Stronger Than Me Alone
                        by Phil Atcliffe
                      Edited by Kathy Brown

PREVIOUSLY ON "LOIS & CLARK, SEASON 6":

"What it comes down to is that there is no doubt now that there
never *was* a clone. Luthor's story of being kidnapped and
replaced by his own clone not long after he proposed to you, and
being imprisoned for almost three years, is just that -- a story.

"The Lex Luthor living in the LexCorp Building penthouse is the
same man who was there five years ago, and who tried to kill me
and marry you, who committed suicide by jumping off that
building, who was resurrected by Gretchen Kelly, who went to
prison, who kidnapped you from our first wedding... and who knows
that I'm Superman."

                    *         *         *

"Several LexCorp subsidiaries have been undertaking extremely
large transactions on exchanges all over the world, and, without
exception, these transactions have resulted in heavy losses --
*very* heavy losses!"

"How heavy?"

There was a pause, which stretched on and on. Finally, Van Allen,
who had been silent ever since entering the office, could bear
it no longer. "Sir, the accumulated debts total... total...."

The banker seemed unable to get the words out, until Luthor
glared at him. "...over *ten billion dollars!* Sir, LexCorp is
*bankrupt!*"

                    *         *         *

'A-*ha*! Just as I thought!' He was right; the Gotham City
account was a decoy, intended to mislead anyone trying to trace
the intrusion into the LIB system.

The next step was to examine the records of the bogus account
while they were still there. A quick command brought up a
screenful of information as to what the account "owner" had been
doing with it while it was in existence. The list of activities
was surprisingly short: it seemed that the account had been
created for the sole purpose of receiving an e-mail message and
forwarding it on; once that had been accomplished, the account
shut itself down, with no permanent records to show that it had
ever existed.

It was the work of but a few seconds to find where the file had
been sent from, to uncover the next link in this chain of deceit;
Luthor sat back with a small smile of satisfaction as the origin
of the incoming message was revealed as....

...*daily-planet.metropolis.com?!?*

'Oh, my God....

'KENT!'

This changed everything. If Kent had abandoned his senseless
insistence on staying within the law, then their conflict had
moved to a much higher level. 

This was no game, not now -- this was *war!*

                    *         *         *

Alex stared disbelievingly as the paramedics packed up their
equipment and the ambulance drove off -- slowly, almost sedately;
there was no reason to hurry, was there? For the second time in
as many minutes, Alex didn't know what to do, so he did nothing;
all he could think was, 'First Chris, now Nicky....'

*Luthor!* This was all *his* fault! It was Luthor's thug who'd
killed Chris; it was Luthor who sent the same hoodlum after Nick,
Luthor who drove the brothers into hiding; Nick wouldn't have
even *been* here to be killed if he hadn't been trying to help
Luthor's wife! Help her to escape from her murdering swine of a
husband!

*Now* he knew what to do. Alex felt his entire being fill with
cold rage and a terrible sense of purpose. He moved over into the
driver's seat and started the car, driving off towards the
airport, where he would change his ticket for Zurich to one for
a flight to Metropolis.

                    *         *         *

Clark was in the middle of editing a short history of LexCorp --
a side-bar for Donna's story on world-wide market reaction to the
evening edition's revelations -- when he heard the sirens. A
quick x-ray look revealed that a familiar-looking abandoned
warehouse was on fire, and was well and truly ablaze.

                    *         *         *

"Lane, it's Henderson. This is it. STAR Labs came through for us,
and I've got the warrants. If you and Kent want your exclusive,
meet me you-know-where in an hour. And if either of you can get
in touch with the Big Guy, he'd be more than welcome. I gotta go
and get this clambake organised. One hour, right?"

                    *         *         *

Luthor held his finger over the firing button of the weapon and
savoured his forthcoming triumph. He took one last look through
the target acquisition system at the large windows that let
light, air and, on occasions, Superman into the newsroom.

'Farewell, Daily Planet. Perhaps your successors -- if any --
will learn not to challenge the *true* power in this city.'

He fired.

AND NOW, THE CONCLUSION:

Jimmy Olsen had emerged after a couple of hours in the darkroom,
and was now in the conference room, reading Usenet under the
guise of doing some research for Donna McIntyre, the financial
reporter. He was actually working, although it might not have
looked or sounded like it from the way he kept guffawing. He'd
been checking out Internet reaction to LexCorp's financial
troubles when he spotted a new newsgroup, one of those odd groups
that sprung up whenever someone had an axe to grind or wanted to
rave about something or somebody. Half the fun of these groups
was the silly names that they were given, and this one was a
classic, to Jimmy's delight; he sort of collected them, and
"alt.bankrupt.lexcorp.flat.broke.busted" was a worthy companion
to others that he had run across such as
"alt.barney.die.you.monstrosity" and "alt.jadzia-dax.gorgeous.
slug.babe".

The people posting to this group were just what Donna wanted to
represent the more extreme end of the opinion spectrum, and so
Jimmy was having a great time reading their messages. He was
going through some of the responses to one post that expounded
the theory that LexCorp's impending collapse was inevitable if
one considered Marxist-Leninist historical inevitability, and
therefore, the revolution was just around the corner. Some of the
messages replying to this tract were short, simple and at times
abusive; others were considerably longer and tried to debate the
original poster's assertions in the light of other socio-economic
models. It was fairly heavy stuff, and it took a significant
amount of concentration to try to follow the arguments, which was
why he didn't hear the door open quietly, and why the first
indication that he had company was when a pair of hands covered
his eyes and a voice softly cooed, "Guess who?"

The answer to that was easy; he recognised his girlfriend Penny's
voice. He gently pried her hands from his eyes and brought them
down to kiss lightly. "Hi," he said in a happy voice. "You're
early...."

"Just a little," Penny replied, smiling down at him. "There's
nothing happening at work, so I took off. Actually, I got here
a little while ago, and I've been helping Mrs White. Do you know
where Clark Kent is?"

Jimmy noticed Alice perching on the opposite edge of the big
meeting table and greeted her, then turned his attention back to
Penny. "CK? No, I haven't seen him for... about an hour. He's
probably off on a story. Why?"

"Oh, Mrs White and I were going to bring you guys some lunch, so
you'd have more time to eat, and Lois says that Clark knows a lot
of really good take-out places... but we can't ask him if he's
not here, so what would you like for lunch?"

Jimmy thought about that for a moment or two....

...and then, all hell broke loose.

The main windows went first, shattering into millions of pieces.
The panes were made of safety glass -- had been ever since the
bombing five years ago -- so the pieces were not deadly, but the
force of the explosion that shattered them was enough to propel
them across the newsroom like glittering buckshot. Men and women
who had been near the windows were unconscious or worse, others
bleeding and crying; those further inside were partially shielded
from the window glass, but they too were sent flying by the force
of the blast -- and the second one which followed as Luthor's
invisible beam struck furniture in the centre of the newsroom.

Pandemonium reigned. The desks hit by the beam had shattered,
sending vicious splinters flying everywhere. The computers on
those desks had exploded, adding glass, hot metal and molten
plastic to the shrapnel. Several desks, chair and cabinets near
the central area of destruction were on fire. No-one was on their
feet; the lucky ones had ducked or been fortunate enough to
merely be knocked down, and escaped with a few bruises; the rest
-- most of the staff -- were hurt, and their screams and cries
mingled with the roar of the fire, the hiss and crackle of the
destroyed or damaged electrical equipment, the sound of the
sprinkler system coming on and the clamour of the fire alarm to
form a truly hellish cacophony.

Inside the conference room, Jimmy had seen the main windows go
and instinctively yanked Penny off her feet, yelling "Get down!"
and rolling off his chair to cover her. He was barely in time,
for the first shock wave had rattled the conference room windows,
and the second one shattered them completely. These windows were
*not* safety glass, and they broke into flying razor-edged shards
that cut a lethal swathe across the room.

The glass and the blast that followed it missed Jimmy and Penny,
who were sheltered by the desk at which he had been sitting. The
shock wave knocked the computer off the desk, but they barely
noticed; the tower unit was left hanging at the end of its
network cable, bumping into Jimmy's leg, but not with any force,
and the screen didn't break, so the computer's fall made more
noise than anything else.

They got to their feet slowly, dumbfounded by the sudden
transformation of the newsroom into a battle zone. If it came to
that, their own surroundings weren't much better; the big
conference table had overturned and all the other furniture was
scattered about the room in varying degrees of dismemberment.
They stared at the chaos outside and inside for a few moments and
then, almost simultaneously, remembered Alice. They cast worried
glances around the room, but couldn't see her anywhere at first;
then, to their great relief, Penny spotted a leg behind the
overturned table. Alice had thrown herself to the floor at
Jimmy's cry, so that most of the glass had missed her, but then
the table had flipped over and she was pinned under it; she
wasn't in any great pain, although she did have a few cuts on the
one leg that was exposed.

Jimmy got as good a grip as he could on the table and threw his
weight against it. It was too heavy to right, but he managed to
lift it off Alice long enough for her to move out from under it
with some help from Penny. Once she was free, he let it go again
and it crashed back onto the flattened chairs and the wall. Penny
helped Alice to her feet, and then bent down to check the bleeding
on her leg.

Alice swayed a little until Jimmy came over to support her. She
leaned on him slightly and murmured, "Thank you, Jimmy... for the
warning *and* the help."

"Hey, no problem," he replied. "You were lucky not to get hurt
more; you must have ducked behind the table pretty quickly. Good
reflexes for...." He shut up, realising that what he was about
to say might not be very tactful.

Not that Alice minded. "For someone my age?" she quipped, knowing
quite well that the answer was yes. "You don't get to *be* my age
without developing them -- not in the news business, you don't.
The stories I could tell you..." she laughed, her voice wavering a
little. "That's what I get for marrying Perry White...."

'Yep, that's what I get,' she thought. 'That and all those
stories, and a whole lot more. And just what do you think of
that, Alice?'

She had no time to answer that question, because their present
situation intruded -- that is, a nearby door crashed open and a
familiar voice boomed out.

"Judas Priest! What hit us?" Perry bellowed. Not really expecting
an answer, he cast his eyes around the newsroom, seeking order
in the chaos; what he saw was a mess of broken glass, smashed
furniture and equipment, fire, smoke, water and sparks, with
dazed, hurt people -- *his* people -- in the middle of it. He was
about to charge out and help when he noticed the floor was wet...
and he went cold as he thought of another possible danger.

"Turn the power off before somebody gets electrocuted!"

To Jimmy, this was a call to arms; not that he needed one, but
things were bound to work out if the Chief was on top of the
situation. "I'm on it, Chief!" he yelled, dashing out of the
conference room and over to the far corner of the newsroom, where
the fuse box for the floor was. He'd guessed what Perry was
worried about, but he was sure that where he needed to go was
safe, because there were people lying around and they weren't
being shocked -- yet.

Jimmy grabbed the main switch for the floor's power and yanked
on it. The few remaining lights died... as did the sparks from
the smashed electronics, and he sighed in relief. Now the main
problem was the burning furniture; the sprinklers were controlling
the fire, he thought, but it wasn't out yet, and injured people
were too close to it. He grabbed a nearby extinguisher from the
wall and began to play it where he could, trying to stop the flames
from spreading, especially if it looked like they could move
towards anyone on the floor.

Which is how he came to discover Ralph, unconscious and bleeding,
lying between what had once been two desks. He used up the rest
of the extinguisher's contents to make sure (he hoped) that the
fire wouldn't move their way, and bent down to look at the prone
reporter.

What he found was not good; Ralph was pale and clammy -- as much
of him as was not covered in blood -- and was showing all the
classic signs of massive blood loss. The cause wasn't hard to
find; wicked-looking wooden splinters had hit him in the arm and
in the belly, and he was bleeding profusely from the wounds.

Jimmy looked around; he had to stop this bleeding somehow,
especially the gut wound, but to do that, he needed some proper
equipment -- a pressure bandage, for preference. Now, where the
heck had the first aid kits got to? Their locations were
prominently displayed around the newsroom, but it looked as
though they'd either been blown away, like everything else, or
people had taken them already.

Damn! He *needed* one of those kits, right now. "Hey!" he yelled,
"Man down over here! Somebody get me a first aid kit!" Seconds
passed, and there was no sign that anyone had even heard him
through the discordant chaos of the fire and all the other noise
in the room. 'Oh, Geez,' he thought, 'Ralph's gonna *die* if I
don't do something -- but what?' Inspiration failed to strike --
except, perhaps, just a little. With only his bare hands and,
maybe, a handkerchief or his shirt to stop Ralph from bleeding
to death, and no time to go look for a first aid kit, there was
only one thing he could do -- call for help. Very special help,
perhaps the only kind of help that could save Ralph.

It is a prime example of the defence methods by which the human
mind tries to protect itself from stress that Jimmy actually spent
a moment or two hoping that Lois wouldn't want to get him for
violation of copyright or something, before yelling, as loud as
he could, "Help! *Superman!!*"

He almost fainted when a calm, familiar voice above him replied,
"It's okay, Jimmy. I'm here."

                    *         *         *

Superman had been x-raying the wreckage of the warehouse, trying to
help determine what had started the fire, when he heard the
explosions. He'd also been performing the potentially grisly task
of looking for casualties. Both searches were proving equally
fruitless, which was fine by him; the building was destroyed, but
no-one had been hurt, and that was a fair enough trade.

When he arrived, he had recognised the warehouse as being the
same one which had mysteriously and inexplicably caught fire last
Christmas, and there was no more indication as to what had caused
that than for the latest, more serious blaze.

The arson squad had been called in, and first indications were
that something odd must have happened. The fire appeared to have
started over near one wall -- not an outside wall, either --
where a wooden roof support and the nearby floorboards had caught
alight. Why was anybody's guess; *how* was even more mysterious,
for the support posts were thick chunks of hardwood, and they
didn't catch fire easily. Like lighting a log fire, it took a
fairly strong blaze beforehand to get a piece of wood that size
to burn, and even then it did it slowly; but here, one of them
seemed to have been the first thing to go up, and it had been
almost totally consumed in a very short time.

There were signs that something had come in through the roof,
which led to thoughts of petrol bombs and the like, but they
wouldn't cause the incredible heat needed to get that post to
catch on fire, and not even super-vision could find any traces
of an "accelerant" (the petrol or chemicals used to start the
fire). A water-soluble chemical like acetone could have been
used, but Clark knew how to find even those most elusive of
accelerants, and there wasn't any hint of anything like that. It
was a mystery.

Then the double *whoompf!* of twin explosions reached his ears,
and his head snapped around to zero in on the sound. X-ray and
telescopic vision revealed, to his horror, that the sounds were
coming from the *Planet building!*

'Lois! Laura!' his mind yelled, his heart leaping. He was about
to launch himself into the air, but paused; this might-- *would*
need more than just himself to help.

A red-and-blue blur flashed through the warehouse, coming to a
halt next to the fire chief. "Chief!" Superman snapped, "There've
been two explosions at the Daily Planet building. Send some
units, and call the bomb squad! Oh, and they'll need ambulances,
too. You'd better alert Metro General, as well. I'm on my way
there now." And with that, he was gone.

Behind him, the startled fire chief could only look after him and
murmur, "Right..." before heading for her engine and the radio.

                    *         *         *

Clark had the situation assessed by the time he reached the
newsroom. He'd seen Lois and Laura -- in the Jeep and the day-care
centre respectively -- and both were okay, if upset, which meant
that he could concentrate on helping people without having to worry
about his family. What had happened to his friends and colleagues
was bad enough.

Super-cold breath took care of what was left of the fire -- at
least, the obvious flames. There were going to be hot spots in
the floor around that central area for a while, and that part of
the floor itself had been weakened. He would have checked it
over, but Jimmy's urgent yell called him away; assessing the
condition of the building could wait until after the people were
okay.

