Last Son of Krypton (9 page)

Superboy plopped out of the sky into the lake and threw the pair out as quickly as they fell in. They tried to gun the boy down and he giggled as the bullets bounced harmlessly off his chest. The criminals surrendered in shock and the police were amazed. The patrolmen on the scene took Superboy to Police Chief Parker.

George Parker thought it was a matter for the Mayor's attention. The Mayor thought the Governor should know. The Governor, naturally, used the alien teenager as an excuse to call the President. The President, who was very graceful in strange and bizarre circumstances, promptly invited Superboy to spend the next weekend at the White House.

The last son of Krypton was an instant star. Martha Kent's Horatio Alger books finally seemed to make a little sense.

Smallville was changed but not cowed; the world was cowed. Clark continued to be the timid, studious, dutiful boy helping Pa Kent in the store. Wordly Lana, the girl next door, presumed to develop a crush on the "Boy of Steel," as the out-of-town newspapers called him. Smallville even developed a brief tourist trade, encouraged by a billboard on the water tower and on the entrance roads to the town. It said, "Welcome to Smallville—Home of Superboy."

The Kents were well past child-rearing age when they found that rocket ship near the old farm. On a vacation they both contracted a rare virus over which even their son had no power. They died within a week of each other, Martha Kent first. Jonathan Kent, on the last day of his life and without his wife for the first time in twoscore years, asked his son to stand next to his bed.

Superboy long ago had learned the story of his origin. His power of total recall accounted for most of the story. He was able to fill in most of the blanks by flying at many times the speed of light through space and overtaking the light rays that left Krypton the day it exploded. In this way he actually saw the drama of his infancy reenacted. He knew that he was Kal-El of Krypton, the son of Jor-El, and possibly the finest specimen of humanity in the galaxy. He had broken the time barrier, he could speak every known language on Earth, living and dead. He had been born among the stars and could live among them now if he so chose. He had more knowledge in his mind and more diverse experience to his credit than any Earthman alive could ever aspire to.

Yet he stood at the deathbed of this elderly, generous man whose last Earthly concern was his adopted son's happiness. Superboy listened, because he believed Jonathan Kent to be wiser than he.

Enough of this clowning around in the circus costume, Jonathan Kent told his son. A man is someone who assumes responsibility. To help people in need is right. To grab at every short-lived wisp of glory that tumbles by is wrong.

"No man on Earth has the amazing powers you have," Jonathan Kent told the mightiest creature on the planet. "You can use them to become a powerful force for good.

"There are evil men in this world, criminals and outlaws who prey on decent folk. You must fight them in cooperation with the law.

"To fight those criminals best you must hide your true identity. They must never know that Clark Kent is a superman. Remember, because that's what you are, a superman."

And the old man died.

The sale of the business left Clark Kent with enough money to study journalism at Metropolis University, and to pay the taxes on the house in Smallville. Superman could not bear to sell it, so he boarded it up.

People would still call him Superboy for a while. Gradually, though, they would realize that he no longer scooted across the sky giggling as he flew into a hail of bullets. He no longer thought battles of wits with criminals were a fun way to spend the afternoon. Superboy would not be back.

Jimmy Olsen's face on the monitor was fading into the three useable seconds of Superman in action that had been shot through the newsroom window. Clark narrated that, with most of his words heard over the frozen final frame—a remarkable shot of the Man of Steel rolling three unconscious criminals out of his cape to the ground like a sack of rotted pears.

"At the very moment Luthor was pulling off his spectacular robbery, the only person who has ever been consistently capable of thwarting the criminal's plans—Superman—was here. Right outside the Galaxy Building here in Governor's Plaza in Metropolis, stopping what looked to be an attempted multiple bank robbery by twelve men piloting twelve glider-style air vehicles equipped with devices capable of crumbling a vault with sound waves. The robbery attempt bore the unmistakable signature of Luthor himself, and although Superman managed to incapacitate all twelve pilots in ten seconds flat, he was effectively distracted enough so that he could not possibly have gotten wind of the real caper taking place sixty miles away."

Urbane Clark.

Unemotional Clark.

