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==== BEYOND THE YELLOW BRICK ROAD ====
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Clark stretched out his feet under the table, enjoying the feel of jeans and sneakers. He'd grown-up in similar attire, back on the farm, but he seldom got a chance to wear them these days. That was about to change.
He'd arrived at the restaurant early, before the dinner rush filled the place with bodies and noise. From the outside, its stone facade and brooding windows didn't look all that inviting, just another granite edifice in the bowels of downtown Metropolis. Once past the bronze and glass doors, however, one's impression changed dramatically. The establishment had a definite Old World feel to it, with its warren of narrow passages and staircases connecting the bars and dining rooms on various levels. The open fireplaces, dark wooden beams, and low ceilings added to the cozy atmosphere, complete with handmade wood d cor, etched glass, wall panels in stucco, stone, and mahogany, and the flagstone floor. The restaurant was charming and relatively secluded, which is why Clark liked it.
He's been escorted to his table, informed the waitress would arrive shortly, and left alone. The table itself had a nice white tablecloth spread over it, as empty and as clean as the page of the notepad hat he opened and placed on the table. He'd started carrying the notebook around the last few days, idly jotting down thoughts and ideas as they bubbled to the surface of his conscience mind. Not that he couldn't remember those thoughts and ideas without it - his memory was phenomenal by any standard - but there was something primally satisfying about the tactile feel of a pencil dragging across paper. That, too, was something he'd grown-up with, working through his homework every weeknight.
His mind drifted, recalling the colors of wheat fields and endless skies, the sounds of his father's tractor and his mother singing through her chores, and the caress of ceaseless winds that had beckoned him onward and upward, toward the majestic clouds and the great cities to the east. He sighed deeply, remembring his Sense of Wonder.
The waitress swung by, depositing a water glass, napkin, silverware, and menu onto the table top. "Welcome back, Mr. Kent."
Clark smiled. "Thank you, Sally."
"By yourself this time?"
"Nope."
"Ok, I'll be back in a bit." She hustled away, looking after her other customers.
He listened idly to the background music, smiling both at the memories it raised and the relevant lyrics:
When are you gonna come down?
When are you going to land?
I should have stayed on the farm I should have listened to my old man
You know you can't hold me forever
I didn't sign up for you
I'm not a present for your friends to open
This boy's too young to be singing the blues
So, goodbye yellow brick road
Where the dogs of society howl
You can't plant me in your penthouse
I'm going back to my plough
Back to the howling old owl in the woods
Hunting the horny-back toad
Oh, I've finally decided my future lies
Beyond the yellow brick road
What do you think you'll do then
I bet this shoots down the plane
It'll take you a couple of vodka and tonics
To set you on your feet again
Maybe you'll get a replacement
There's plenty like me to be found
Mongrels who ain't got a penny
Sniffing for tidbits like you on the ground
So, goodbye yellow brick road
Where the dogs of society howl
You can't plant me in your penthouse
I'm going back to my plough
Back to the howling old owl in the woods
Hunting the horny-back toad
Oh, I've finally decided my future lies
Beyond the yellow brick road
Clark gave some thought to the that yellow brick road, and the Kingdom of Oz that it ran through. Oz was a fantasy realm containing four regions under the rule of the monarch in the Emerald City. The land was populated with native immortals and the handful of expat mortals from "outside"; an assortment of witches and wizards, sorcerers and sorceresses, and magicians of every stripe; a wide variety of sentient speaking- and non-speaking creatures, from dragons to winged monkeys; and the many strange species that inhabited the borderlands. No great surprise, then, that the monarchy was highly tolerant of eccentricity.
Then he compared that fantasy realm with 21st Century Earth - which was hardly the isolated little backwater that many of its residents had once imagined it to be - and the list of characters he'd personally encountered: mutants and metahumans, megalomaniacal scientific geniuses, invading extraterrestrials, mythical terrestrials, space- and time-traveling adventurers, an assortment of witches and wizards, sorcerers and sorceresses, and magicians of every stripe, trans-dimensional entities, robots and androids, and the occasional inscrutable immortal. No great surprise, then, that he had become pretty tolerant of eccentricity.
He heard their voices before they approached his table. For that matter, he'd heard their voices in the limo three blocks away, while it drove around looking for a place to park. It wasn't who he was waiting for, but they weren't unexpected.
"Good evening, Clark," Diana said. "Mind if we join you?"