Ralph's condition was obvious, as was his need for urgent medical
attention. After reassuring Jimmy, he carefully lifted Ralph from
the floor. It was tricky: Ralph would have been dead by now if
it wasn't for the splinter that caused his belly wound still
being in place, and Clark dared not remove it, not even to
cauterise the wound with heat vision; on the other hand, he had
to be careful that he didn't inadvertently drive it in deeper as
he picked the man up. Fortunately, x-ray vision was a big help
in situations like these, and he managed to get Ralph into a
suitable carrying position without moving the splinter at all,
and then he flashed out of the window. Next stop, Metro General
and the E.R.

                    *         *         *

Luthor was frustrated. The weapon had worked perfectly, and the
destruction it had caused in the Daily Planet was most gratifying
to see... but when Kent was visible, he moved so fast that Lex
couldn't get a decent shot at him! He lifted his head from the
sights and thought quickly. No, there was no need to worry. This
should have been expected; Superman always moved at high speed
when he was being a do-gooder, and he would be quite busy helping
his followers. Eventually, though, he would slow down, if only
to find out from witnesses what had happened. Then... ah,
*then*....

Patience. That was what he needed, patience. His triumph was so
close that he could almost taste it. This was not the time to
ruin everything by losing control of himself. Patience....

                    *         *         *

Lois was driving out of the underground car park onto the street
when the beam struck the Planet building. The blasts that had
wreaked so much havoc in the newsroom were mostly directed
inwards, but enough noise came out of the now open newsroom
windows to alert drivers in the streets below, and the traffic
came to a screeching halt while they all rubbernecked to see what
had caused it.

Lois knew immediately that the newsroom was involved -- the main
windows were just *gone*, frames, glass and all. She could see
flames and smoke inside, and immediately pulled in to the kerb,
jumped out of the Jeep and ran for the building. She didn't
bother to notice where she'd parked, and barely remembered
whether or not she'd locked the car; never mind tickets or car
thieves, her friends were in there -- her *daughter* was in
there!

She burst through the main entrance, barely pausing to yell at
the security guard to call 911, and charged across the lobby and
into the day-care centre. A bewildered Mrs Wilson assured her that
Laura was okay -- *all* the kids were fine, just a little scared --
and wanted to know what had happened.

Lois told her what she knew, but had to break off halfway through
because Ruth suddenly turned and bellowed to her assistants, "Get
ready to evacuate the building! Jane, page the designated helpers
for this morning-- *not* Lee and Andrea, they're right in the
middle of it all; get Paula and Tom instead. And George, if he's
there. Mary, you know what to do. Let's *go!*"

As her staff disappeared, Ruth turned back to Lois. "Sorry, Lois,
but I've got to get to work. So do you, so get going -- and *don't*
worry about Laura! We've practised this sort of thing lots of
times, and we all know what to do. Your daughter will be fine. Now,
scat!"

She bustled away. Behind her, rather bemused at being dismissed so
abruptly, yet oddly reassured that her little girl was in good
hands, Lois left and headed for the newsroom.

She arrived to a scene of devastation, but one that had hope, for
Superman had returned. Not only that, but the less-badly-injured
of the newsroom staff had recovered enough from the shock to do
things for themselves -- specifically, to put into action the
plans that Perry had had drawn up for situations like this after
the bombing five years ago. She felt like cheering, as mad as
that sounded; the Daily Planet might be down, but it wasn't out.

Ever the reporter, Lois just stood and watched for a moment,
trying to absorb the atmosphere in the room. Superman was speeding
from person to person, and by the way that each man or woman that
he left got up and joined in helping others, she could guess that
he'd been administering some simple super-first aid -- checking
wounds for foreign bodies, then using a little heat vision to
close and cauterise bleeding -- to those people with relatively
minor injuries.

The red-and-blue blur finally slowed into the figure of the Man
of Steel, and he began to move about more carefully, taking his
time to check on each of the remaining few people who were
trapped or unconscious. Several times, he waved back would-be
helpers, warning them that the floor was unsafe or that they
might dislodge something which could fall on someone; a few of
them looked offended -- if he could walk there, why couldn't
they? -- until Superman stretched out horizontally in mid-air and
they realised that he had been floating the whole time. Their
resentment evaporated completely when, once he'd checked out the
situation, he was more than happy to accept their help, usually
asking them to move their colleague while he lifted or restrained
some heavy object.

Lois gave up watching and got her hands dirty -- bloody, rather.
Her first aid training came to the fore as she examined her
injured colleagues; there wasn't a lot she could do, but every
little bit counted, and hopefully proper medical help was on its
way. It rankled-- it *more* than rankled, it was downright
infuriating -- to be missing out on her exclusive on Lex's
arrest, but she was needed here, and so was Clark. Henderson
and his men would just have to take their chances.

Hopefully, this wouldn't take too much longer, not with Clark here,
and then they could head for the LexCorp Building -- always
assuming that her car hadn't been towed. It wasn't as though they
could be scooped -- on the arrest, maybe, but not on why Lex had
been arrested and the evidence that proved his guilt.

She teamed up with Pam from Sunday Features, who had managed to
find a first aid kit that had been blown off the wall and ended
up under an upturned desk. Together, they patched up half-a-dozen
people with relatively minor injuries or more serious ones that
didn't immobilise them, and sent them on their way out of the
building with the help of each other or anyone else who was
steady enough on their feet. Clark had x-rayed the building's
structure and announced that it was safe, but no-one wanted to
trust the elevators; instead, there was a stream of people
joining the throng from other floors going down the stairs.

The newsroom was emptying quickly. Lois finished putting an arm
into a sling and handed its owner over to one of her colleagues,
then went over to where Superman was supporting a file cabinet
and a large chunk of window frame; Perry and Jimmy were gently
easing an unconscious form from underneath. Lois recognised Alan,
a guy from Accounting, someone whom she couldn't remember seeing
(or talking to, at least) since last year's Christmas party.

"Is he going to be all right?" she asked, her tone determinedly
neutral -- partly because she always tried to be careful when
speaking to Superman in public, and partly because Alan did not
look good at all. He was the last person to need rescuing,
though, and that was a relief.

"He should be fine," Superman reassured her after setting his
load down with painstaking care. "He's got a mild concussion, I
think, but nothing more serious than that and a few bruises. A
few days in a good hospital, and he'll be all right."

"That's good news," Perry said, once he'd made Alan as
comfortable as he could. "And the Planet's insurance will pick
up everyone's medical expenses, or I'll know the reason why not!
But what in the name of Sam Hill hit us? Some kind of missile?"

"I have no idea, Mr White," Superman replied. "I didn't see it,
only heard the explosions. Two of them."

"Yeah, that would be right," chipped in Jimmy. "I saw it. The
windows were smashed in by the first one, and then the desks and
stuff blew up."

"That does support the idea of something breaking in through the
windows," Superman mused, looking around, "but there's no sign
of any remains, and, as big a mess as they've made here, those
explosions weren't powerful enough to destroy a decent-sized
projectile without leaving something behind -- you'd all be dead
if they had been -- and I can't see anything in the way of debris
or chemical residue."

He did see something, though... and it looked familiar. Some of
the newsroom furniture was quite old, sturdily made from oak or
like woods... and showing very similar burn marks to the supports
in the warehouse that he'd just come from! Once again, tremendous
heat, far hotter than the fire that he'd seen here a few minutes
ago, must have been generated in order to consume or scorch some
of the solid chunks of wood that he could see.

He frowned and walked slowly towards the hole where the main
windows had been, super-senses on the alert for further tell-tale
signs of whatever had destroyed the warehouse and, if he was
right, struck at the Daily Planet.

                    *         *         *

Luthor's face contorted into a feral grin as Superman emerged
from the recesses of the newsroom and walked right into his
sights. He couldn't have had an easier shot; the fool was
standing in full view, facing directly towards him. The target
acquisition system beeped, indicating that it had an optical
lock-on; appropriately, the target reticule was centred right on
that gaudy red-and-yellow S that was so well-known all over the
world -- and which would soon be obliterated.

With malicious glee, Luthor turned the knob that ran the weapon
up to full power, his anticipation rising with the pitch of the
muffled sound emanating from within the telescope case, and took
a final look at his enemy.

'The games end here... as does the war. *DIE*, Kent!'

                    *         *         *

The sights, product of almost as many man-years of work as the
weapon itself, were accurate; the beam struck Clark squarely in
the chest as he continued to examine the remnants of the newsroom
windows. He gasped as his torso suddenly felt as though it was
on fire -- except that being on fire wouldn't bother him, but
*this*... this was on a par with the first time he'd been exposed
to Kryptonite!

He staggered backwards a couple of steps, his face distorted by
the pain. The others noticed this, and would have run to help him
had he not called out, "No! Stay back!"

Lois froze in her tracks, though every instinct screamed for her
to go to her husband. Perry and Jimmy, slightly slower to realise
what was happening, tried to get past, but she blocked them
frantically. For his part, Clark was desperate to keep his
friends -- and, of course, his *wife* -- away. He could feel the
searing heat of the torrent of energy that was flooding in to
strike him, but that was visible only to his super-vision, and
knew that an ordinary human unlucky enough to cross it would be
consumed in an instant. "Keep back..." he gasped. "Whatever...
attacked the Planet... is after *me* now...."

He groaned and his eyes closed as he struggled to resist the
awful pain. He dropped to his knees, but the beam followed him,
and the pain only spread to other parts of his body. Lois, her
eyes bright with sudden, panicky tears, gasped at the sight of
him visibly weakening. He needed help-- he needed *her*, but she
couldn't go to him. All she could do was watch as the man she
loved was consumed by some unseen but deadly menace. "Fight it,
honey... *Fight* it! Please, Clark..." she whispered, her voice
so soft that no-one other than her Superman could possibly have
heard it; she could only pray that he was *able* to hear it.

He was. He heard her, and it gave him resolve when his had almost
gone. 'Come on, Kent -- Lois needs you! This isn't as bad as
Kryptonite, so stop acting like it! Get up and take care of it
before whoever's behind this gets tired of you and decides to try
his toy on someone more entertaining -- like, say, Lois!'

The awed eyes of the few people left in the newsroom watched as
Superman tensed visibly. Every muscle in a body that was
considered by many to be near perfection, if not the ultimate
human male form, strained, veins and sinews standing out like
thick cables, as the Man of Steel, his jaw set and his face grim
with determination, slowly raised himself to his feet. He took
a step towards the wreckage of the windows, then another, and
another. Then he raised his head and, ignoring the agony that
tore at him, focused his attention along the line of sight of the
beam that only he could see.

He rose from the floor, slowly moving upwards along the line of the
beam, blocking it from reaching any more of the blasted building --
or the people within -- as his super-vision reached out to reveal
the source of this attack... and the one responsible for it.

"LUUUTHOOOOOOOORRRRRRRR!!!!!"

For blocks around, people held their hands over their ears as
that super-shout rang across the city. Luthor himself stumbled
back from the sights of his weapon, startled despite himself at
the power of the cry -- and the rage it held.

Clark saw his chance and "fought fire with fire", unleashing a
devastating blast of heat vision. Luthor's "telescope" was
perhaps more powerful, but it wasn't invulnerable. Parts of it
melted instantly, and then the penthouse was rocked by an
explosion. Not as big as the ones that had caused such havoc in
the Planet newsroom, but quite enough to reduce the weapon to
junk... and one glowing fragment.

With the beam gone, mere seconds should have elapsed before
Clark's incredible regenerative powers returned him to peak
super-condition... except that they didn't. He felt drained --
not powerless or anything like that, but definitely weaker than
usual, and he could still feel a sort of tingle from the regions
of his body that the beam had struck. He pushed this aside;
Luthor had gone too far this time, and he was going to bring him
to justice! He smiled grimly and soared away from the Daily
Planet -- towards the LexCorp Tower.

                    *         *         *

Behind him, Lois stood stunned for a second. Just a second,
though, because Clark's cry had told her everything she needed
to know.

'Oh, my God.... *Lex!* Of course! Who else would do this?' Her
mind, ever keen, immediately began to think of a myriad of other
possibilities, but she pushed that aside and turned and ran for
the stairs. 'I've got to get over there! Clark might need help
-- and Henderson! Henderson's got to be warned!'

Fortunately, the evacuation of the building was mostly complete
by now, and there were not many people on the stairs, because
Lois took the steps three at a time, and would cheerfully have
gone over, under or even *through* anyone who couldn't get out
of her way in time. As it was, she charged down and out of the
main entrance in a headlong rush that was to become legend even
at the Daily Planet, an institution that had seen more than its
share of such energetic exits.

Outside, the Planet staff were mostly clustered around the
building, rubbernecking and chatting as people in that sort of
situation do. The emergency services were finally arriving, which
caused some of the crowd to move to one side -- and Lois raced
straight down the middle of the space that they left. She had to
check herself when she nearly ran into a slow-moving fire engine,
but that delayed her for the barest minimum of time (just long
enough for her to wish that she was Ultra Woman again, so that
she could toss the darn thing out of her way) and she shot around
it and disappeared down the street towards her Jeep.

A uniformed cop had just strolled up to the car and was regarding
it in an unfriendly manner, one hand hovering near his ticket
pad. Lois didn't waste time arguing with him; she grabbed his
radio mike and shoved it in his face. He took it from her
indignantly-- or, rather, he would have been indignant had he had
the time to think. Instead, he had to try desperately to keep up
with what Lois was saying as she yelled at him to get on the damn
radio and contact Inspector Henderson; warn him that L-- the guy
he was about to arrest -- had just attacked the Daily Planet and
should be considered armed and extremely dangerous; tell him that
Lane and Kent were on their way, and to watch himself; and there
were a bunch of ambulances trying to get to the Planet building,
and shouldn't he get his act together and help them do their job
rather than waste time gawking at her?

All the while that she was berating the hapless cop, Lois was
diving around the Jeep and scrambling into the driver's seat. Her
final words -- or were they *orders?* -- were accompanied by the
roar of the engine and a squeal of tyres as she hit the
accelerator and sent the car speeding off into the mid-day
traffic.

Behind her, a dumbfounded policeman stood with a microphone in
one hand and wondered what the heck that had been about? He'd
just about managed to follow what she said -- at least enough to
know that she wanted him to pass on a message to Henderson, one
of the big-shot Inspectors from Headquarters. He didn't quite get
the bit about someone attacking the newspaper, but the words
"armed and extremely dangerous" were a clarion call to any cop.
He decided that he'd better make the effort and tell his
dispatcher; he only hoped that the Inspector could make sense of
the message, 'cause *he* sure couldn't.

                    *         *         *

The Inspector did make sense of the message, even in the garbled
form in which it reached him. He was no reporter, but he was a
professional detective, and his investigative skills (if not his
writing) would have graced the offices of any news media
organisation anywhere, even the Daily Planet. So it wasn't too
hard to work out what Lane (he assumed it was Lane from the
description) must have meant. He'd caught the 911 call about the
explosions at the Planet building, and he'd heard Superman's
incredible roar -- heck, everyone this side of Gotham City had
heard *that!* -- so it didn't take much imagination to realise
that a warning about a suspect that he was about to arrest being
armed and dangerous could only mean that Luthor had got his hands
on some new super-weapon and that he and his men were headed into
Big Trouble.

There was only one thing to do, and Henderson did it. Mobilising
SWAT teams would make him a little late nabbing the perp, but
better that than having his men barbecued. Now if only Lane could
(or *would*) stay out of trouble....

                    *         *         *

As Clark flew towards the penthouse, he scanned it to see if
Luthor had any other tricks, especially green ones, up his
sleeve, but found nothing -- not so much as a lead-lined
container or secret compartment. What he *did* see, however, was
that the living area was deserted and looked as though it had
been for some time -- days, at least.

Where was Beth? Had Luthor sent her away before launching his
attack? That made sense. But then Clark remembered Owen Preece's
words, and another, darker set of possibilities came to mind.