Bland Clark.

He felt like an idiot.

"Jimmy Olsen's next, live from Princeton as Superman tries to pick up Luthor's scent. Also: a little girl noses her way across Long Island Sound, candidates of the Hamiltonian Party sniff the political air, and Mayor Harkness smells a rat in the city budget. After this message."

Puerile writing. Maybe Clark should drop-kick the building into a lunar crater. It was kind of a secret thrill for Clark to watch Superman on the air reenacting the day's triumphs. Having to sit through failures a second time, though, wasn't fun. There was another of those failures coming up.

Coyle the director was in the control booth. "You think we can get it right this time, Clark? We're back on the air in four seconds . . . three . . . two . . . one . . ."

"Less than half an hour after Luthor vanished from the scene, Superman showed up in Princeton. Jimmy Olsen filed this exclusive taped interview."

It was a credit to Clark's acting ability that his face could be replaced on the screen by that of Superman, looking intently at Jimmy Olsen's microphone.

"Superman," Jimmy said on tape, "would you explain to our viewers exactly what it was we just saw you do here?"

"Certainly, Jimmy." That rich voice rippling power and grace filled a million living rooms. "What I was trying to do was reveal a trail of ionized molecules that Luthor's jet boot mechanism should have left behind in the air."

At this point Superman and Jimmy's voices were broadcast over the scene Superman was describing, which apparently took place several minutes earlier. Superman was flying to the scene, arriving, motioning everyone in the area outside the Institute building to back away.

"As I arrived and I was backing everyone off the lawn, the reporters and the University people, I was scanning your videotape recorder's imprints to see exactly what happened—where Luthor had been and what he had done. Next I flew off to the nearest large body of water, Carnegie Lake."

On screen, Superman was flying off and almost immediately a long blue cone of swirling liquid appeared over the trees in the direction he'd flown. The cone was half a mile long and followed in the wake of a spinning red-and-blue streak.

"I flew in circles over the lake at super speed to draw up a waterspout and I created artificial air currents around it like a sack so it would follow me through the sky to the Institute here."

The spout was a few hundred feet in the air, directly over the Institute lawn as Superman broke away from it and raced the water to the ground. The tape slowed so viewers could barely catch the sight of the Kryptonian crouching with his back to the camera blowing a massive gust of air from his mouth, creating an updraft as a three-second deluge hit the immediate area.

"The momentary downpour I created," Superman narrated as a swamp clapped the greensward, "was for the purpose of duplicating conditions of a thunderstorm. You may have noticed that I blew upward into the rain as it fell. This is the sort of disturbance that causes electrical charges to clump up in clouds and make lightning bolts."

"You wanted to make artificial lightning where Luthor was? Why?"

"His jet boots had to have jangled up the air he flew through at least as much as stratospheric winds. This whole area should be loaded with ionic particles of nitrogen."

Darkness and gushes of wet heaves filled the screen, and through it could be seen flashes of sunlight, but no lightning, not even a spark.

"How would that tell you where Luthor went?"

"Well, Jimmy, my theory was that however Luthor escaped, whether invisibly or at super speed, he must have left a trail of ionic particles pointing in his direction. My artificial cloudburst would cause flashes of lightning to point out Luthor's escape route like a beacon."

The fall of water on the tape ended, leaving Superman, soaking wet, standing imposingly against the dew-drenched lawn and the sun. The picture flashed back to Jimmy and Superman speaking minutes later.

"Well, I didn't see any lightning, Superman. Did you?"

"No, actually."

"What are you going to do now?"

"Find Luthor and the Einstein papers."

"But Superman, nobody's been able to turn him up since he escaped. He pulled off this incredible camouflage to keep you away so he could steal this big scientific secret; he figured out some way to get maximum publicity and still cover his tracks completely. You have absolutely nothing to go on, you don't even know what was in the notebook he stole. You're back to where you were when you were just waiting around for him to make the first move. What makes you so sure that you'll be able to find him and bring him to justice now?"

Superman smiled that smile that took over the screen. Redford had a smile like that, so had Eisenhower, but Clark Kent didn't."Force of habit," the smile said.