He gestured to the empty chairs, and watched them settle.
"You haven't been answering your calls," Bruce said. "That has people worried."
"Why?" Clark countered. "I've been off-line before, and no one ever got upset about it."
"Off-line? Is that what this," Bruce gestured about, "is all about? Lounging in a bar is not your style."
"It's a pub, not a bar," Clark corrected.
"I didn't realize there was a distinction. Why here?"
"Because they serve a pretty decent Beef Bourguignon."
"Really? How can you tell with all the ketchup you pour on it?"
Clark allowed the corner of his lip rise into a broken smile. "Touche."
"This seems so...uncharacteristic of you," Diana said. "Are you contemplating a vacation?"
"Ever the diplomat," Clark observed, smiling gently. "No, I'm contemplating retirement."
The remark caught her off guard. "Retirement? From the Daily Planet?"
"From my avocation, as well as my vocation."
"You can't be serious."
"Why not? I'm not indispensable. Or irreplaceable."
"A lot of people look to you for inspiration and leadership."
"Plenty of capable people to fill those roles...starting with you two."
"Pass," Bruce said, shaking his head.
"I'm not interested, either," Diana added.
"Others, then. There's no shortage." He tapped the notepad in front of him. "In fact, I've been doing a little research -"
"Ever the journalist," Diana observed dryly.
Clark shrugged. "Interpol estimates the number of known metahuman criminals at around 1,100, with about a third as many known MLEAs."
"MLEAs?"
"Metahuman Law Enforcement Auxiliaries," Bruce explained wryly. "Us."
"I got that," Diana said evenly. "I just hadn't heard that term before."
"According to the Murchison Act," Bruce replied, "and I quote, 'It is legal for local, state, and federal municipalities to employ metahumans as civilian auxiliaries to law enforcement and emergency response units, thus the term Metahuman Law Enforcement Auxiliaries. And while public defenders must make the identities of these MLEAs known to the legal authorities, they are not required to publicize those identities. In cases where these MLEAs are compensated financially for their services, they receive special insurance coverage and a retainer; otherwise, such services are offered gratis, though they may be compensated in other ways. Public defenders make use of such MLEAs to aid in crisis situations and support law enforcement personnel when requested. The amount of leeway extended to such MLEAs varies from one municipality to another, based upon immediate circumstances and previous relationships, and is left to the discretion of the local law enforcement supervisor.'"
"In other words, metahumans dedicated to protecting the public, equipped with a strong moral code, a willingness to risk their own safety, and a refusal or strong reluctance to kill. They choose to act whether motivated by a sense of responsibility, a formal calling, or a strong belief in justice and humanitarian service." Diana's eyebrow rose, as did her chin. "A very noble calling."
"That's the perspective when metahumans are perceived as important civic icons." Bruce's expression turned dour. "Then you have the metas who are met with public skepticism or outright hostility. They're labelled 'vigilantes', even though they perform many of the same services."
"A vigilante is an individual or group who undertakes law enforcement without legal authority or support. Such individuals typically see public defenders as ineffective in enforcing the law, and will justify their actions as looking out for the common good." Diana's tone turned catty. "Does that description sound familiar...?"
Clark sighed loudly, interrupting their repartee. "As I was saying, there are at least 1,500 publicly-identified super-powered individuals running around loose and raising havoc. That's a conservative estimate; Interpol says there are probably just as many living under the radar."
"That's still a pretty small percentage out of seven billion people," Bruce noted.
"For now, yes," Clark replied. "However, the percentage is growing with each passing year. They are, for the most part, self-absorbed, undisciplined, and dangerous to be around, especially to each other. Their influence far exceeds their numbers. And they represent the future."
Diana leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin on her clasped fingers, one eye raised inquisitively. "I'm curious, Clark, which came first: the term super-power, or the name Superman?"
Clark recited the answer from memory: "'Power' is from the Anglo-Norman poeran, meaning an ability, a strength, a faculty, or an authority exerted to influence objects and events. 'Super-' is a prefix of Latin origin, meaning above or beyond , equivalent to the Greek 'hyper-' or the English 'over-'. In 1883, Friedrich Nietzsche applied both words in his discussion of the 'Ubermensch', which George Bernard Shaw later translated as 'Superman'."
"And then a highly-renowned reporter applied that name to you."
"Yes, she did. What's your point?"