Beth had warned Preece of something -- presumably that Luthor was
going to have him killed -- and the man had run. But he'd been
caught, and Luthor could have found out about the warning. If he
had, then Beth was in big trouble -- if she was still alive;
Luthor didn't take what he saw as betrayal lightly. Or had Beth
found out about Preece's capture and run herself? The reporter
in him saw all sorts of intriguing questions to be answered, but
that would have to wait. Right now, his immediate priority had
to be to deal with Luthor himself; time enough to enquire into
Beth's fate after her murderous swine of a husband was locked up!

One last thing to check on before he grabbed Luthor -- that
weird-looking glowing object that had come out of the wrecked
"telescope" when his heat vision had hit it. It was roughly
spherical and its outer skin was made from an unusual crystalline
material. It had been assembled from two close-fitting halves,
but the joint between the pieces of its shell or casing had
sprung open, and it was from the gap between the halves that the
odd glow, a sort of greenish-orange not unlike an unripe
mandarin, was coming.

Clark had never seen anything like it, but the simple fact that
it had come from Luthor's zap gun made it potentially important
-- and dangerous. 'Time to take a good look at it....

'Oh, no...!'

Clark had slowed his flight as he checked on the object, but now
he flashed across the remaining distance as fast as possible,
swooping down to grab the sphere. For a fraction of a second, he
paused to examine the joint in more detail, to see how to close
it, then placed one hand on each half of the casing and pushed.

Nothing happened. Surprised, he pushed harder, but the sphere
resisted him. He increased the pressure he was applying... and
again... and again... and still it wasn't closing! Finally, Clark
was pitting all his strength against the strange crystal, and he
couldn't close the gap between the pieces! Worse, the energy
radiating from the sphere was affecting him somehow; he could
feel an irritation -- a peculiar sort of prickle, rather how he
imagined sunburn to feel -- everywhere that the glow touched him,
and it was getting stronger.

And so, he realised, was the glow.

"Sunburn" or not, he *had* to close the sphere, so he ignored the
irritation as he had the pain from the complete weapon and
focused his concentration on that. He succeeded so well in
blocking out the rest of the world that he barely felt the impact
as something struck his back and was smashed into pieces.

Once it did register, he turned to see Luthor standing a few feet
away, panting and holding the broken remains of a chair. "What
the hell do you think you're doing, Luthor?" Superman snapped,
"Can't you see I'm busy saving your worthless life?"

Luthor let out a high-pitched, breathless laugh -- or was it a
sob? -- that momentarily chilled Clark's blood. He'd dealt with
enough people at the limits of their mental and physical
capacities to recognise that that single sound carried a warning.
It was the sound of someone who'd pushed himself, or been pushed,
way beyond the bounds of normality. There was hysteria in that
cry; and exhaustion, both mental and physical; and, above all,
more than a little insanity. If Clark had heard anyone else make
that noise, he'd have advised them to seek help, and soon; here
and now, though, with Luthor, all he knew was that a lot of
people were in great danger, and the man who'd put them in that
danger was past reasoning with.

"Save my life?" Luthor half-screamed, "*Why?!*" He threw down the
remnants of the chair and peered at the Man of Steel with mad
eyes that blazed with hatred. "Damn you, Kent, you've taken from
me everything that I've ever cared about -- why save my *life?*"

He seemed to notice the glow from the sphere for the first time,
and his gaze moved from it to the wreckage of the "telescope";
he stared wordlessly at that for a few moments, then began to
prowl around the room, his arms waving wildly as he ranted in a
voice that began as an unsettling whisper but grew to an
hysterical yell.

"What does it take to kill you, Kent? My Kryptonite cage couldn't
do it; the quantum disruptor didn't work; the Presses' quantum
disbander was no better, even when they cut you off from
sunlight; the Army's Kryptonite gas killed the other aliens, but
not *you*; even my greatest creation, an improved disruptor that
uses the same frequencies as Kryptonite, failed. *What does it
take?*"

Superman paid little attention to him, being far more concerned
with the sphere in his hands and the glow from it, which was
continuing to brighten. Luthor noticed this, and the indifference
was the final straw. Unheeded, he began to hurl anything he could
get his hands on at the nearby caped figure. Books, papers,
objets d'art, a humidor, even parts of his computer; if he could
lift it and throw it, it became part of the hail of objects
flying towards Superman.

For all the effect his barrage had, Luthor might as well have
been throwing melted snowballs, but Clark didn't need the
distraction. "Knock it off, Luthor!" he barked. "Your precious
creation here is well on its way to generating a nuclear
explosion, and I'm the only thing stopping it from going up and
destroying everything in a half-mile radius!"

"*Let it!*" Luthor screamed, continuing to fling whatever came
to hand. "Better that than having to live in poverty after you've
stolen everything I own or love! You thieving son of a...."

Clark didn't wait for him to finish the epithet; he didn't know
what the madman was talking about, but the danger from the sphere
was more important than wild accusations. Bracing one half of the
casing against his body so that he could maintain the pressure
on the other half with one hand, he shot forward at super-speed,
shrugging off the flying missiles as the insignificant annoyances
that they were. Reaching Luthor, he raised his free arm and,
almost casually, flicked him in the chin with his index finger.
Lex was flung into the air and across the room, performing
something like a back-somersault before landing heavily on the
couch, out cold.

'Hmmm...' thought Clark, amused despite everything, 'That worked
even better than the time I did it to that cyborg boxer of
Sam's.'

He wasted no more time on that, though, returning to the problem
of the sphere. For all his efforts, the gap between the two
halves was no smaller, and the glow was continuing to brighten.
The radiation from it was getting stronger too, the original
prickle on his skin now starting to become a burn.

'Admit your limitations, Kent,' he thought. 'Luthor said that
that thing used Kryptonite frequencies; that must be why it's
affecting you. And you're only going to get weaker; if you can't
close it up, get rid of it!'

Put like that, there was no choice in the matter. Clark turned
to the balcony, ready to fly his menacing load into space where
it could be allowed to destroy itself safely....

...except that he couldn't take off!

'Oh, God.... I can't fly! This radiation must be stealing my
powers like Kryptonite does. What do I do now?'

All Clark could think was that he must close up the sphere, or
thousands-- *millions*, even, of people would die... but his
super-strength was leaving him. Once it was gone....

                    *         *         *

Other than on the penthouse level, it was a normal working day
at LexCorp Tower. There was an inevitable air of tension about
the place, and perhaps a few more absences than usual, but that
was to be expected with the current uncertainty regarding the
company's future. In any case, if employees wanted there to be
any chance at all that their next pay packet would arrive as
usual, they needed to be at their desks, benches or counters,
hard at work.

And so they were when the relative peace of the day was
interrupted by a muffled boom from above. Most ignored it, but
those few whose job it was to deal with such things immediately
checked their alarm systems and cameras, but nothing showed up 
-- no fires, no smoke, and no intruders anywhere that they could
detect. Nor was anything visible from the outside of the
building.

One Security officer, who hadn't been with LexCorp long, wanted
to ask the penthouse for authorization to view the tapes from
the cameras there, but was hastily restrained by his supervisor.
The Boss would *not* appreciate being interrupted "unnecessarily"
at a time like this, particularly since his secretary (who was
working real odd hours lately -- must be something to do with all
the trouble Upstairs) wasn't due in for an hour or so. Besides,
couldn't he tell from the status board that the penthouse cameras
weren't turned on? The Boss did that sometimes when he wanted
complete privacy. Forget about the penthouse; if something was
wrong *there*, Mr L. would let them know soon enough.

Calm settled on the Tower once more, but not for long. It was
shattered a second time when the Evacuate Building alarm went off.

On every floor, people looked at one another in amazed
consternation. They'd all heard the alarm before, when they began
work at the Tower and when it was regularly tested, but was this
real? And if it was, what had set it off?

The people in the Security office had no more idea than anyone
else, but they did know that this wasn't an unscheduled test or
anything like that, and that, despite the fact that they couldn't
detect anything that could have caused the alarm, the computer
was indicating that this was a Code Red emergency, the highest
level in the system, and one which it should be almost impossible
to trip accidentally. They tried to contact the penthouse, but
the Boss didn't answer.

The supervisor who'd stopped the new guy from calling the
penthouse now looked sick, but didn't waste time dwelling on his
mistake -- if it was one. Whatever was happening Upstairs, this
alarm could be real, and that meant that it was his job to get
the people in the building out safely. Nobody knew exactly what
was going on, but he'd rather take his lumps for interrupting the
working day than for letting people get hurt by *not* doing
anything. He reached for a headset-and-mike and turned on the PA.

"Your attention, please. This is not a test. Repeat, this is
*not* a test. Please leave the building in an orderly fashion and
proceed to the assembly point indicated on the notice in the
office in which you are now located. Staff on or below the 15th
floor should use the stairs; staff on level 16 or above may use
the elevators at this time. That is all."

The building's PA system was, naturally, top-of-the-range, so it
surprised a few employees that the announcement concluded with a
most peculiar noise, like a cross between a white noise hiss and a
feedback squeal -- and one or two of the more imaginative people
said that it gave them the creeps because it sounded for all the
world like an insane giggle.

They forgot about it, though, in the rush to leave. LexCorp, like
all large organisations, was required by law to have detailed and
comprehensive plans for a situation such as this, and to hold
practice drills on a regular basis so that employees could become
familiar with the correct procedures. This it did, and the plans
and drills had the desired effect -- mostly.

Unfortunately, a minority of people in any stressful situation
will have a tendency to over-react, and the population of the
Tower, larger than that of many a small country, had its fair
share of these. Add to this an alarm system that went overboard
on the loud klaxons and bright flashing lights, and the extra
excitement of a *real* evacuation rather than a drill was enough
to produce a panic that started with a handful of people, but
spread like the proverbial wildfire through the leaving crowds
for no real reason, bringing chaos where there should have been
order. What began as an calm, if slightly nervous evacuation soon
degenerated into groups of people struggling desperately to get
out of the building before they-knew-not-what happened.

In the midst of all the panic and noise, Lois forced her way into
the Tower lobby, fighting against the crowds of agitated staff
heading for the exits. A pair of security officers blocked her
path; she tried to dodge, but one of them grabbed her arm and,
seeing that she didn't even have a visitor's badge, began to
bluster and issue peremptory orders, pointing back the way she'd
come.

'I don't have *time* for this!' she mentally screamed. These two
clowns were obviously not going to help her, and she *had* to get
past them, so there was no point in being subtle. The bozo
holding her promptly received a knee right where it hurt the
most. As he began to fold up, she chopped his wrist with her free
hand and pulled loose from him. A quick two-handed blow to the
side of the head sent him sprawling across the room. He collided
heavily with his partner, bringing the other man down and
slamming him into a wall as he fell.

Lois didn't wait to see whether either of them got back up. She
turned and dived past the group of watching office workers whose
way out had been blocked by the falling guards, then skidded
around a corner into the corridor that led to the penthouse
elevator. One or two of the men at the back of the group of
would-be escapees -- where they hadn't been able to see much of
what had happened -- made half-hearted attempts to stop her, but
one look at the fury on her face and the fire in her eyes, and
they kept their hands to themselves.

As she raced on towards the elevator, she snatched glimpses of
the offices that she passed, all the while yelling for Superman
at the top of her voice, desperately trying to make herself heard
over the raucous alarms. No-one was there to answer, though, and
the penthouse elevator, providentially open and waiting for her,
was equally empty, so all she could do was worry as it whisked
her to the top of the building. Where *was* he? And where was
Lex? Why the evacuation? What was going on? *Where was Clark?*

Below, at street level, the elevator system controls switched to
"Locked" mode, and a strange sound might have been audible behind
the klaxons -- a chuckle?

The guards eventually managed to get to their feet. It took them a
while, though, because they were continually being knocked back
down by other members of staff, all of whose sole interest was to
get out of the building and as far away from it as possible. Once
they *were* finally upright, they looked around for the woman who'd
just flattened them, but she was nowhere to be seen. In fact, the
lobby was empty, everybody else having done what they were
instructed to do -- that is, they'd left.

Despite their own intense wish to get the heck out of there, the
two men ran after their assailant. They'd been delayed too long,
though, and she was long gone. Only thing was, where had she
gone? Nowhere that they could see, unless she was hiding in one
of the offices. She sure hadn't taken the penthouse lift; that
was locked, as usual when the Boss was in residence, and only
someone with top-level clearance could use it.

The two men looked at each other, silently communing against the
background of flashing lights and blaring klaxons. Both were
thinking the same thing: 'This place could be about to go up. Is
it worth risking getting killed for the sake of one crazy broad
-- and one who's just decked us both, at that?' It didn't take
them long to reach the obvious conclusion: 'Nah....' They turned
and ran for the exit. The "crazy broad" would have to take her
own chances.

                    *         *         *

Lois charged out of the elevator on the penthouse level and was
confronted by an eerie light coming from the room at the end of
the passage -- the study. This brought her to a momentary halt.
Somehow, she knew -- *that* was where Clark must be. But what on
Earth was causing that weird glow?

She ran through the deserted outer office and threw open the
door, panting, to behold a sight that could only be described as
uncanny. The glow came from an orange-green ball of light about
a foot across, which bathed the entire room in an unearthly,
near-blinding glare. Superman was holding it in his hands and
seemed to be straining against it somehow. His face was contorted
with effort, as though he was exerting all his strength, and he
was... *sweating?*

"Cl-- Superman!" she cried. "What's going on? What *is* that
thing? What are you doing?"

"Lois!" he yelped, startled. He raised bewildered, almost
panic-stricken eyes to hers for a second, but then just as
quickly turned back to the thing in his hands. In the instant in
which he had looked up, the light from the fireball had increased
in intensity, and his face resumed the strained grimace that it
had had when she had entered -- only now, Lois thought she could
detect the beginnings of... desperation?

"What is it, Clark?" she asked as she slowly crossed the room to
him, her every sense alert and her mind filled with sudden fear,
but with also a iron determination not to show it. He didn't look
up again, presumably to avoid a repetition of whatever had
happened the last time, which she could understand. He didn't
answer, either, but turned away so that his back was to her...
and *that* scared her.

"Clark..." she called softly, "What's going on? Honey, *please*...
talk to me."

She had reached him by now, and laid one hand on his shoulder
before trying to go around him so that she could see his face.
He didn't react to her touch, but as soon as she moved to one
side, he turned with her so that all she could see was his
hunched back and the cape with its golden shield. She fell back
a step in shock, not really expecting that, despite his earlier
retreat. This new alarm was short-lived, however, as he finally
managed to gasp out, "Lois... stay behind me, *please*...."

She let out a sigh of relief that she hadn't realised she was
holding in; he had a *reason* for "rejecting" her-- well, of
course he did! Whatever had made her think otherwise? She still
needed to know what was happening, and especially what that ball
of fire was and why he was so worried about it, but she stayed
silent, knowing now that he'd heard her but had to take his time
answering.

And, eventually, he did answer her, though every word seemed to
be ripped from him, as if it took the utmost effort for him to
speak -- which, she began to realise as she heard him out, was
pretty much the case.

"Lois... please," he rasped, "You've got to get out of here....
quickly!"

"What?" she yelped. "Why?"

"This... thing... I'm holding... is part... of the weapon Luthor
attacked the Planet with.... It's like... the quantum
disruptor... only worse. I... destroyed it... but the casing...
of the field generator... burst open. There's a... runaway chain
reaction going on... in here... and when it gets... to a critical
level... the generator... will explode...."

"Well, get rid of it!" Lois cried, still not understanding.

"I... can't. Luthor... made the disruptor... to kill me. Its...
radiation... is like Kryptonite... and it's robbing me... of my
powers. I... can't fly... and I'm gradually losing... my strength
and invulnerability."

Lois gasped in horror, and Clark looked around at her as best he
could without exposing her to the radiation from the sphere.
"Lois... *please*... you've got to get *out* of here! I'm the
only reason... this thing hasn't blown up... already... and I
don't know... how much longer... I can hold it... together. When
it blows... it'll destroy... this building and... most of its
neighbours. Go... go to the Planet -- that... should be far
enough away. You'll... be safe there.

