was full of surprises, it seemed. Something he needed
to understand better.

He propped the picture on the frame and turned out the light.

Even surrounded by darkness he could still see the two of them clearly.

His Earth mother and The love of his life.

"Goodnight." He whispered, then fell asleep.

[Helios]

CHAPTER SEVEN


Lois hated the quiet of an empty house.

She had done everything to break the silence before she had climbed into bed. She worked more on her column, grateful the outline was given to Perry on
time. She made some freshly squeezed orange juice.

The thought of her co-worker brought a small smile to her face as she turned in bed, trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in.

He was such a kind friend, and she wondered how she could have taken his friendship for granted for so many years. Always ready to listen, always ready to
give her the greater credit when he really deserved it, an honest worker and companion – that was the real Clark Kent. Why hadn't she seen before?

Her eyes closed. Even when doing something he wasn't accustomed to, like taking her hand at the restaurant to prove his point, he was the shy country boy
she knew well, but his character was clear.

Heck, now that she thought of it, he did pay for both of their meals.

When he held her hand… looking her straight in the eyes…

She had never noticed how blue his eyes were behind those glasses…



In his dream, Kal-El saw a young child.

One swaddled in red and blue cloth as he was carried through a smoky hall.

Explosions thundered outside.

Followed by distorted voices and terrifying noises.

The child was placed lovingly into a cradle-like capsule, inside of a crystal star shaped ship.

Around him, bright flashes of fire erupted as a crystal-glass canopy was gently lowered.

The image changed to that of Krypton against the blackness of space.

It was silent for a moment.

Then the planet erupted in fire and exploded in a hellish apocalypse.

A streak of white escaping from the dying planet marked the child's crystal ship.

It suddenly passed the Phantom Zone prism that imprisoned Zod, Ursa, and Non.

He could see and hear Zod and Ursa screaming to be released and calling Kal-El's ship to come back.

The ringing of the telephone blended with the roar of the dream.

Followed by an answering machine that clicked on and awakened Clark from REM sleep.

Judging by the voice on the tape, Clark was clearly uncomfortable when he recorded the message.

"Uh, Hi, this is Clark ... Kent," the recorded voice spoke. "Please leave a message at the beep."

After the machine beeped, the voice of Lois Lane came on line.

"Clark ... it's Lois," she said over the phone. "I hope you're up. Perry wants us in the office on time. Something big is going
on. . . Au Revoir."

Clark jumped up and reached for the phone.

"Hi, Lois," he began. "I'm up. Gee, I wonder what Perry's got in mind ..."

It took a moment for Clark to realise that he was talking to himself. Lois had clicked off and all that was left was the dial tone.

"Oh well," he sighed. "bye, Lois."

At his apartment's breakfast table, some minutes later, Clark rushed to pour a bowl of Wheaties, but realised too late the milk had turned sour.

In the living room, he heard the radio playing, and the local disk jockey speaking.

"So chin up, Metropolis!" announced the female disk jockey. "It's a typical Monday morning...!"

Leslie Willis was Metropolis' most controversial shock jock. No one was immune to her venomous words, not even Superman.

She took great joy in bashing him, and reportedly Lex Luthor enjoyed listening to her every morning.

Paying her no mind, he scrambled for his briefcase, grabbed his jacket, checked the time, and flew out the door.



****


Far above Metropolis, Brainiac entered the solar system.

From its database it knew that the third planet of the Sol system is inhabited by creatures that resemble Kryptonians.

Why would its creators come to such a primitive world? Brainiac's attention is caught by a strange mass that appears to have been made by Kryptonian
technology.

Brainiac altered its course and landed on the mass. It was composed of unremarkable elements say one, a green crystalline element identical to the
crystalline elements that appeared on Krypton after its destruction.

During the centuries among the ruins it had analysed the material and come to the conclusion it had been created by the heat and pressure of the supernova
that destoryed Krypton altering the structure of Kryptonian crystals. It had also analysed that the radiation the material emitted was deadly to Kryptonians.