The Zephyrmore Building was rented and maintained by the Coram Management Company, who were retained by Zephyrmore Properties, Inc. Zephyrmore kept the building on a 99-year lease from Barryville Tool and Die Industries, which was a dummy holding company owned by Thunder Corporation. The Chairman of the Board and principle stockholder of Thunder Corporation was a publicity-grabbing, billionaire playboy named Lucius D. Tommytown who did not really exist, never did exist, but was the creation and puppet of Lex Luthor.

Luthor occasionally hired an actor or a disguise artist to portray Tommytown in any of a number of settings: slipping away from an exclusive party, strolling through a European casino tossing hundred-dollar bills at attractive women at the tables, bathing unclothed in a fountain or a public aquarium or a champagne keg. More often, Luthor would spend free moments in jail writing fanciful reports about Tommytown's activities and having them sent to a magazine under the name Brian Wallingford, a well-known freelance reporter also born of Luthor's brow. After each sensational Wallingford story on Tommytown the momentum of the publicity would build and apocryphal sightings and antics of the billionaire would crop up in media all over the world.

Some others of Luthor's made-up people included Chester Horowitz, a prolific inventor; Frank Jones, a habitual contributor to political campaigns; and Faraday Watt, the name on Luthor's United States passport. Luthor owned and operated these imaginary people. He also owned and operated a number of real people, including those in his headquarters in the penthouse of the Zephyrmore Building, as well as the driver of the car in which he was now watching the
WGBS Evening News
.
 

"...and a spokesman for the FBI says the bureau expects Luthor's arrest within the next twenty-four hours." Luthor switched off Clark Kent and pushed the stand holding his five-inch television under the dashboard as the car rolled into the building's underground garage.

"Switch on the private radio band, MacDuff."

"Yes, Mr. Luthor." MacDuff's real name was Matthew Jahrsdoerfer, but no one noticed.

"Hello, penthouse?"

"Receiving," said the female voice from the speaker under the dashboard, "clear as a dinner bell."

"This is Poppa Bear," said Luthor. "Care to answer me one question?"

"Shoot, Poppa Bear."

"Why is the scrambler turned off? You want a police raid up there?"

"Sorry." There was a click over the speaker, followed by storms of static that continued as they talked.

"Every law office in the world has my voice print on file. Don't trip up like that again."

"What?"

"I said that if you want to ruin a good thing, just keep making mistakes like that."

Just static from the other end this time.

"What'd you say?" Luthor asked.

Something about congratulations.

"The car's on the way up the winch."

"What?"

The car, with two honks in the underground garage, opened a wall into a ten-by-ten-foot platform under an open shaft that reached to the roof of the building. The car was on the platform and it was rising.

"Have a hacksaw and a small soldering gun ready when I get up there," Luthor said in the rising car.

"What?"

"A hacksaw."

"Lockjaw?"

"And a soldering iron, dammit!"

Static. As the platform stabilized at the penthouse level.

"Listen. Can't you people understand simple English?"

"Did you want something, Poppa Bear?"

Luthor placed the palm and five fingers of his right hand over a panel next to the door which, in response, swung open. He carried the leaden case from the vault into the apartment with him.

"A hacksaw and a soldering iron, you turds. Turn that radio off, the noise makes me feel like I fell asleep in front of the tube waiting for
Sermonette
."
 

The boss steamrolled into his throne room. The straw-haired woman in her thirties at a desk in a corner put down her shortwave microphone and swung her chair around to face him. Three bright young men in lab smocks stopped conferring over some point on a computer print-out. A middle-aged man at a switchboard cleared all his lines and looked anticipatorily at the entrance. A large high-browed, flat-nosed man and a stunning Vietnamese teenage girl emerged in karate gear from an adjoining mat-lined room to stand and watch. A young red-bearded character looked up from a microscope and removed his glasses. A tall, thin, dark-haired girl in her twenties who was repairing the mechanism of an electronic boom chair in the center of the room froze, looked up, riffled through her box of tools, and scurried up to the imposing figure at the door with a hacksaw and a small soldering gun.