"Lois -- *go*, please! I'll keep... this thing from going
critical... for as long... as I can... but you've got to go...
*now!* Warn... everyone you can. Re--remember me to Laura... and
tell her... I love her... and never forget... that I... will
always... love... *you*...."

He fell silent, all his strength of will and body needed to stave
off the impending disaster for as long as he could, so that she -
- his wife, friend, love, soul mate -- could escape and survive.
Lois just stood and stared, for a moment unable to comprehend the
magnitude of the tragedy facing her.

'No... this *can't* be happening. Not to Clark. I can't lose him
like this... not so soon!'

But she could -- and she *was* losing him! She had to leave --
for Laura's sake -- and he would stay... and *die*, so that she
and everyone she could warn would have a chance to live. Because
he had to; because he was a hero; because he was *Clark*....

Lois choked down a sob that came from the furthest depths of her
soul, and ran to him. She didn't care about the radiation; she
could *not* leave him without one last chance to hold him -- one
last embrace that she knew she would remember for the rest of her
life. How could she forget, when it would be all that she would
have to sustain her through the long, lonely years to come? She
wrapped herself around him in the fiercest, most frantic grip she
could manage. Her eyes were closed and her face crumpled in
painful sobs as she held him to her, trying desperately to
forget, just for a very few seconds, that she was going to have
to leave him.... leave him to die.

Clark's voice had gradually weakened and faded as he spoke to her
earlier, and she didn't really expect to ever hear it again, so
it was a shock to her when he said, quietly and a little
surprised, but with all the calm strength that she had come to
know and expect from him, "Lois... what are you doing?"

Lois didn't-- *couldn't* reply, but she raised her head, eyes
full of tears, at the unexpected but commanding sound. "Never
mind," he went on, his tone cool and confident, "Just... keep
doing it, okay? Don't let go."

Lois was totally bewildered by this sudden change in manner, and
had no idea what he supposed she was doing, but not letting go
of Clark was one thing she thought she could manage, even when
he uncurled from his hunched-over posture to stand straight and
tall, the way Metropolis-- the *world* -- was used to seeing him.
She didn't dare let herself hope what this might mean, so she
blanked her thoughts and concentrated on feeling Clark's beloved
body pressed against her; the soft smoothness of his cape and the
subtle changes in texture of the shield; the fantastic strength
of his alien, but so human muscles, and the incredible easy
control under which it was kept -- strength which, to her
surprise, seemed to grow and grow as she held him.

She was behind him still and couldn't see what was happening to
the fireball, but somehow she *knew* that he was managing to
overcome the forces that had defied him before. She didn't know
how or why, but she could *feel* the two halves of the sphere
coming together, and with it, the intensity of the fire within
dying as they did so.

Despite her fears, hope soared inside her. He was doing it!
Clark-- *Superman!* -- was winning this battle. He was going to
save the city-- he was going to *live!*

Lois had shut her eyes again in order to concentrate on these
extraordinary feelings, but she opened them just in time to see
the orange-green glow fade and die. Superman carefully eased his
grip on the crystal globe, moving his hands so that the two
halves could separate by the merest fraction of an inch, alert
for any reappearance of the fireball... but nothing happened. The
raging sphere of energy was gone, smothered out of existence by
the fantastic strength of the Man of Steel.

He sagged with relief, letting out a long, heart-felt sigh. Lois
waited a few seconds, then gently turned him to face her and
wrapped her arms around him again, but this time joyfully, and
covered his mouth with her own.

A long, glorious time later, she managed to stop kissing him
(*and* catch her breath) for long enough to say happily, "You
*did* it, Clark! You did it!"

"*We* did it, honey. I don't know how, or why, but when you
touched me... it was like I was recharged. All my strength, all
the energy that I'd expended, fighting to hold the sphere
together, came flooding back, and I *knew* that I was able to
close it up. After that... it was simple. It took a lot of
effort, but I wasn't worried. With you holding me... it was just
a matter of finishing the job. And we did."

Lois stared at him, amazed by his words. She could tell that he
meant what he said, but she didn't have the faintest idea how she
could have been of help. She'd just wanted to hold him one last
time, but he seemed to think that she'd saved the day -- somehow.

"Clark... I didn't do anything. I just... couldn't leave you."
And then she grinned, mystification replaced by deviltry. "It was
just as well I didn't, wasn't it?"

Clark smiled back at her -- a rueful, lop-sided smile. Trust Lois
to do the *right* wrong thing. He'd pleaded with her to leave
before they both were killed; instead, she'd risked radiation
poisoning to express her love for him -- and by doing that, saved
them both, *and* a large chunk of Metropolis. She was never going
to let him forget this....

Meanwhile, Lois was frowning in thought, trying to understand how
she'd "helped" Clark. After a few moments, an idea struck her;
her head cocked to one side, and Clark could almost see the
thoughts race around inside her mind. "Hmmm... maybe my body
picked up some of your powers -- not much, but enough to make the
difference -- when your soul was in it. Or *my* soul brought them
with me when we were switched back. Or I've had just a little of
Ultra Woman's powers all this time, but never needed them before
-- because we never did find out if Kryptonite would have
affected me. Or maybe...."

Clark shook his head, grinning widely, and stopped the torrent
of speculation with a soft, slow, loving kiss. "I don't care
where that extra strength came from," he murmured when their lips
finally parted, "What's important is that it took both of us to
save the city. I couldn't do it by myself, but with you...."

He said no more, for there was no need. Their lips met, and all
that either cared about for that moment was that they were
together.

                    *         *         *

Luthor came back to consciousness slowly. He was lying face-down
in an awkward and decidedly uncomfortable position on some sort
of padded surface, and his jaw ached horribly. It took him some
time to realise that the "surface" was the leather upholstery of
a couch -- the couch in his office, he remembered. The memory of
how he'd got there, and what had happened to his jaw, followed
hard on that, and a sudden flush of angry mortification swept
through him.

With it came astonishment, which only made the shame inside him
more bitter. Why was he still alive? The "nuclear explosion" Kent
had warned him of ought to have put him out of his misery by now
-- *and* taken that damned alien with him -- unless... unless
he'd managed to stop it somehow! Luthor cringed inside at the
thought that Super-- *Kent!* -- had yet again saved his life.
Saved it so that he could spend the rest of that life in prison--
in a *cage!*

In his mind, Luthor screamed, howling his fury and humiliation
to the universe, to the non-existent gods who had *still* managed
to send one of their number to destroy him, but to the outside
world, he was motionless and silent. Despite the force of his
anguish, he couldn't make a sound and could barely move. He
forced himself to ignore the throb of his jaw and to partly open
his eyes, but the sight that greeted them was not worth the
effort -- Superman, locked in a clinch with Lois!

Another wave of rage burned through him, and this one brought
with it full consciousness and a measure of strength; not as much
as he would have normally, but enough, he hoped, to give him a
chance to escape. Kent had won this battle; LexCorp was bankrupt
and he himself would soon be marked as an attempted murderer --
at the very least. The "choice" was between being a hunted
fugitive or a prisoner, and the latter was something he did not
care to repeat. Escape was all that he could hope for now; that,
and the prospect of rebuilding his power, basing it in the
underworld as he had planned to do when first resurrected four
years ago. Kent may have defeated him -- for now -- but the war
would go on.

Seeing that his two foes were still wrapped up in each other,
Luthor slowly rose from the couch, taking the greatest of care
to move as silently as his body, its muscles shaky and cramped
from their sojourn in unconsciousness, would allow; his biggest
danger was Kent's super-hearing, but fortunately, the fool was
too wrapped up in canoodling with his wife to notice. It amazed
Luthor. 'That is why I *will* defeat you, Kent. No woman is worth
*that* much....

Every step that he took towards the study door was a source of
both fear and wonder, a deadly danger and a miracle. He
approached the desk and paused for a moment by it, his mind
whirling as he evaluated yet another danger -- or opportunity.

He reached over and silently lifted Alexander's sword from where
he had left it earlier. Yes, he would take this. The most valued
of all his possessions, this symbol of power and determination
would inspire him to new and greater heights, once he had
escaped. LexCorp was dead, but the organisation that he would

build would come to dwarf it, and this sword would be its symbol.
Forced to operate in secrecy by the "laws" of lesser men, he
would nonetheless have the city-- the *world* -- know of the
power that he wielded. The power of life and death; the power
that none would dare defy -- the power of the Sword.

A sound came from behind him, and he froze. But when he was not
instantly immobilised and whisked away to be presented to the
police, it became evident that Kent and Lois were yet to notice
him and were merely talking. 'Lovers' talk, no doubt -- idiots!'
He would have resumed his stealthy creep to safety, but his
attention was caught by something that Lois said -- and Kent's
reply was incredible!

"Come on, let's get out of here," Lois had murmured in a
disgustingly sultry voice, one which carried despite being meant
for one pair of ears and no more. "Henderson should be outside
by now, so let's dump Lex with him and get back to the Planet and
sort out how we're gonna write this up. I wanna get you home,
fly-boy...."

"Okay," Kent had replied happily, and yet somehow somehow resigned
(to what?) at the same time. "But let's tie Luthor up and invite
the cops up here to take him away. Closing that field generator,
even with your help, took just about everything I had -- that and
the Kryptonite radiation it was giving off. I didn't realise it at
the time, because I was too focused on what I was doing -- and
you -- but I think my powers are gone for a while. It's just like
it was at our first Corn Festival together; right now, I'm Clark
Kent, not Superman."

It took Luthor a moment to take in the incredible implications
of what Kent had just said. No powers? The fool was at his mercy!
He'd seen an opportunity in taking the sword as he went to leave,
but this... this was almost beyond the bounds of imagination! He
turned to seize the opportunity, and savoured the impending joy
of victory -- a victory that had seemed to be far in the future
mere seconds ago. Almost as sweet were the words with which he
would tell his enemies of their folly, shattering their
complacence before he killed them. He smiled a smile of pure evil
before calling to his victims, "How very convenient."

The couple jumped apart and whirled to see Luthor standing a few
feet away, sword in hand and malevolence in every aspect. Clark
would have said something, but Lex got in first. "How quickly the
fortunes of war can change. Mere moments ago, I was unconscious
and helpless, and now... now, the great Superman -- ah, but you
aren't Superman any more, are you? No, as you said yourself, at
the moment you're merely Clark Kent, an ordinary man. An
ordinary, *unarmed* man -- quite helpless, and soon to be dead!"

"Don't be so sure, Luthor. You thought I was helpless once
before, you might recall. And you weren't the first; of course,
the *last* maniac who thought he could take me one-on-one just
because I didn't have my powers ended up dead!"

"Spare me the useless bravado, Kent! Your alien abilities are all
that have thwarted me in the past; without them, you're just
another member of the rabble, to be crushed like the insect you
are! You don't deserve the honour of dying by my hand, of being
killed by this sword, but your hypocritical effrontery in
stealing my property has left me little choice but to deal with
you personally."

Clark looked baffled by Luthor's repeated accusation of theft;
Lois, who hadn't heard Lex's earlier rantings, was even more so.
"What are you talking about, Lex?" she cried, astonished and
angry, "The only person around here who's stolen anything is
*you!*"

"Ah, my dear Lois," Luthor replied smoothly -- though his eyes
only left Superman to flicker to her for the briefest fraction
of a second. "I'm surprised at you. Can't you even admit your
husband's guilt when no-one else can hear it? Or did he not tell
you of his surprisingly clever plan -- just not quite clever
*enough* -- to destroy my corporation? Hmmm... perhaps he didn't
trust you not to interfere. I can understand why....

"But that doesn't matter. You may have stolen my life's work,
Kent, but you have not defeated me. I must thank you, though, for
confirming my opinion of the human condition -- or, in your case,
the alien equivalent. You pretend to be the great altruistic
hero, 'sans peur et sans reproche', but, when faced with an
enemy that you cannot overcome physically -- not and retain your
fraudulent public image -- you abandon your Galahad pose for the
more human methods of Mordred."

"You're sick," Lois snapped. "And paranoid. Clark hasn't done
anything to your precious company. He doesn't steal -- and even
if he did, he wouldn't have *had* to do anything to it lately.
LexCorp has been falling apart, all by itself -- or don't you
read the Daily Planet?"

"Well, well..." mused Luthor, amused. This new insight into the
supposed hero and his "perfect" marriage was fascinating. He
wondered what other cracks he might find in their outwardly smooth
facade, and decided to probe a little more. Kent was at his mercy,
so why not indulge himself for just a short while? "So you didn't
tell her after all, Kent. Were you afraid that she would give the
game away? Or were her independence and stubbornness simply too
much for you?

"Come now, my dear," he continued, addressing Lois, though his
eyes and the point of the sword never wavered from Superman, "You
can't seriously believe that I would allow LexCorp to collapse
from something as mundane as bad management? No, all the
company's troubles have been caused quite deliberately, and very
cleverly, by your husband. I congratulate you, Kent; even after
all this time, I underestimated you. I shan't do so again -- for
what little remains of your life."

Lois had to admit that Lex was right; she had been as surprised
as anyone to hear of the corporation's financial troubles. The
Lex she had known years ago would have fired half the staff
before things had become anything like that bad. But if what he
said about the company's collapse was right, and Clark hadn't
been behind it -- which he hadn't -- then who *had?*

While she thought that over, Clark took up the conversation. "I
don't know what you're talking about, Luthor. I haven't done
anything to LexCorp. Why would I need to? The police have more
than enough evidence to put you behind bars without any need to
hurt all the people who depend on the company for their
livelihood. Even if you hadn't tried to kill me and everyone else
in the Planet building."

"Kent, you disappoint me. Does your fawning public mean so much
to you that you cannot even own up to your crimes in front of
their victim? Or has employing underhanded means to attack me so
corrupted you that you dare not emulate Shakespeare's Don John
and claim, 'I am a plain-dealing villain'?"

"Well, no matter; we both know that you could never have
maintained your hero pose *and* brought me down without resorting
to chicanery. No, you chose to shackle your real power to the
adulation of the mob, and only by moving outside their petty laws
could you hope to successfully oppose me. After all, mine is --
or was, and will be again -- the only power on Earth that exceeds
your own."

Lois snorted in disgust -- the *ego* of the man! "Don't kid
yourself, Lex! For all your so-called power, you were never as
dangerous as Lord Nor, and Kal-El beat him. You pride yourself
on your scheming, but you could never rival Tempus that way, and
Superman and I beat *him!* Your criminal empire was never as big
as Intergang, and Lane and Kent put the Churches away. You aren't
even as *insane* as Jason Trask, and *Clark Kent* beat him!
Without any super-powers!

"In fact, take away your money and a few of your flunkies, and
what's left is pretty darn second-rate!"

Luthor's eyes narrowed and his voice filled with honeyed
contempt. "Ah, Lois, my love, how little you know of what could
have been yours to share. It could still be, were you to come to
your senses and abandon this... *alien* for a man worthy of you.
With you by my side, and with your daughter to raise -- which,
rest assured, *will* happen; I shall not fail to obtain her a
second time -- the world could be mine. I still love you, you
know...."

Lois took a step backwards and turned to Clark, who had
simultaneously moved to get between her and Lex. He was as
appalled by Luthor's words as she -- and angry.

"You don't know what love *is*, Luthor!" he growled. "Remember
what you told me when you had me in that cage: 'I love Lois, I
really do. But she's just a little bit too independent, don't you
think? I'll take care of that.' That's not love, that's *greed*
-- which isn't surprising, coming from you! It's the only emotion
you understand. Even your supposed passion for Lois was never
anything more than the desire to add her to your collection --
and *that* was drug-induced! Without Miranda's pheromones, you'd
have cared no more for Lois than for any of your other women;
she'd have been one more plaything to use and discard, just like
all the rest!