"That the term and the name are irrevocably linked. You were the first, and arguably the greatest, of us. You set the standard for others to follow. Your face, your emblem, your uniform are known worldwide, across multiple generations. Despite all of your mistakes, misquotes, and criticisms, you still command the overwhelming support of the general public. My point is, why would you withdraw from that?"
"Because this profession has a disappointing retirement plan."
"No one's ever pursued it long enough to need one," Diana pointed-out.
"No one's ever survived long enough to need one," Bruce added ruefully.
"And that's my point," Clark concluded. He suddenly rose, reaching for a chair.
Bruce and Diana simultaneously realized that someone was approaching the table. "Lois," they chorused.
The brunette flashed her electric smile. "Diana. Bruce. We've been expecting you."
"You were?" Diana asked.
"Clark figured you'd show up sooner or later." She sat on the chair Clark held for her, allowing himto scoot it forward.
He resumed his own seat.
Sally arrived, bearing three more sets of water glasses, napkins, silverware, and menus. "Welcome back, Mrs. Kent."
"Thank you, Sally," Lois replied.
"Is this everyone?"
Clark smiled. "Yes, Sally. We're all here."
"Good. I'll give you folks a chance to look through the menu, then." Sally wandered off.
Clark hardly glanced at the menu, preferring to watch his companions silently study their own menus.
A brief discussion ensued, over choices, preferences, and recommendations.
Sally soon returned and took their orders, then departed with a smile.
"How do you feel about all this talk of retirement?" Diana asked Lois.
"It was my idea," Lois admitted.
"Really? I thought you enjoyed the life of a cutting-edge reporter, being at the center of all of the action and breaking the big stories."
"I used to. But, I woke up one morning and realized that, while living my life in a perpetual state of crisis has been fun, it's also just about reached its limits. After awhile, the perps all begin to look the same, there's never a shortage of them, and too many victims get neither satisfaction nor justice. You know, I've been all over the planet chasing stories - but I saw those places in a rush, not in a leisurely manner, so I missed the details. That describes my whole life, actually." Lois shrugged, a petite gesture laden with great weight. "That endless parade of crises has lost its luster...even the idea of managing that parade from a corner office seems rather pointless. So I started thinking about slowing down, maybe tackling that novel I've always talked about writing."
"And Clark?"
"He didn't take much convincing."
Sally arrived with cups of coffee, refills for water glasses, and reassurance that the meal was being prepared. She nodded once and left.
Bruce watched Sally make a tour past her tables and booths and vanish into the kitchen, before turning back towards the Kents and asking, "So: when's the baby due?"
Diana looked startled, while Lois and Clark just grinned.
"You figured that one out pretty quickly," Lois conceded.
"Ever the detective," Clark observed.
"How is that even possible?" Diana asked. "Humans and Kryptonians only look similar, a consequence of convergent evolution. No offense, Lois, but you'd have more luck mating with a kangaroo or a squid - at least they share some common biology with you. I can only imagine the physical challenges involved..."
"We have a short list of extremely talented scientists who are able and willing to tackle a unique challenge discreetly," Clark explained.
"Not all that surprising, considering our experiences with clones over the years," Bruce replied, obviously mulling over a list of candidates.
"We can pass that list along, if you're interested," Lois offered.
Diana and Bruce exchanged glances. The former answered with a nod and a "Thank you." The latter merely cleared his throat.
Lois and Clark also exchanged glances. Their raised eyebrows and subtle smiles confirmed earlier suspicions.
"Of course," Bruce continued, "interspecies breeding is a touchy ethical subject - technically, it borders on beastiality..."
"That's disgusting," Diana snorted, her lip curling.
"...Which is exactly what many would say about the mating between a human and a non-human, whether it be a kangaroo, a squid, or a Kryptonian..."
"Or a synthetic lifeform crafted by magic?" Lois asked.
Diana blushed, but her gaze didn't waver.
"...It might even be labelled sodomy," Bruce concluded.
"It's nobody else's business," Clark growled.
"It's everybody else's business - when you're a celebrity. And let's face it, Clark, you're one of the biggest celebrities on the planet."
Clark's response was a tight-lipped frown.
"Relax, we're on your side. But I guarantee someone will raise those same issues, and similar ones, sooner or later. You should be prepared for them."
Clark nodded slowly, accepting Bruce's advice.
"You've given this considerable thought, I see," Lois observed.