Brainiac broke off a piece of its mass and reconstructed it into a form that resembled a Kryptonian.

It then proceeded to investigate the mass.

As Brainiac walked the crystalline element glows in responsed to its presence. Moving at speeds that matched what a Kryptonian could do under the influence
of a yellow star, Brainiac quickly searched the mass.

It found on the surface of the mass, lying there, several Kryptonian data crystals.

Brainiac picked them up and accessed them.

Brainiac quickly learned all about how Jor-El had sent his infant son Kal-El to this system to save him from Krypton's destruction.

The crystals showed that Kal-El was now fully grown and was now acting as some sort of saviour to these humans as they called themselves.

But the data that really interested Brainiac referred to General Zod.

He had escaped the Phantom Zone but had been defeated by Kal-El and stripped of the powers granted him by the yellow star.

Kal-El had then killed him, Ursa, and Non inside a structure created for him by Jor-El.

Brainiac then returned to its primary mass and re-merged with it.

Brainiac floated up from the mass and headed for the northern pole region of the third planet where it would find its master's killer and
would kill him.

[Helios]

CHAPTER EIGHT


Lois got out of the elevator for her work the next day. On her desk she found coffee and a croissant with a note from Clark. She smiled. She missed her
friend even if she never admitted it. She took a sip of the coffee. Good God is that good. After Clark had left for the day, she had searched every coffee
house in Metropolis trying to find where he use to get her coffee.

She never could find it.

The same could be said of the croissant.

Outside France she had never tasted a better croissant except the ones Clark brought her.

Why hadn't she asked him about where he got these before he left?

Because Lane you're a terrible fiend who never paid attention to him, a voice in her head pointed out. She tells the voice in her head to shut up and tries
to get to work.

She looked up at the TV screen when there was another mention of Superman.

The elevator opened and she saw Clark. Right time to be nice to him. As she tried to stand she got dizzy suddenly.

Then she was no longer in the Daily Planet.

She was in a hotel room she thought.

Suddenly she was back sitting at her desk. What the hell was that?

"Morning, Lois." Its Clark saying hi. He is looking at her concerned.

"Oh hi, Clark." Lois replied trying to regain her focus.

"Are you alright?" he asked still very concerned.

"I'm fine, Clark." Lois lied. She was far from fine. That didn't feel like a dream.

"Morning Miss Lane." Its Jimmy is his usual cheerful mood that she is in no mood herself to endure at this precise moment.

"Morning Jimmy" Lois replies politely. She really needs to talk to someone and since Jimmy is here... "Jimmy have you ever had a dream you could swear was
real?" she asks him.

Jimmy looks at her confused but does his best to answer. "Yes, no, not really. Are you ok?"

"I suppose so but I had a dream where I shot Clark and I could swear to God I had really done it." Lois says while biting her thumb nail in frustration.

"Well obviously you didn't Miss Lane. After all Mr Kent isn't Superman you know." Jimmy replied with a slight chuckle.

'Mr Kent isn't Superman.' The words echo in her mind.

Then she was back in the hotel room.

Only she had not shot any blanks at Clark to prove he was Superman.

She had jumped into the river at Niagra Falls and was later rescued by Clark and a floating tree branch.


Boy I sure must have looked like an idiot," Lois complained, "Jumping into the river waiting for Mr. Wonderful. Who obviously had better things to do."

Pacing the room, Clark uncomfortably pushed his glasses up with his index finger and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Oh, well, I'm sure it must have been
something…um…very important, Lois," he stammered, trying his best to make her feel better.

It didn't work. In fact, she continued as if she hadn't even heard him. "And thinking that you were…Ugh! If Perry White could see me now! Where's my comb?"
she grumped, in a tone that said things-can't-get-any-worse-than-this. She began lifting objects, looking under her robe, but found nothing. "God, not only
have I lost my mind, I've lost my comb."