"Love means accepting someone for who and what they are. Lois
isn't a... a suit from a tailor that you try on for size and
throw back in the man's face if it isn't a perfect fit or you
don't like the material! *I* love Lois -- *all* of her, even the
parts that drive me screaming up the wall with anger sometimes;
even the part of her that agreed to marry *you!* You couldn't do
that; you don't have it in you! You're too damn selfish!

"What about your own wife? Remember her? The woman who helped you
regain your position in society? If it hadn't been for her, you'd
still be hiding from the law, afraid to show your face in public --
and what thanks does she get? Have you killed her already, or are
you keeping her in reserve in case Lois turns you down again?"

Lois went white -- where *was* Beth? -- but Luthor only looked
perplexed. Clark kept talking:

"As for your insane plans for Laura...! You monster, you'll get
your dirty hands on my daughter over my dead body!"

"That's exactly what I had in mind, Kent!" With that, Luthor
lunged.

Lois found herself unceremoniously shoved to one side by her
husband. She hit the floor and rolled as Clark leaped backwards
to dodge Lex's first thrust and the savage slashes and cuts that
followed it. She would have been annoyed, but she realised that,
as usual, Clark's first thought was for her safety -- and that
she would have been in his way if he hadn't pushed her away.

She raised her head to see Clark fending off Luthor's blows with
anything he could find. A chair didn't last long. A standing lamp
did better -- it had a longer reach and Clark was able to use it
to keep Lex at a distance -- but it was only wood and would
eventually be unable to resist the tempered metal blade of the
sword. At least it gave them some time -- Clark to hold Lex off,
and her to find something that could help! She looked around
frantically, but the contents of the room gave her no
inspiration. Where was something to hit Lex over the head with?
There wasn't even anything heavy enough to throw!

Except... her eyes had gone past it before she realised what she
was seeing. The study was differently arranged to the way it had
been five years ago, when she was a semi-regular visitor. Much
of the furniture and the decor was the same, but there were some
additions, too, and one of those made her spirits leap.

A snapping sound made her look round to see, as she had feared,
that the lamp had been cut in two. She watched, heart in mouth,
as Lex lunged again at his unarmed target... and gasped as Clark
pulled a stunt right out of "The Three Musketeers", tangling the
sword in his cape and slamming a fist into Luthor's face!

The pain of the blow on his still-tender jaw made Luthor stagger
backwards, but he didn't let go of the sword. He was distracted,
though, for just a moment -- and that was all that Lois needed.
She ran to the wall and yanked on the scabbard; it came free and
she quickly raised it above her head and threw it like a javelin
to her husband with a shout of "Clark! Catch!"

Clark, surprised but alert, caught it, and found himself holding
a genuine Japanese katana -- a long-bladed samurai sword,
probably the deadliest weapon of its type ever made. He drew it
quickly, for Luthor had recovered, but the expected attack did
not come. Instead, Lex remained where he was, watching his
adversary warily. Kent armed with a sword -- any sword, but
especially *that* one -- was, potentially at least, a different
prospect to the "defenceless" victim he'd attacked before. The
alien had shown an unusual amount of skill -- or luck -- in
defending himself; it remained to be seen which it was, and
whether it would continue now that the man had a weapon.

Clark had visited Japan in his travels, and had seen samurai
training. He'd even taken a couple of classes in aikido before
moving on, so he wasn't a total novice in the use of a sword,
Japanese style-- or at least the wooden teaching version. He was
no expert, though, and he was afraid that it would show in the
way he handled himself with a real weapon.

He was right. His inexperience with the sword did show, and Luthor
rejoiced that his caution was unnecessary. In fact, he was so
pleased that he couldn't resist taunting Clark one last time.
"Miyamoto Musashi has nothing to fear from you, I see, Kent -- you
look like a bad imitation of Luke Skywalker! But then, one
shouldn't be surprised at your incompetence; as I recall from the
TV coverage, you were none too skilful with that overgrown
Kryptonian quarterstaff when you fought Lois' so-powerful Lord Nor,
so true mastery of a *human* weapon is obviously beyond you."

Clark wasn't listening. He was alert in case Luthor stopped
talking and resumed fighting, but most of his attention was
focused inside himself. The feel of the katana in his hands had
woken something within him, and he wanted to discover what it
was. It was as though something deep inside his mind was
beckoning him, and with some urgency, so he was glad that Luthor
continued his sarcastic tirade; it gave him time to concentrate
on this... call, without the need to do more than maintain a
token awareness of his enemy.

What happened next compressed eternity into no time at all -- or
did an instant somehow become an eon? Clark never knew; all he
was aware of, or all that he could remember later, was that he
saw-- no, *sensed*, for what reached his consciousness was more
than the result of mere sight, even super-vision -- people,
places and incidents from his life, and from other people's-- no,
*his* other lives -- all interwoven, and yet separate.

He saw, and heard, and felt, and above all, *remembered* his
aikido sessions; his lessons in Yi Chi from Lynn Chow, and using
what she taught him against Harlan Black's thug; learning the use
of the Drei from Ching, and his duel with Nor; fighting Baron
Tempos, both as Sir Charles and as himself in Charles' body;
studying the art of knife-fighting with an old Native American
chief; bringing down Tempus Tex and his henchmen; even watching
Lois at her Tae Kwon Do classes. All these and an uncountable
number of other events from times past and times future, from the
dawn of humanity to its eventual transformation into something
wonderful but incomprehensible, flashed through his mind, each
leaving something of itself as it passed. Strongest of all, and
yet the haziest, lacking any other detail, was the feel of a
sword in his hands -- a katana, oh, so like the one he held back
in the "real" world.

Lois was in many-- *most* of these "memories", though she had a
thousand different names and dressed in clothing in a myriad of
styles. Wherever he was, she was -- and wherever she was, he was,
protecting her and being protected by her. Whether he was her
servant, ruler or partner, they were always together, facing
life's challenges as a team, eternally bound in a love as strong
as the forces that created and drove the universe.

He slowly came back to the world and the penthouse and Luthor,
still ranting -- at least, it felt as though it happened slowly,
but when an age has raced through your mind in what seems like
nothing flat, who can say how much time has passed? Of more
importance was the way in which everything that he remembered
came together inside him. The memories assembled themselves like
the pieces in a jigsaw, and the finished "picture" was one of
great resolution, of calm, focused concentration, and of
determined confidence in his ability to overcome his enemy and
defend his soul mate and love, and all that they cherished. Evil
would not triumph this day -- not while he lived.

This new awareness, for all its depth and clarity, took a little
getting used to, and Clark's eyes glazed over for a fraction of
a second while he came to terms with it -- and in that instant,
Luthor, watching for just such a lapse in concentration, charged.

The sword of Alexander arced through the air towards Clark, eager
to strike and kill while its target was distracted... only to
come up short as it met the katana with a resounding *clang!*
Luthor was caught off-balance by the impact of the blades, but
he stayed on his feet and stepped back to recover, then lunged.
Again, his sword came nowhere near the caped figure in front of
him, the other sword moving swiftly and precisely to block. 

Luthor frowned as he retreated a second time. Kent's posture when
he had drawn the katana should have meant that he would be easy
meat for a fencer of his own skill and experience. Could he,
despite his words of mere moments ago, have underestimated the
alien again? If so, his enemy's reprieve would be short-lived.
As would the enemy.

To Lois, watching from across the room, what followed looked like
a macabre dance. Lex lunged and slashed and thrust and cut, using
every fencing trick and stratagem he knew, but Clark's sword was
there to thwart him every time. Sparks flew and the sound of the
meeting blades resounded throughout the penthouse, but nothing
more. Lex could not break through Clark's defence -- not even
force him to retreat -- but that was all; no matter what
happened, Clark remained on the defensive, seemingly never able
to launch his own attack.

Lois was amazed by Clark's skill. 'When did he learn to do
*this?*' she thought as Luthor tried a series of lunges and rapid
cuts that were foiled neatly, economically and almost
nonchalantly by the samurai sword. Both men were breathing
heavily by now -- Lex more so than Clark -- but, to Lois'
astonishment, Clark began to banter with Lex!

"Ever read Gordon R. Dickson, Luthor?" he panted. Lex's only
answer was another onslaught, and the swords clashed yet again.
"Maybe you should have. There's a book in his Childe Cycle series
called 'The Tactics of Mistake.'" Another flurry of strokes, but
to no more result than any other.

"Dickson uses fencing to illustrate the tactics of mistake,"
Clark went on as he parried yet another series of thrusts and
slashes. A frustrated Luthor remained silent, happy to allow his
opponent to waste his breath drivelling on about third-rate
authors; what he couldn't understand was why Kent bothered. He
attacked again with renewed fury -- or, after so long in what
ought to have been the shortest of bouts, was there a touch of
desperation there, too? -- so that Clark had to concentrate on
his swordplay rather than talking. He continued to speak, though,
as the blades rang together again and again.

"He describes how a fencing master can engage his opponent... in
a series of... inconclusive passes... that look ineffective...
until the opponent finds... that each time, his blade... has been
drawn further and further away... from its usual position...
leaving him open... to a surprise attack."

As he realised the sense of what Clark was saying, Luthor jumped
backwards in alarm to disengage. He couldn't see how Kent could
attack him, but he wasn't taking chances. The man had proven to
be a far more worthy adversary than he had expected -- which
would make his victory all the sweeter. He was alert for a
follow-up attack, but Clark didn't come after him, didn't press
the momentary advantage, didn't do *anything* but stand there,
sword in hand, ready for the next threat from his foe.

Luthor couldn't understand what the Kryptonian thought he was
doing... unless, the sudden, chilling thought came, he was
playing for time! That must be it! Lois had said that the police
were on their way; Kent must be stalling, waiting for them to
arrive. Luthor cursed himself for playing his game, wasting
valuable minutes gloating and bandying words with the pair of
them. Well, no more. He would have to finish this up quickly --
kill Kent and Lois and then use his emergency exit. Time was
suddenly of the essence.

He lunged once more, fear sending another burst of adrenaline
rushing through him. Clark parried. And again when Luthor renewed
his attack. And again when a third lunge was revealed to be a
feint that turned into a vicious slash.

Luthor was beside himself with rage and frustration. He could
feel himself tiring, losing his composure, and with it his
concentration; he *had* to kill Kent, and soon, but it was like
attacking a brick wall with a noodle! It was... it was... damn
it, it was like attacking Superman! He gritted his teeth and
raised the sword for yet another strike... only to go onto the
defensive himself, and barely in time.

With a ferocious yell, Clark swung the katana with all his
strength in a broad arc -- a clumsy attack that Luthor had no
doubt that he could parry easily, and which, he realised with
glee, would leave Kent wide open for a riposte that would prove
deadly. *Finally*, Kent had made an error, and now he would
*die!*

Or so he thought until the samurai blade, the product of the most
superior metalworkers known to humanity in the age of the sword,
hit his own weapon -- two thousand years older, for all that it
had been the property of the greatest conqueror of the ancient
world -- and sliced through it like a kitchen knife chopping a
stick of celery!

Luthor recoiled in horror, stumbling backwards, regarding the
stump of his weapon with appalled, disbelieving eyes. And *now*
Clark followed him, the lethal point and wicked cutting edges of
his own sword holding Lex at bay, forcing him ever back, around
the desk, away from the exit... away from freedom.

Not that freedom was the foremost thought in Luthor's mind;
*survival* seemed to be paramount at the moment. He was at Kent's
mercy, and he doubted that even Superman would be foolish enough
to have any after what had passed between them, both that day and
in the past. The end must be close... and he would welcome it.
Better a quick death than the disgrace of prison.

The tip of the sword now rested at Luthor's throat, and for a
second, both men shared the memory of a time when they had only
just met and their positions were reversed. Then Clark smiled
(smugly, Luthor thought) and, in between deep breaths, said
offhandedly, "The *other* example of the tactics of mistake that
Dickson gives is fooling your enemy into thinking you're
attacking something other than your real target."

This was almost too much for Lex. Kent had shown no fear when a
sword was at his throat -- although it wasn't the sign of courage
that it had been taken for -- and Luthor would be damned if he
would show any more emotion now that he was on the receiving end.
But he would not stand for being mocked with quotes from trash
fit only for morons and juveniles!

"Enough, Kent!" he gasped. "Fortune has favoured you yet again.
Now finish the job!"

"Kill you?" Clark asked, sounding surprised -- though his sword
didn't move a millimetre. "You've got a real thing about death,
don't you, Luthor? Every time you're beaten, you try to commit
suicide, or you only escape from justice because you're thought
dead.

"I *could* kill you, you know," he went on, almost
conversationally, "and God knows you deserve it if any man ever
has...." The sword left Luthor's throat to be raised high into
the air, ready for what could only be the killing stroke. Despite
his determination not to show weakness, Lex closed his eyes....

...until Clark barked, his voice now emphatic and resolute,
"...but I *won't*, because, as I told another maniac once,
*that's not how I work!*"

With that, he turned and slammed the sword into the desk-top!
More than razor-sharp, the blade pierced the work surface, the
drawers underneath and their contents, and eventually the
penthouse floor, finally coming to rest with its hilt resting
firmly against the surface of the desk. It looked like a surreal
version of the Sword in the Stone -- and was likely to be as hard
to remove.

Luthor, by contrast, saw only that death no longer stared him in
the face, and that escape-- perhaps *victory!* -- was at hand if
he was quick enough to grasp it. He hurled himself at Clark's
back with a roar, arms outstretched to strike, to grasp, to tear
-- to maim, cripple, even kill if he was lucky.

But his charge was met, one arm seized and the other avoided as
Clark stepped inside them to deliver two devastating blows -- the
first a sharp jab to Luthor's stomach, and the second, a full-
blooded haymaker if there was ever one, to the jaw. Luthor flew
back to crash into the wall, and slumped to the floor, barely
conscious.

Clark winced slightly as he shook his right hand, but he couldn't
help smiling. "I've wanted to do that ever since I decked Tempus
Tex..." he murmured to himself, sounding decidedly satisfied.

"Pretty smooth, farm boy," Lois applauded -- with, maybe, just
a hint of envy? "And here I thought *I* was the martial arts
expert around here...."

"You are, Lois," Clark laughed. "I've watched you at your Tae
Kwon Do classes, and I guess a little of it rubbed off. That and
some of the Yi Chi that Lynn Chow showed me -- and what Ching
taught me, of course. If you think about it, I've had a lot of
opportunities to pick up this sort of thing over the last few
years, and I've learnt from the best -- especially from you."

Lois had to smile at that. She began to cross the room to him,
but stopped when Clark reached down and grabbed his fallen foe
by the shirt-front. Easily, effortlessly -- even though, she
thought, he couldn't possibly have his super-strength back yet
-- he hauled the dazed Luthor off the ground and lifted him up
to where he could look him in the eye. For a moment, the two men
regarded each other in silence -- or perhaps it was more accurate
to say that Clark regarded Luthor; for all the humiliated hatred
in his eyes, Lex couldn't meet the level gaze of the other man
-- and then Clark began to speak.

"It's *over*, Luthor! Your power is gone, your money is gone, and
your clone story has been exposed for the sham it was. All your
flunkies and sycophants have abandoned you -- even your wife! And
your insane attempt to destroy yourself and Metropolis if you
can't own it *didn't work*, thanks to Lois. You're out of places
to run and things to hide behind...."

Lois never quite knew what made her do it, although, on later
reflection, she certainly had no trouble coming up with good
reasons. At the time, though, all she was aware of was a sudden,
irresistible urge to revenge herself, however slightly, on this
man who had attacked everything she held dear -- not once, but
again and again. And she knew just where and how to strike, too.
"Yeah," she murmured in a quiet but carrying tone that was all
the more effective for its lack of any violent emotion, its
almost disinterested quality, "and we just proved that you can't
beat Clark Kent in a fair fight, either -- but then, you never
could compete with him as a *man!*"

That soft pronouncement seemed to be the final straw for Luthor.
He sagged against Clark's arm, utterly defeated, before slowly
collapsing to the ground. Once there, he was silent for a moment
before managing to weakly pant, "What... now...?"

"Now, we get out of here -- all of us. The police are outside.
Inspector Henderson is waiting to arrest you, and he'll happily
add arson and attempted mass murder to the list of charges. Of
course, all that can happen is that the judge will add another
couple of life sentences to what you already have to serve, but
it doesn't matter; you're headed back to prison, Luthor, and the
world will know you for the scum that you are, once and for all!"

That seemed to rouse Luthor slightly, although he still couldn't
move. "No..." he gasped, "I'll... tell...."

Lois could guess what he was going to say -- "Let me go or I'll
tell them your secret" -- and, despite having expected it, she
was at a loss as to what to do about it. Clark couldn't -- and
*wouldn't* -- let Lex go, not after everything he'd done and
tried to do, but how could they stop him from telling what he
knew as one final gesture with which to strike back at his hated
enemy?

'Damn Lex!' she raged inwardly. 'If it hadn't been for that
blasted clone of his, he'd never have known about Clark, and he
wouldn't be able to ruin our lives this way!' But what could they
do? The only way to ensure Lex's silence is to kill him... and
Clark wouldn't even *think* of that, much less do it! Which
meant... 'Maybe *I* should?'

It was an awful thought, and it got worse as her mind raced,
looking for an alternative... without success. It seemed to be
the only thing that could save them from the hell that would
ensue if the world knew of Clark and Superman -- but the cost!
If she killed Lex -- and she was sure, both physically and
mentally, that she could do it, *if* Clark would let her -- what
would happen to her life?

She didn't fear prison. After everything Lex had done to her,
both today and in the past, no jury in the world would doubt a
plea of self-defence -- but *Clark* would be appalled. He would
never feel able to trust her again. He might *hate* her. Their
marriage... well, if it wasn't over immediately, it could never
be the same. She might not even be allowed to see Laura again.
It wouldn't even matter if she didn't manage to commit murder;
the mere attempt would be enough.

Was this to be Luthor's ultimate revenge? Would she have to kill
him for the sake of Clark and Laura, only to lose them even as
she liberated them from his evil?

She looked over at Clark, her eyes filling with tears. She loved
him so much, and he had given her happiness that she had never
thought she could ever know. How could she *not* do this for him,
even if it meant the end of that very happiness? He was worth it.
Laura was worth it.

And then Clark laughed. A short bark of laughter, but one that
was filled with irrepressible humour -- merriment, even... and
*defiance?* Lois' eyes went wide as her gaze snapped back to him.
To her amazement, he was regarding Luthor with a look of
something like amused exasperation, one eyebrow cocked and his
mouth quirked on one side in a familiar half-smile.

Her astonishment continued to grow as she watched and listened.
"You'll tell?" he snorted. "Tell what? Tell the world that I'm
Superman?" Once again, he reached down and pulled Luthor from the
floor, this time lifting the supine form until the two men's
faces were mere inches apart. "*Go ahead!*" he hissed.

The proverbial impartial observer would have been hard put to
tell who was more shocked, Lois or Lex. For her part, Lois was
now halfway towards panic and her mind was whirling. What was
Clark saying? Was he crazy? Had he been hurt in the fight and
no-one had noticed? Why was he *doing* this?

Luthor didn't have the strength to react much, but the shock
clearly showed on his face -- before Clark dropped him and his
expression changed to one of pain as he landed heavily. Clark
knelt down and rolled him over so that he could see the man's
face before continuing, "That's right, Luthor. You want to tell
the world that I'm Superman, you go right ahead. You won't be
doing anything that hasn't been done before. You're... what? the
*third* person to try to do that -- oh, and you might like to
know that the other two are in prison, and one of them is
confined to the psychiatric wing -- so I doubt very much if
anyone will believe you. They certainly won't *today*, thanks to
you! And even if they do... *I don't care!*"

He shook his head gently and smiled, but the smile was unlike
anything that Lois could remember seeing -- from him, at least.
It was grimly satisfied, it was ever so slightly smug, and it was
even a little contemptuous. It was, she realised, the smile of
a man who has faced and withstood every attack that his enemy has
made, including the ace-in-the-hole that his foe assumed to be
an unbeatable trump card, but which has proven to be merely
pathetic.

"That's right," he went on, "I don't care. Oh, I'd still prefer
that the world didn't know -- not yet, anyway -- but I've been
to a place where it's no secret that Clark Kent is Superman, and
life there is not so terrible. And even if it was as awful as I
once feared it could be, I know now that I could survive. I can
survive anything-- *we* can survive anything -- together."

Clark's eyes never left Luthor's as he said this, and the
ex-billionaire could see in that unwavering stare that this was
no false bluster. That realisation was the final straw for
Luthor, and he closed his eyes in utter humiliation and despair.
The final, ignominious thought that followed him into
unconsciousness was that he had made every effort, done
everything in his power to bring down and destroy this man, and
he had *failed.*

Clark stood up and reached out a hand to his wife, who ran
happily to him, wrapping her arms around him in an ecstatic
embrace and burying her head against his chest. Her mind awash
with an over-powering sense of relief, she couldn't, at that
moment, quite focus enough to understand Clark's seeming change
of heart, but it didn't matter; all she knew, all she *felt* was
overwhelming joy that, once again, he had saved her. Even when
the danger came from within herself, he was there for her,
protecting her, helping her, supporting her... keeping her safe.

Now that she *was* safe, she could see the enormity of the
mistake she had been so close to making, but she could also
remember the desperation that she had felt barely a minute or two
ago. With no idea of another solution to a dilemma like that, it
was all too easy to contemplate the unthinkable, especially after
everything else that she'd been through today. 'Thank God for
Clark,' she thought. Without him, with no dissenting voice from
either without or within, the thought could so effortlessly have
become reality. She'd have to remember that, the next time that
she wrote about, say, the murder of an abusive parent -- or even
someone like Martha's friend Cliff.

Clark could tell from the way that she held him that something
had happened that he and Lois would need to talk about, but there
were things that needed to be done here and now. He hugged her
tightly for a few more seconds, keeping a close eye on the
comatose figure on the floor, then kissed her gently and moved
away to secure Lex.

There was nothing handy to tie him up with, so Clark took off his
cape and ripped it in two, slightly amused at the fact that he
wouldn't have been able to tear it without his super-strength were
it not for the cuts that Luthor's sword had made in the material
when he used it to entangle the blade. 'Mom won't mind making
another cape,' Clark thought, 'After all, she's the one who thought
it looked so great as part of the suit.'

The strong scarlet cloth made a quite serviceable "rope" and,
with Lois' help, Luthor's arms and legs were soon securely bound.
Only then did Clark finally let out a sigh of relief and relax
-- and remember a minor problem.

"Honey," he said, straightening up and stretching unusually tired
muscles, "Can you go down to the Jeep and get my spare suit and
glasses after you send the cops up here? We don't know how long
my powers will be gone for, so I'm earth-bound for the moment,
and it'll be easier to leave with you as Clark rather than as
Superman."

Lois had been watching him stretch, and wasn't paying as much
attention as she might have been -- not to what Clark was
*saying*, that is. But her mind registered what her ears were
hearing after a few seconds, and she dragged herself back to the
business at hand. After all, the sooner they got out of here, the
sooner she could get him home....

"Okay," she said, standing up herself -- to *his* evident
appreciation. She hesitated before leaving; he was right, he did
need the clothes, but after all the drama of the last hour or so,
she was still a little nervous. "You'll be okay keeping an eye
on Lex until Henderson gets here, won't you?"

"I'll be fine, Lois. Luthor isn't going to wake up for a while 
-- not this time. And even if he does, he isn't going anywhere,
not tied up like that. You know how secure those bonds are -- you
helped me tie them!"

"Yeah, okay...." Reassured more by her husband's tone of voice
than what he had said, Lois turned and headed for the elevator.
Clark waved to her as the doors closed and settled down to watch
their captive and await her return.

                    *         *         *

Back at the Planet, things were mostly calm. The bomb squad had
searched the building and found nothing (to no-one's surprise),
the fire brigade had checked the newsroom for hot spots and made
sure that they would not start another fire, the badly-injured
people were all on their way to hospital, and everyone else was
being checked out by paramedics and a couple of doctors who'd
been passing and offered their services.

One exception to the general air of peace and relief was Penny,
who'd been separated from Jimmy when he went to turn off the
power. She'd been fairly brusquely shepherded away from the
conference room and out of the building, and hadn't been able to
find her boyfriend until he finally emerged some time later,
helping an ambulance crew move one of the last of the stretcher
cases.

She waited until the injured man was loaded into the ambulance,
and then ran over to him, calling, "Jimmy? Jimmy! Oh, thank God
you're all right! You *are* all right, aren't you...?" At his
somewhat dazed nod, Penny wrapped her arms around him in the
hardest hug she could manage. "You saved my life! You saved
Ralph! And Alice!"

Jimmy was still on the end of an adrenalin high, and his mind
could only focus on the last thing that she'd said. "Yeah, well
I *had* to..." he replied as though it ought to have been
obvious. "Perry would have killed me if she'd been hurt."

Penny looked at him for a few moments, speechless and bewildered
at his seeming nonchalance. Then she hugged him again, her eyes
starting to tear up, and said in an almost desperate tone, "You
crazy hero, you! I do love you...."

Something clicked in Jimmy's brain. He held Penny close, but
didn't say anything for a while beyond a near-automatic response
of "I love you, too." It wasn't that he didn't mean it, but it
was as though he said it by rote, his mind on something else --
which it was. The silence between them lasted for only a few
moments, although it seemed longer to Penny, who didn't
understand why he'd gone quiet all of a sudden.

But then he came back to Earth, so to speak, and held her at
arm's length, gazing intently into her eyes. "Okay, that settles
it," he said decisively. "Penny -- will you marry me?"

*This* was unexpected, to say the least, and Penny was flustered.
He sounded so *determined*.... "What? Why... I mean, we..." she
babbled before finally managing to ask the real question: "What
made you decide this *now?*"

"Do you remember me telling you about Benny Rockland and what
happened to him a couple of years ago?" Penny nodded, confused
by the seeming change of subject. "Well, one thing I didn't tell
you was that when I went looking for the woman who did that to
him, I *found* her -- and she did the same thing to *me!*"

Penny was startled; Benny Rockland had died of old age --at *22!*
-- after running afoul of a crazy doctor who'd invented a device
that sucked the youth out of him and gave it to someone else.
Jimmy *couldn't* have had that done to him....

"Yeah," he said, nodding in confirmation. "I was about 70 for a
couple of hours. I nearly died. The only reason I'm here now is
because Superman volunteered to give up some of his life-force
to save me."

Penny, astonished and nearly in tears again, would have said
something, but he laid a finger on her lips. "I know -- what can
you say about a friend like that? I tried to thank him the next
time I saw him, but he wasn't interested. I asked him why he'd
done it -- why he'd given up years of his own life for me -- and
he told me that he didn't think he'd given up anything. I was
okay, that was all that was important. As for losing years of his
life, well, no-one knew how much time they had to live; some
maniac with a piece of Kryptonite might come along tomorrow and
kill him, and what good would those 'lost' years do him then?

"And then he said something that I've never forgotten. 'Jim,' he
said, 'it's not the years that count, it's what you do with them.
How could I go on with my life knowing that I let one of my
closest friends die just so I could exist a little longer? Years,
months, weeks, days -- they're all just made up of moments, and
every one of us lives life one moment at a time. Make the most
of *your* moments and we'll both be better off, because "my" life
will have been lived to the full, and it doesn't matter if *I*
didn't do all the living myself.'

"So that's what I'm gonna do. And I want to share those moments
with you, and I want to do it *now*, because something like this
might happen again, and I don't want to miss what I could have
had. We've thought about it, we've had our trial run, now let's
*do* it!" He paused, suddenly worried by her silence. "That is,
if *you* want to...."

"If *I* want to?" she yelped. "Of course I do, you...." Just what
Jimmy was would remain a mystery, because Penny threw herself at
him and their mouths met in a kiss so passionate that people for
some distance around felt that they were somehow intruding on
something private and very special. Certain connoisseurs of
Public Displays of Affection were heard to opine that those two
had promise -- perhaps not up to Lane and Kent standard yet, but
give them time....

Jimmy and Penny didn't hear this; they would have found it
amusing, but they were... preoccupied.

                    *         *         *

Two of the watching connoisseurs were Perry and Alice, sitting
together while a doctor checked the cuts on her leg for any
embedded glass. "Look at those two," Alice whispered, smiling
reminiscently. "Nothing like a bomb, or whatever it was, to get
the juices flowing when you're that age."

"What's age got to do with it?" Perry protested. "Wait till the
docs let us go, and I'll show you that I ain't been squeezed dry
yet!"

"Oooo... tell me more," she replied playfully, and then fell
silent. Her smile softened as she remembered times when the two
of them had felt like Jimmy and Penny -- and not just when they
were that age, either! Yes, danger could certainly add a certain
spice to life....

"Remember Beirut?" she murmured, laying her head on Perry's
shoulder almost instinctively.

"Uh-huh. And Montevideo. And Bogota. Not t'mention Saigon,
Prague, Belfast, Nairobi and Antarctica...."

Alice giggled. "*I*'d almost forgotten about Antarctica.... Do
you think anyone would ever believe us if we told them about it?"

"Probably not -- I'm not sure *I* believe it after all these
years."

"True, true.... It would have made one heck of a story, though,
wouldn't it?"

"It sure would. Do you remember Old Man Krebbs' face when we
turned in our copy? He looked sicker'n a mad dog when he realised
that we weren't jokin' -- and even worse when the suits upstairs
told him he couldn't print it!"

They both laughed, and Alice found herself awash in something
that she hadn't felt for years -- the joy of true companionship,
of shared experiences that no other people on Earth would or
could know -- and, to her surprise, she found that she'd missed
it dreadfully.

'You can have it back, you know,' she told herself, 'if you're
prepared to take the risk. Are you?'

She rolled her head on his shoulder and looked at the familiar
profile of the man who had one been her husband, and who was
still-- had always been -- the man she loved. He was grinning
broadly at the memory, and she felt her heart flip at the sight
of his rugged, handsome face, the same way it had when he'd burst
out of his office to take charge of the evacuation and rescue of
the newsroom staff.

She hadn't been able to avoid overhearing Penny call Jimmy a
hero, and she had to agree, but there had been more than one hero
there in the newsroom. Superman had been invaluable, as always,
and she'd always be grateful to Jimmy, and it was wonderful --
but no more than she expected -- to see all the other people go
to the aid of their friends and colleagues, but Perry had been
just as much a hero as anyone else. He'd been everywhere, a big,
gruff man who'd told people what to do, reassured and bucked them
up so that they could do it, and then got down and joined in. An
awful lot of people owed their lives or their health to this
man....

'You want more than what you've got now? Well, how does a hero
straight out of a story-book sound? There he is. All you have to
do is give him a chance.'

Alice smiled. Taking chances... in a way, that's what their
marriage had been about for many years -- certainly before they'd
had kids. But then they'd had to ease off for the boys' sake
and... got too comfortable, maybe, and had forgotten how to do
it. Perry had gone through a period of almost compulsive risk-
taking a few years ago; he'd said it was his version of a mid-
life crisis. If it was, what a shame that they hadn't done much
more of it *together*....

Perhaps it was time to start taking a few more chances as a
couple again. In which case, let the first big one be *becoming*
a couple again.

The doctor finished his inspection and pronounced the cuts on her
legs as clean and free of any foreign bodies. He made a few
typical doctor-type suggestions -- go home, have a good rest,
take it easy for a day or two -- then moved on to the next
patient. Alice watched him go with a mixture of mild amusement
and annoyance at being patronised; between bringing up two active
sons and some of the adventures that she'd shared with Perry, she
probably had more experience with this kind of wound than he did!
Still, she was glad he was gone; she didn't want anyone listening
in when she took the plunge -- which she intended to do right
now!