Clark hid the smile that played on his lips by turning his back. She was so adorable when she was frustrated. It had been a close call, closer than he really
wanted to admit, when Lois had declared she knew his true identity and jumped into the Niagara Falls River to try and prove it. But he had played it off well
and now Lois was grumbling about how frustrated and embarrassed she was.

Lois continued looking about the fireplace for her comb. When she couldn't find it, she craned her neck to see what was on the vanity across the room.

"Clark," she said, pointing to the ugly pink and white piece of furniture. "Can you pass me that brush over there, please?"

"Oh sure," he stammered, pushing his glasses up with his index finger again. He retrieved the brush and crossed the distance between them.

As Clark, he was used to dragging his feet, so when his right foot caught the mouth of the bearskin rug, he followed through with the fall. Better to let
Lois see him as a klutz, especially now.

Only, he underestimated the distance and the direction of his fall.

It was a careless mistake.

Unable to stop himself, Clark fell forward, dropping not only Lois's brush, but also his glasses as inevitably, his left hand plunged deep into the flame,
knocking blazing timbers aside and sending a puff of ash into the air.

Lois jumped to her feet to catch him but it was too late. He groped blindly in the flame for his glasses, hoping desperately that she hadn't seen him drop
them and tried to turn so that she couldn't see his face.

Stupid! he thought, angrily. Clumsy!

Before she could react, he jerked his hand out of the fire, fumbling to get his glasses back on before she had the chance to see his face and shoving his
hand into his jacket.

"Clark, let me see it!" she cried, dropping to her knees next to him, frightened that this time he may have done some very real damage to his hand.

Clark was always clumsy, but he usually never hurt anyone, or himself.

"No, no!" he insisted, frantically trying to hide his hand. If she sees my hand there'll be no turning back. If he could just get out of the room and find
something to wrap it with…

"Clark, let me see your hand!" Lois cried, adamant in her concern for him.

She tugged at the hand in his jacket. No turning back…

"It's-it's okay," he cried desperately.

Lois wouldn't take no for an answer. "Let me look at it!" she persisted.

No turning back…

…Another tug…

…and finally Clark released his hand to her.

She froze. Her breath left her.

His hand was unscathed, not a single mark brandishing his perfect skin. She touched his palm. Flipping his hand over, she ran her fingers across his
knuckles.

Nothing.

But he fell…into the fire…

…She saw his hand in the fire…

She looked up and saw Clark gazing down at her, holding his breath, an expression on his face like that of a child caught in the act of wrongdoing.

And then it was clear. Clear as her love for him.

"You are Superman," she breathed.

Clark winced as if waking from a dream and stammered, "Oh Lois, come on. Don't be silly…"

But he never finished.

Their eyes met.

She knew.

He couldn't hide it any more. And he couldn't lie to her.

Forcing his eyes away from hers, he struck the stair with the bottom of his fist in a frustrated gesture and pushed himself to his feet.

Had he wanted to, he could have broken the stair.

At the moment, he wondered why he hadn't. He was angry at himself; angry at his carelessness.

He moved away from her, needing to put some distance between them.

Her eyes bored into him; even with his back turned he could feel them. Those eyes wanted answers. Needed them.

Deserved them.

Was he prepared to give them?

He kept his back to her and didn't turn around for a long time.

For once in her life, Lois Lane was speechless. It was him. It was really him. She wasn't dreaming. This was real and he was standing before her,
in the very same room.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he turned to face her.

The man that stood before her wasn't Clark…couldn't have been Clark. But yet, it was. She saw it very clearly now. His build, his height, it was all so
familiar.

As Clark, slouching had somewhat hidden his real height, shortening him by several inches. He had drawn himself to his full height and now stood before her
with a confidence in his stance that she had never seen before…

…in Clark, at least.

His broad shoulders suddenly look so confined as he squared them beneath his cashmere sweater. She had often wondered what Superman looked like in regular
clothes.

Reluctantly, he removed his glasses.

Lois forgot to breath.

Piercing blue eyes stared back at her, their brilliance no longer dulled by the thickness of the spectacles.

It was such a bizarre sight for her. Here was Superman's head atop Clark Kent's body, and the two could not possibly go together. And yet…

…and yet…

Clark and Superman were the same person. The bumbling, the stuttering, the klutziness – it had all been a façade, a mask to hide his true identity from the
world. And nobody had recognized it.

But Lois had.

Folding his glasses, Clark drew in a heavy breath.

If he had looked as if he'd literally been carrying the weight of the world upon his shoulders earlier, trying to conceal his identity from her, he looked
even more so now. She hadn't hurt him, had she? She'd never forgive herself if she'd hurt him.

Better for her to die now and take his secret with her to the grave than to live with the knowledge of knowing she'd hurt him.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, and she meant it.

Clark…Superman…grimaced. "No, you don't have anything to be sorry about," he said, using his real voice. He had long since learned to raise the timbre of his
voice so that Clark spoke at least an octave higher than his alter ego, but there was no use trying to disguise it from her now.

"I don't know why I did that."

He looked down at the glasses in his hands. Clark's glasses. And something passed over his eyes. In those enigmatic blue orbs she thought she had glimpsed
years of loneliness, longing.

"Maybe you wanted to," she replied, perhaps a bit more hopeful than she intended.

"I don't think I did," he responded, not completely understanding her reason.

"Well," she continued, locking eyes with him, "maybe you didn't want to with your mind…but…maybe you wanted to…with your heart."

It seemed to Lois as if he wanted to look away. But he didn't. Instead, he studied her eyes as she studied his.

"We'd better talk," he said, heavily.

"I'm in love with you," she suddenly said, the words spilling out before she was even aware of it.

Clark gave a start. He hadn't expected her to say that. Yes, he'd always known that Lois was smitten with Superman, but she'd never given Clark the time of
day. Now she knew, who he truly was, and she still loved him. He was honored by the thought, and touched. And afraid.

And yet, it was almost a relief, to now know that she loved him as much as he had always loved her.

He smiled, overwhelmed, and said, "Then we really better talk."

His smile was real and genuine and warm. She felt the tension in the room lighten and found herself pushing forward. "I'm listening."

Clark turned, pacing across the floor.

It felt strange for Lois to be speaking to him like this, and he to her, of such a deeply guarded matter.

But he couldn't help himself. He wanted to talk with her more; he wanted to tell her everything.

It felt oddly right somehow, although he couldn't have begun to understand why.

"We can't talk here," His mind whirled and he almost forgot to finish his sentence. "Perry's going to be calling about six to see what's happening."

"What's happening? That's the understatement of the year," Lois remarked, dryly. Clark stifled a laugh. "So…where do you want to…talk?"

The smile on Clark's face broadened. "Lois," he said, "Now that you know, I think you should know it all."

Am I really hearing this?? Does this mean he loves me too? Say something, Lois, you're staring!

"I want to," was all she could think of, her mind whirling as she tried to sort out Clark's thoughts, and his motivations. He had surprised her with every
word, considering that he was Superman; and yet, given the fire that she clearly saw burning behind those blue eyes, he had not surprised her. Something
was brewing there, behind those simmering eyes, and she couldn't wait to find out what.

"Let's go to my place," he said.

Lois looked down, suddenly aware that she was clad in little more than a bathrobe, barely concealing the sumptuous line of her cleavage.

She chided herself, knowing it had been wicked of her to prance around their shared hotel room in front of "Clark" in naught but a bathrobe.

But she couldn't help but be pleased though, that it hadn't been just "Clark" to see her that way. "Maybe I should change first."

He nodded and strode forward, extending a hand to help her to her feet. She took it without hesitation, surprised at the strength in his grasp.

"Maybe you should, too," she said, a mischievous grin sliding across her face as she looked down at his sweater and slacks.

Clark, not understanding at first, looked down as well before realizing what she had meant, and couldn't help but return her smile.

This was Lois Lane, the woman he had loved since the first day he set eyes on her at the Daily Planet.

And now he knew she loved him in return.