"Speaking of going home..." she murmured, "the lease on my
apartment runs out in about six weeks. You don't suppose there's
an old hound-dog around somewhere who might have a spare corner
in his kennel that I could use?"

Perry was stunned, and it showed. "Alice... honey..." he managed
to half-gasp in a most un-editor-like tone, "Are you... *do*
you...?"

Alice took pity on him and filled in the blanks. "Am I asking
what you think I'm asking? Do I want to come back?" He nodded,
now totally unable to say *anything.* Fortunately, Alice said it
for him. "Yes, you crazy fool, that's exactly what I'm saying.
We're not going to get married again, though -- not yet, anyway;
I've wanted to live in sin ever since it was all the rage in the
Sixties, and this is my chance. We missed it the first time
around, and I want to find out what all the fuss was about."

Her grin was truly wicked, but the sparkle in her eyes held
deeper emotions -- love, reaction to the recent danger, and even
a hint of nervousness. Or so Perry thought, and it inspired him
to reply in kind. "Oh, and here was I thinkin' you wanted me as
a sugar daddy. Guess it's just as well -- I couldn't afford to
keep a woman with expensive tastes like yours. Kind of a shame,
though; I always wanted to come home to some pretty little thing
in a black negligee...."

Alice blushed and looked around to see if anyone had heard him.
No-one seemed to, for which she was thankful, and, more
comfortable now that she knew that their private conversation
*was* private, she stretched up to whisper in Perry's ear, "That
can be arranged...." Perry roared with laughter and hugged her,
which she enjoyed for just a few seconds, before becoming more
serious and finishing the sentence: "...always providing you
remember to *come* home."

That made him stop laughing, and he gently moved her to where he
could look into her eyes, his own obviously troubled. "Aw,
Alice... honey..." he said hesitantly, trying valiantly not to
stumble over his own words, because he knew that what he said now
would determine their future together -- if they had one.

"Alice," he repeated, "You know me. The Planet's been such a big
part of my life for so long... maybe *too* big a part, but that's
the way I am. I never wanted my job to come between us, but it
did... and I'm kinda scared that it might do it again.

"You have to believe that the *last* thing I want is for you to
get hurt because I work too much.... but I can't promise that it
won't happen; that's how I am, and I don't know any other way of
doing my job." He paused and waved a hand at the scene around
them -- injured employees, ambulances, police, firefighters,
wreckage. "And then there's *this* sort of thing....

"What I *can* do is to try to keep going the way we have been
lately -- that's been okay, hasn't it?" Alice nodded, and a
relieved Perry went on, "and promise that if you tell me that I'm
overdoing it again and you'd like some attention, I'll listen to
you and do something about it. I've learnt *that* lesson, at
least."

He paused and took a deep breath, apprehension all over his face,
then asked the crunch question: "Is that gonna be enough?"

'Well, Alice, is it?' she demanded of herself. 'That's what
you've been trying to work out all day, isn't it? Have you made
up your mind or not?'

For just a moment, she looked down, lost in a sudden return of
indecision, but then she met Perry's worried eyes and couldn't
resist smiling, just a little. And that did it; her man was
there, he wanted her back, and he was prepared to do what she
asked to get her -- but he also knew his own limitations and was
more concerned that *she* not be hurt than with his own desires.
It was a potent combination, and Alice wasn't trying too hard to
resist; she'd already made the decision, really, and she didn't
want to back out. Besides, she reckoned she had the measure of her
rival now, especially now that she knew that what she wanted was
what Perry wanted, too, and those memories had given her an idea.
Maybe it was time there was *another* White at the Daily Planet
again....

"We'll just have to see, won't we?" she said softly, her eyes
shining. Perry pulled her to him and the world went away for a
while.

                    *         *         *

Henderson looked around the study with the eye of someone who'd
seen many a crime scene, even ones in such luxurious surroundings
as these. Of course, none of those scenes had looked quite like
this one. The overturned and smashed furniture was nothing new,
nor were the other tell-tale signs of a battle royal; even the
seriously rich had fights. It was the melted, blackened remains
of some kind of high-tech weapon that made the scene around him
unique -- that and other little touches like the weird crystal
globe sitting on the desk and the antique sword lying on the
floor in pieces.

The globe was causing him the most concern at present. From what
Superman and Lane had said (and trust Lane to be involved!), it
was vital evidence, but he was sure that, as soon as the Feds
heard about it -- which they'd have to, because half the charges
Luthor would be facing were Federal ones (kidnapping, conspiracy
to impersonate the President, etc.) -- it would disappear into
the black hole of "national security" and never be seen again.
Before that happened, he wanted his own people to get the
evidence the D.A. would need to prosecute. Arson and multiple
counts of attempted murder were major felonies, and he didn't
want Luthor's crimes against the people of Metropolis to be
forgotten for the so-called "more important" offences that the
FBI and other agencies would jump on.

"Yeah, George," he said into his mobile phone, "I want a full
team over here as of ten minutes ago. And get onto Klein if you
can; there's something here I think he needs to see before the
Feds grab it.

"Yeah... yeah, okay. Right... we'll be here. See you then."

He put the phone on stand-by and stuck it back into his pocket,
then took another look around, running through a mental list of
everything that needed to be done. First order of business was
to make sure Luthor was safely stashed in a cell at Headquarters.
He'd been formally arrested, read his rights and cuffed, so it
should be simple enough to get him out of here now that most of
the people who'd been crowding around outside after evacuating
the building -- no-one knew why -- had either returned to work
or left.

After that... well, there wasn't that much to do. It wasn't as
though there was a lot of investigation to be done. He had
witnesses, and they were more than willing to testify. Superman
had already left after arranging to come in and give a statement
later, and Lane was just waiting for Kent to show up before
heading back to the Planet to write up her precious exclusive.
She'd be along to give her statement, too. So, after he'd told
the forensic boys and Dr Klein what to do here, he could head
back to Headquarters and spend the rest of the day completing the
paperwork -- not to mention bringing the D.A.'s office up to
speed. And, of course, the Feds would eventually get in on the
act, but he hoped to have everything pretty much wrapped up by
the time they descended on him.

He waved over two uniformed men that he'd chosen personally for
this. He could rely on them, no question. "Okay, Shaw, Murray,
you know what to do. Take him downtown, book him and make sure
he goes into maximum security. Oh, and get a doc to look at those
bruises, but I want you two to keep your eye on him all the way.
No slip-ups, right?"

"Right, Inspector. Come on, buddy, you've got a date with a
holding cell."

Luthor didn't respond as he stumbled towards the elevator between
the two big cops. His eyes were blank, fixed straight ahead, and
seemed to see nothing. Only when Clark appeared from a side door,
adjusting his tie, did he react, casting a look of burning hatred
in that direction... but then ducked his head and seemed to
shrivel inside himself when the reporter met his eyes with a
calm, steady stare.

Lois saw Clark emerge into the corridor, and came to meet him,
smiling. He saw her, and turned to watch her walk towards him...
and so missed what was happening behind him until he saw her
expression change to surprise, and then to apprehension.

He whirled to see the two policemen coughing and gagging in a
cloud of gas from a small canister on the floor, and Luthor
struggling weakly in the grip of an unknown assailant -- and with
a gun, a large revolver, shoved into his mouth! Later, Lois was
to tell him that the man had appeared from the elevator, tossing
his gas bomb perfectly into the midst of the approaching trio
when the elevator doors opened at just the right moment; for now,
Clark's main concern was that gun... and the fact that he thought
he recognised the person holding it.

"Alex? Is that you?"

"Oh, yeah. Hi, Mr Kent. You too, Ms Lane. Do me a favour and get
these guys to back off, willya? Lexy-boy here is gonna get his,
but I don't want anyone else hurt."

"Alex, what are you doing? Please, put the gun down," Clark
pleaded while Lois yanked the gasping cops away from the gas.

"No way, man. Nope, this is it for big, bad Mr Luthor here. First
I wrecked his company, and now I'm gonna nail his hide to the
wall, just the way I promised Nicky."

Luthor, barely managing not to choke on the gun barrel, jerked
slightly to one side, trying to get a look at the man holding
him. Alex guessed why and laughed.

"Whatsamatter, Lexy-boy? Don't you believe me? You better, 'cause
I ain't lyin'. Oh, no, I *want* you to know who's taken you down,
and why. It was me, man -- with a little help, yeah, but mostly
me.

"You've been hacked to death, Luthor, by the granddaddy of all
computer viruses. My program LCKILLER -- short, naturally, for
LexCorp Killer -- was an absolute masterpiece. How much money did
you lose? Ten billion, or was it closer to eleven? I stopped
counting after about eight...."

Luthor's eyes widened in shock and anger, but he was too weak,
and held too tightly by the young hacker, to free himself -- and
especially to get that gun out of his mouth. Nor was it likely
that anyone else could help him; the police were covering his
assailant -- Alex? -- but they couldn't hope to kill him, or even
*touch* him, without the near-certainty that he'd pull the
trigger. As for Kent...! The irony was staggering: Superman was
the one person who stood any chance of rescuing Luthor -- but he
couldn't, because he didn't have his powers right now, thanks to
Lex's own super-weapon!

"Why did I do it?" Alex asked rhetorically, anticipating the
inevitable next question. "Because this... this *louse*, this
piece of *scum* is responsible for the deaths of both my
brothers! Remember Chris Trifyllis, Lexy-boy? Remember sending
your lap-dog O'Reilly to kill him? Didja know that Eeyore has
ratted on you, and is gonna be the star witness at your trial for
Chris' death -- except that you ain't gonna *have* one!

"And then there's what happened to Nicky.... You sent your goons
to get him, too, 'cause you wanted what he was working on, but
they messed up! We got away and went into hiding, and I've been
hacking into your computers ever since... but Nicky still died,
and it's *all because of you!*" he sobbed harshly. "And that's
why your time on Earth is over, Luthor!"

"Oh, Alex..." came a soft voice. Lois' voice. "How awful. But you
don't have to kill Lex. He's been arrested for Chris' murder, and
a lot of other things, too; the number of charges he's facing is
*huge.* Let him go, and let the courts deal with him. You can
watch him go to prison for his crimes... and *your* hands won't
be dirty like his."

"Lois is right, Alex," Clark chimed in, equally calmly. "Don't
do this; not for Chris' sake, not for Nick's, and especially not
for your own. I never knew Chris, but I met Nick, remember? My
impression of him was that he was a gentle man, interested in
helping other people. Even what he did to Lois and me came from
him wanting to find a way to help people; he just... got a bit
obsessed, that's all. I can understand that; Lois is always
telling me that I obsess about things...."

Despite the tense situation, Lois couldn't resist flashing a
quick glance at Clark, grinning and muttering under her breath,
"And you do, too, farm boy," knowing that he could hear her,
whether or not his super-hearing was working. Clark didn't react,
though, not wanting to lose the fragile contact he felt he was
making with Alex.

"And if I could see that Nick was like that, then I *know* that
he wouldn't want you to become a murderer. Let Luthor *go*, Alex.
Let the police and the courts deal with him, the way they do with
other criminals. I want to see him get what's coming to him just
as much as you do, but killing him like this is *not* the way."
 
For a moment, it looked as though Alex was going to give in, but
then his expression visibly hardened and he roughly jabbed the
gun against the roof of Luthor's mouth. "No!" he cried. "Anyone
else, maybe, but not Luthor! He's died once before, remember? And
he came back. He went to prison, but he escaped. He's cheated
justice *so* many times.... I'm not gonna let it happen again!"

No-one had noticed, but the jab with the gun had been for more
than show. While Luthor was distracted by the pain, Alex had
reached into a pocket with his other hand and pulled out
something small, black and unpleasant-looking. A grenade.

"I thought about this a lot, ever since I decided what I was
going to do. It's not enough just to kill Lexy-boy, not even
enough to take everything he owns from him and *then* kill him.
No, he's beaten that before, and there are too many crazy people
out there who think he's some kind of... I dunno, *god* or
something. People like Gretchen Kelly, Miranda, Arianna Carlin,
the Presses.... I don't know how anyone can be so stupid, but
*they* were, and there's more out there like them.

"Even if I killed him and made sure that he couldn't be
resurrected -- say, by cutting him up -- would you bet that one
of them wouldn't try to *clone* him? I read those reports I sent
to Bernard Klein; they couldn't do it 5 years ago, but in ten
years' time? I'm not taking the chance. I am going to obliterate
every last trace of Mr Lex Luthor on this Earth."

He held up the grenade, then brought it to his mouth and pulled
out the pin with his teeth. "This..." he declaimed to the room
at large, "...is a thermite grenade. A special one. When it goes
off, the temperature of its explosion is hot enough to destroy
any DNA that might survive the blast wave itself. It has a
five-second fuse..."

To the horror of the watching police and reporters, Alex released
the handle of the grenade, starting the 5-second delay. Clark
went to jump him, but Lois grabbed his arm and hung on for all
she was worth. "No, Clark!" she screamed, "No!" and Clark, caught
off-balance by his wife's unexpected grip, stumbled and half-
fell.

Meantime, Alex was softly counting, "One... two... three...." At
the count of 3, he squeezed the handle again, halting the
countdown -- for as long as he kept holding it -- and resumed
addressing the room. "...which has now approximately *two*
seconds left. I suggest you all back away, because I don't want
anyone, especially not Ms Lane and Mr Kent here, to get hurt when
this baby goes off."

"What about you, Alex?" Lois cried. "When that goes off, you'll
be killed!"

"I don't think so -- or it won't matter, anyway. Now *back off*,
you two, or I'll kill Luthor here and now, and you'll have to
take your chances!"

"Do what he says, Lane," said Henderson. "You too, Kent. He's
right; there's nothing you can do to stop him, so don't try to
be a hero."

Lois and Clark exchanged glances at that, but they did what they
were told. That is, Lois moved away from the two men, dragging an
anguished Clark with her. "Alex, *please*," he called, "Don't do
this! Don't waste your life on something as empty as revenge!"

Alex wasn't listening. He retreated a little way down the corridor,
and then shoved Lex up against the wall. "I gotta put this
somewhere," he growled, brandishing the grenade, "and I know *just*
the place."

Luthor had thought that he had plumbed the full depths of terror
and despair possible to a human being over the course of that
day; he found that he was wrong when his captor stuffed the grenade
into the waistband of his trousers. Alex kept hold of the
handle, but it took everything Luthor had to retain control of
himself with a live grenade inches from his groin.

"Okay, there's only one more thing to do: you got a message from
someone I met -- the help I mentioned. Interesting guy; lives
'round here, and he really enjoyed himself, setting you up.
'Cause he knows you, you see, and hates you almost as much as I
do -- maybe even more. He particularly wanted this to be the last
thing you ever hear, and I am more than happy to oblige him.

"So, good-bye, Lexy-boy.... Jaxon says he'll *see you in hell!*"

There was an odd-sounding laugh from somewhere. Lex's eyes went
even wider in sheer panic, and Alex fired the gun.

The sound of the shot was the signal for the police to start
firing, too. Alex didn't seem to mind; he stepped back from Lex's
body, seemingly ignoring the way his body jerked as the bullets
hit. Then he fell to the ground... and the grenade went off.

The fiery blast ripped along the corridor, and everyone ducked
behind something as best they could. The fire alarm went off, and
the automatic sprinkler system came on, adding to the confusion.
The sprinklers were, naturally, the best money could buy; when
the battered, wet police -- and Lois and Clark -- picked
themselves up, their ears ringing, they found that the fire was
almost out. They also found a man-sized, if oddly-shaped around
the head, pile of charcoal -- and Alex, still breathing.

The stench from the "corpse" -- there was barely enough left to
warrant the name -- was awful. Lois stayed out of the way and
covered her nose and mouth with a handkerchief, but a grim Clark
and Henderson ignored it as they knelt down beside Alex.