Oh dear God. Clark is Superman. She remembered. Other images flooded her mind. They were on assignment in Niagara Falls. She had removed his glasses to clean
them and that's when she noticed Clark's blue eyes that were so like Superman's.

Next a child fell into the falls and Superman had appeared to save the child but Clark had disappeared as usual.

She snapped back to the news room. She needed air. She got up and walked quickly to the elevator.

"Are you okay, Lois?"

It's Clark. She ignored him.

Once in the elevator more images came.

They flew north to his Fortress of Solitude, that's what he had called it. He explained everything to her, growing up in Kansas, the green crystal calling
him and building this place. They had had dinner followed by their time together in that bed.

The elevator doors opened.

Lois almost stumbled out.

The images, no the memories kept coming.

Jor-El telling him he had to live as a mortal. Superman in the chamber having his powers removed. He had forsaken them for her. Next they were in a diner,
he had been beaten. They watched the news as Zod declared himself world ruler. He had gone back and somehow he got his powers restored. Zod had taken her
as a pawn to use against him but he tricked them, removed their powers and defeated them.

"Lois?" Clark has appeared behind her.

Lois was reeling from the onslaught of memories. They're now back in the Daily Planet. She was crying. She tells him how she is jealous of the whole world,
not wanting to share him. He then kisses her and she can feel him in her mind clouding the memories.

How could he do that to her? He had no right!

She felt a hand on her shoulder. Lois spun around and slapped Clark across the cheek.

He put his hand there and feigned pain. Oh good grief.

"Don't even pretend that hurt..." She grabbed his glasses off his face. "SUPERMAN!"

Clark as he often did had been watching Lois since he got back from another Superman job.

The look on her face had worried him.

It was like she was struggling with some inner torment.

She had got up, totally ignoring him and gone to the roof.

For a second he considered going as Superman but couldn't think of a reason why Superman would be there so he went up as Clark.

He found Lois staring into space. When he spoke she either didn't hear or ignored him.

He walked up to her and touched her shoulder. She spun round and slapped him. He feigned pain but was shocked when she reached up and grabbed his glasses
telling Superman, telling him to stop pretending. What the hell was he going to do now?

Lois spoke "How could you?".

"How could I what?" Clark genuinely had no idea.

"My memories, how could you take my memories?" Lois was steaming now.

Oh crap. Clark had dreaded this day. It was a stupid, stupid thing to do but he couldn't stand seeing her in pain. "You were in pain Lois, you have no idea
what that does to me".

"So you decided by yourself to ease my pain by stealing my memories. Who made you God?" Lois really wanted to hit him but that would only lead to her
breaking her hand.

"Lois, you don't understand." Clark tried to explain but Lois cut him off.

"No I don't and frankly..."

Suddenly a large explosion was heard. Clark went to leave but stopped and looked at Lois.

"Just go," She said rather wearily.

Clark superspun on the spot disappearing into a blur and reappearing wearing the red and blue suit.

He gave a small smile and flew off.

Lois stood in awe for a moment. She had never seen him do that before.

Back up at Niagara he had changed while she was in the bedroom doing the same.

She was still mad at him but at least lots of things made sense now. Clark's odd disappearances.

She was galactically stupid, she had to be. They really needed to talk, hopefully without interruptions, about their relationship. What kind of relationship
could they have.

Lois decided to go back to work. She summoned the elevator, got in and pressed the button for the correct floor.



After she was out of sight Brainiac emerged from hiding.

It had imitated the outside wall of the elevator shaft.

It took a human form.

It had overheard the conversation with great interest.

It hadn't been hard to find Kal-El. His uniquely dense molecular structure was easy to detect.

The fact Kal-El had a woman gave it leverage to manipulate Kal-El into following its agenda. It shared this information with the other version of itself
that was in the Fortress. The other version equally shared the information that it had been successful in replacing the crystals and restoring the Fortress
to working order. Brainiac needed as much information as possible about Kal-El's woman, the Earth mother and any other relevant information.

Brainiac altered its clothing to make it look like a cleaner and then summoned the elevator.