"My God, he's still alive," Henderson exclaimed. "Nor for long,
though. He's got third-degree burns over most of his body, and
four-- *five* bullet wounds." He turned and barked to Shaw, "Get
an ambulance!" And then, sotto voce, "Not that it'll do him much
good...."

"I don't think it matters, Inspector," Clark said quietly. "Look
at this." He pulled back Alex's hair to reveal some sort of
headset.

"Hey, what's that?" Lois asked. "Since when do you wear a Walkman
to kill someone?"

"It's not a Walkman, honey. I think I know what it is, though.
Can you remember seeing someone like *this* before?"

Clark raised Alex's arm and let it flop back, then made a few of
the standard response tests that are taught in first aid classes
-- and Alex didn't react at all; even his involuntary reflexes
were sluggish. Yet he was still alive, still breathing; it just
seemed as though there was nobody home.

"Oh, my God.... That's just like Jaxon was after he crashed his
computer when we trapped him in the virtual world! You don't
think...."

"I don't know, but it sure looks that way. When Dr Klein gets
here, we can ask him to check this out, but my bet is that this
is a VR headset."

"And Alex... has joined Jaxon?"

Clark shrugged, and Henderson broke in, "If that's settled, would
you two mind explaining what the hell you're talking about?"

Lois sighed. "It's a long story, Bill. Let's get out of here and
we'll tell you all about it."

There was nothing to be done for either body, so the trio went
back into the study. Lois and Clark embraced, needing the contact
to help shut out the horrors that they'd just seen. Henderson
waited patiently until, after a few moments, Clark began, "It all
started about three years ago, when this new Virtual Reality
parlour opened...."

                    *         *         *

The news of Lex Luthor's exposure, arrest and death spread even
faster than might have been expected from modern communications.
The headline story in the Daily Planet was picked up by news
services all over the world, and phones, faxes and Internet links
ran hot as the media -- even other newspapers! -- demanded more
than the D.A.'s press releases and the exclusive reports from
Lane & Kent, who seemed to be the only ones who knew what had
happened. They got nowhere, needless to say; Perry took great
delight in telling everyone to wait and read the next edition --
and reminding them that any attempt to use or quote from Planet
copyright material without proper attribution would result in a
lawsuit.

So it was that a woman living under the name of Emma Saunders
came to read of the events in Metropolis as she sat at the
breakfast table in her new apartment in San Diego. She also read
of the mystery surrounding the disappearance of Luthor's widow,
and that made her think very hard.

Should she go back? But go back to what? Lex was dead, that was
certain -- or as certain as one could be with anything concerning
him -- but the legal and financial infighting surrounding the
collapse of LexCorp was set to go on for years, and she was well
off out of that.

No, thanks to Alex, she had a new identity and more than enough
money to live very comfortably indeed. It was an awful shame
about what had happened to the man who had set her free, and
about his brothers, but it was done now, and no good purpose
would be served by the reappearance of Lex's "missing" widow. She
had had a narrow escape from her own folly, and she intended to
learn from that and *not* go back into the lions' den.

Beth Luthor was gone, and, with luck, would be presumed dead in
a few years. "Emma Saunders" had a comfortable life to look
forward to, and she was going to live that life as unobtrusively
as possible. She'd had her time in the spotlight, and once was
enough.

Before turning to the local news pages of her paper, Beth spared
one final thought for three other people who had been threatened
by Lex. Lois and Clark had, she gathered, played a major part in
Lex's final downfall, and she thanked them for that. She also
sent whatever intangible good will there was to send, to their
little girl. In a way, Laura was responsible for all that had
happened in the last year or so; if Beth hadn't found out about
Lex's insane plan to take her from her parents, she never would
have found it in herself to move against him, however tentative
her first steps may have seemed at the time.

'Bless you, little one,' she thought. 'For my sake, and for your
parents'. Because of you, I lost a life of luxury, and my
husband... but I kept my soul.'

                    *         *         *

"Okay, Mother. That's great. We'll see you and Daddy here on the
17th. Bye."

Lois hung up with the usual sensation of relief that tended to
accompany the end of a telephone conversation with her mother,
but she was more interested in the fact that she'd come to the
end of her list. "That's everyone," she called to Clark, who was
in the kitchen. "And they're *all* coming," she added with
amazement. "This is going to be the biggest Lane-Kent family
party ever!"

"Don't sound so surprised," Clark replied as he came into the
living room, carrying two glasses of wine. "Did you really expect
anyone to not want to come to Laura's first birthday?"

"Well, no... but I *am* surprised that they all were *able* to
make it. Your parents, my parents, Perry and Alice, Jimmy and
Penny, some of the other kids from the day-care centre and their
parents... it's gonna be quite a crowd. Even Lucy's coming --
*and* she knows that Daddy will be here!"

Clark said nothing, merely contenting himself with a half-cocked
eyebrow as he sat down on the couch beside Lois. It felt as
though he'd sat on something, so he got up again immediately and,
after putting the glasses on a table, went to look for whatever
it was.

It turned out to be a small envelope with "Mr and Mrs Kent" on
it in neat, but old-fashioned handwriting. "What's this?" Clark
asked.

"Beats me," Lois replied. "How'd it get *there?* Oh, never mind
-- open it."

Clark did, and pulled out a small note in that same neat writing.
"'Dear Lois and Clark,' he read, 'I have great pleasure in
accepting your kind invitation to your daughter's birthday party
on the 17th of August, 1999. Yours truly... H.G. Wells.'"

"Oh," said Lois. "Okay... another guest shouldn't be a problem.
I kinda wish you'd told me you invited him, though."

"I didn't invite him, Lois -- I thought *you* did."

"Me? No. So who did? And when?"

Clark didn't say anything for a moment or two, but then smiled.
"I think *we* did, honey; we just haven't done it yet. We'll have
to ask him about it when we see him at the party."

"Oh," she said again, thinking about it. "I guess you're right.
That is so weird, though." She thought about it for a moment,
then brightened. "But useful. He could make a fortune as a time-
travelling messenger service. 'Forget an important appointment?
Your wife's birthday? To pay your income tax? No problem -- let
Wells Temporal Couriers make your deliveries, and you'll never
be late again!' Hey, do you think I could get a percentage of the
gross for coming up with the idea?"

Clark grinned. "Maybe. But I don't think Utopia uses money, so
'the gross' might not amount to much in our terms."

"Oh, well... it was just an idea." She waved one hand at him.
"Come over here and sit down. I am *beat*, and I want a
comfortable husband to lean on."

Clark was happy to oblige, and Lois was soon comfortably
stretched out along the couch with her head on his shoulder.
"Yeah," Clark said as he sipped his wine, "It's been a heck of
a couple of days, hasn't it?"
 
"I'll say," Lois agreed. What with writing up the full story of
Luthor's downfall (Kerth material at the very least, and Lois was
seriously thinking Pulitzer and/or Nobel Prizes), making
statements to the police and FBI, helping other reporters look
at the ramifications (Donna said the financial markets were going
ape over the news, and the City Council was in crisis session),
looking in on injured colleagues in hospital (Ralph was out of
danger and conscious, very weak but with a perpetual grin on his
face as he tried to chat up the ICU nurses) *and* coping with
day-to-day things like bringing up a not-quite-one-year-old little
girl, both the reporters had been flat out, and they were
exhausted.

Perry, more than proud of the way his newsroom had bounced back
from the attack, had noticed and, after checking the latest
articles from "Lane & Kent", had thrown them out, saying that he
didn't want to see either of them until at least Monday, and Lois
and Clark didn't argue. Nor had they seen his grin as they left; he
was working just as hard, but now he had the best of reasons not to
over-do it, and he was darned if he was going to let anyone else
grind themselves into the dirt -- especially not the "hottest team
in town."

Lois put her own glass down and stretched. "Ohhhhh.... that's
better. I am *so* looking forward to the next two days."

"Yeah... me, too. It's gonna be great -- just you and me and
Laura. Pure bliss."

Lois raised her eyebrows. "No Superman? How are you feeling?"

"Pretty good, actually. My powers are coming back, bit by bit --
faster than they did at the Corn Festival, but I'd expect that
because they went away gradually -- but it's still going to take
a while. I can do everything, even fly; I'm just not as fast or as
powerful as usual, so unless it's a *real* emergency -- monsoon
floods in Bangladesh or something -- I'm going to stay right here
and recuperate. Give me a couple of days, though, and Superman
will be back to full strength -- I reckon just about the time we go
back to work."

"Mmm.... I'm in no hurry. It's been lovely having you around all
the time, knowing that there's no chance that you'll have to rush
off. I could get used to that...." Her voice was slow and
relaxed, almost drowsy, and she was very, very comfortable.

"Yeah," he said, teasing, "but that's what you said about
sleeping on the ceiling."

"True.... oh, well, I guess the good side balances out the bad.
As long as you come back...."

"You know me, Lois. I *always* come back."

"So you do...."

He leaned over to gently kiss her. One kiss became several, some
soft and leisurely, some more urgent. Eventually, they just
relaxed and enjoyed being close to each other in peaceful
silence.

Lois felt as though she was drifting in some warm and wonderfully
comfortable place away from the everyday world; where exactly,
she did not know, but Clark was there and that was all that
mattered. She would have been content to stay there with him
forever -- or at least until she needed to move again -- but her
mind, ever active, wouldn't let her. Free from any definite
purpose or direction, her thoughts roamed around at random,
finally settling on a subject-- a question -- that had been
nagging at her for a while. She was slightly cross with herself
for not being able to just relax and enjoy being with Clark, but
since she couldn't, she had to admit that this was as good a time
as any to ask that question.

"Honey..." she murmured, "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure, sweetheart. What is it?"

She pulled away from him and met his eyes, her own dark and
troubled. "Clark..." she said haltingly, not really wanting to
disturb their all-too-rare peace, but needing to do so in order
to quieten her inner anxieties, "Did you... did you mean what you
told Lex about... about not caring if the world knew that you
were Superman? I mean, I heard what you said, and I understand
that you needed to stop Lex from blabbing your secret -- and
saying that sure took the wind out of his sails -- and I know
that you were right, that we can survive anything together...."

Her voice, which had gradually risen, both in volume and pitch
(not to mention nervous energy) until it had built itself into
a full Lane Babble, died away suddenly as she realised what she
was doing. "But... but now that he's gone..." she went on at a
more normal level -- but still with the same urgency -- "did you
*mean* it?"

Clark wasn't sure what lay behind this, but he knew from her
manner that it must be important. So he took his time answering,
first gently but firmly moving Lois into a more comfortable
position on the couch, but never taking his eyes from hers. His
careful, serious manner calmed Lois somewhat even before he began
to speak.

"Yeah, honey, I meant it. I don't want the world to know about
me-- *us* -- but if something happens and the secret gets out,
then we'll just have to deal with it. Which I *know* we can do,
because I've *seen* it. I've seen the other Clark's world, and
his life, and he's happy -- now that he's found his Lois, he's
finally happy. And so is she. If they can do it, we can do it.
We can do *anything* -- as long as we do it together.

"That's what Luthor never realised," he mused, holding her close.
"All these years, all his plots to kill or discredit Superman --
he never knew who he was fighting. He spent all his time
attacking me, or trying to control you... and completely missed
his target because of it.

"Superman is more than me alone; he always has been, right from
the start. Oh, I have the powers -- but I don't have all the
brains, and definitely less than half the heart."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that..." Lois whispered, teasing -- and yet,
not teasing. As flattering as it was to be given so much credit
for what Clark had done in his other identity, she didn't like
to hear him put himself down like that, and especially not in
regards to his "heart". She knew, in her own heart of hearts,
that she could not have given him the help and support that he
had thanked her for if he hadn't inspired her to do it. Without
his example, without the caring, the compassion... yes, the
*love*... that he had shown-- that had *shone* from him, right
from his very first appearance, she knew that cynical, driven,
workaholic Mad Dog Lane could never have found it within herself
to be his support, to give him the encouragement that he had
needed.

And so he had drawn out of her the very qualities which he needed
*from* her, but which wouldn't have been there, or couldn't have
made themselves evident, if not for him. Then he had taken
strength from those qualities so that he could continue to
inspire them. It was like a... a game of Pong, the "ball" being
the emotional... nourishment that flowed from Clark to Lois to
Clark to Lois to Clark to....

She giggled at the thought -- that *had* to be one of her weirder
metaphors -- and tightened her grip on him. He responded in kind
and kissed her hair, but didn't say anything more, seemingly
content just to hold her. That suited Lois, because she wanted
to think about this. It wasn't just "heart" that they gave one
another; Clark may not think that he had all the brains -- well,
that was nice, and typical, of him to acknowledge that -- but if
the last six years had proven anything, it was that while Lois
Lane had been, and still was, one of the best investigative
reporters anywhere, and Clark Kent was almost as good (not quite,
but *almost*), together, "Lane & Kent" were peerless.

Even before she'd come to like him, much less love him, Lois had
enjoyed working with Clark. They... struck sparks from one
another, and if, in the early days, many of those had been of
dislike (on her part, anyway), enough others had provided light
by which she had come to see that they made one heck of a team
-- once she'd made the effort to look.

And once she'd made that effort, and then looked further to see
the real man behind the glasses and the wild ties, *and* the
flashy spandex... well, what she'd found there was more than she
had believed she could ever find in anyone, much less a man. And
he had found as much or more (or so he said) in her; she didn't
quite believe it, but that was one argument that she had never
been able to win -- and didn't really want to.

She looked back at herself before she first met Clark, and
thought how amazed that Lois Lane would have been to see her
future self. Would she have approved -- or even *believed* --
what was to come? Lois hoped so; the road to this point had been
long and hard, but it had been worth it. She had more than a few
regrets, and some things were still painful to remember, but
she'd do it all again, provided only that the end result was the
same -- that she would eventually find herself here, with this
man and his love, and their daughter (and the promise of more
children; after all, hadn't Mr Wells said that Utopia was founded
by their descendant*s*?).

Right now, though, the past and future didn't matter. All that
was important was *now*, being here with Clark. Lois suddenly
found herself on the verge of tears, and she reached up to kiss
Clark. He would have asked her what was wrong, but the kiss
deepened and he forgot that, as she forgot why she was nearly
crying, their love and its expression in the kiss driving out
every other thought and care.

Their mouths parted, eventually, but not for long, and the second
kiss was more passionate than the first. They were both
considering adjourning to the bedroom when a high-pitched wail
floated down from upstairs. "Oops..." Lois said softly. "Late
supper call -- and maybe a diaper change, too. I'll go."

"No," said Clark, getting up and holding out a hand to her,
"*We'll* go. Together."

Lois pulled herself onto her feet with his help, and put one arm
around him. They gazed into each other's eyes as they walked
slowly towards the staircase, and then Clark wrapped his arms
around her and the couple gently left the ground and floated up
the stairs. The only sound to be heard was the softest of
whispers from Lois: "Together...."

                          The End

[AUTHOR'S NOTES:
If anyone is wondering who Miyamoto Musashi is, the short version
is that he was a famous Japanese swordsman, painter and author
of the first half of the 17th century. His books "The Thirty-five
Articles on the Art of Swordsmanship" and "A Book of Five Rings"
were seminal works in the development of Japanese martial
philosophy. His name is probably best known today for having been
given to the second of the Imperial Japanese Navy's Yamato-class
battleships, the largest and most heavily-armed of their kind
ever built.

And finally, this episode is scheduled to go up on the S6 website
on the 26th September, 1999 -- on what would have been my father's
88th birthday. I'd like to dedicate this to him, and to my mother.
My parents weren't farmers (although Dad worked on a farm when he
emigrated to Australia at the age of 17), but they were *my*
Jonathan and Martha, and I know how lucky Clark was to have been
found by the Kents. And, like Clark, I feel that if I can be half
as good a father to my kids as my Dad was to me, then I'll have got
it right.

Happy Birthday, Dad.

Phil]

    Source: geocities.com/~chiefpam/Season6/episodes

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