"As Louis Pasteur said, 'Chance favors the prepared mind' - and you never know when and where those preparations will pay off," Diana answered.
"Just ask any Boy Scout," Bruce added. "Right, Clark?"
Clark's response was a droll smile.
"I'm curious, Diana," Lois said, "since there are no men on Thymescira (or no male residents, at least), how do you...repopulate?"
"There are children on Paradise Island, for brief periods," Diana replied. "Refugees from shipwrecks and storms, washed up on its shores by the Nereides. After a period of recuperation and blessings, each child is returned to the beach where she is taken by Thetis back into the world. A rare few are allowed to stay, raised and trained in the ways of the Amazons."
"But no pregnancies?"
"No."
"So, you really have no experience with childbirth and parenthood?"
"Not directly, or in any great depth, no."
"Do you want to?"
"Someday, perhaps." Diana glanced briefly at Bruce, who was scrutinizing the other restaurant patrons.
Lois put her hand on Clark's shoulder. "Well, once we found out it was possible to create a Human/Kryptonian hybrid, and that I could safely carry her -"
"Him," Clark corrected.
"- Her to term, we talked it over, and decided to go ahead and do it. That's also when I decided that I did not want the father of my child to be gone for days and weeks at a time, or to face risks that might not bring him home ever again. My father was an Army general, and I watched my mother go through years of those absences. I will not be a 'hero's widow' like she was. Clark's been needed up to this point, and I've lived with it - but now there are plenty of young stalwarts ready to assume his mantle. It's time for him to retire."
"Retirement may not even be a viable possibility," Bruce said pointedly. "There will be plenty of enemies who will come sniffing around, looking to settle old grudges."
"And there's really no reason to withdraw completely," Diana added. "Maybe you could just consider a leave of absence, or a mentoring role, or even consulting."
"We've given this considerable thought, too," Clark replied. "I haven't heard a convincing reason yet to change my mind."
"Assuming you go through with this plan, what will you spend your time doing?" Diana asked.
"I was raised on a farm, to the slow rhythms of the seasons," Clark said. "It's been a long time since I woke up to the smell of a Kansas springtime, and heard birds singing in the trees. I'd like to reconnect to those rhythms...and pass them along."
"A farmer like your father?" Bruce asked. "While it does have a certain karmic balance to it, I think you'll find the quiet life a pretty big pill to swallow. It will be hard to give-up the adrenaline rush that comes with noble quests and emergency responses."
"I'll manage somehow," Clark said.
"We'll manage somehow," Lois corrected.
Sally danced her way down the aisle, balancing a large tray filled with plates and platters. She deftly set the crockery on the table without spillling a morsel or burning herself. She confirmed that everyone received what they'd ordered, and left.
"That was pretty good," Bruce admitted grudgingly, tapping his lips with his napkin.
"Maybe you should get some take-out for Alfred," Clark suggested.
"Maybe I should."
Lois looked at her watch and nudged her husband.
"Yes, we should probably get going," Clark agreed.
"Appointment?" Bruce asked.
"Yes," Lois replied. "We have some tests to review."
"How exciting," Diana added.
Lois nodded.
"Need a lift?" Bruce asked.
"No thanks," Clark answered. "We're not real dependent on ground transport."
Bruce's response was a raised eyebrow, while Lois and Diana both smiled.
Clark reached for the check, but Bruce snagged it first. "I'll take care of that."
"You don't have to do that," Lois admonished.
"No, but I can afford it the most. Consider it a retirement gesture - though I still think that will be more difficult than you anticipate."
"You may well be right," Clark admitted, sliding his wife's chair from the table. "But we still need to try."
"You know how to reach us, if it becomes necessary," Diana added.
"Yes, we do. We'll keep in touch, regardless."
"Please do."
Bruce and Diana watched them leave, exchanged glances, and then realized that Clark had left his notepad on the table. Bruce nudged the tablet to a spot where they could both lean over and read the top page, which was filled with Clark's neat and precise handwriting:
Ecclesiastes 3:1-8
1. To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
2. A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, a time to reap that which is planted;
3. A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
4. A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
5. A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
6. A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
7. A time to rend, and a time to sow; a time to keep silent, and a time to speak;
8. A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.
"Good luck to them," Diana said, a sincere tone to her voice.
Bruce nodded, equally sincere.
********* AUTHOR'S NOTES *********
Proper attribution:
DC Characters:
Superman and all related elements are TM of of DC Comics, Joanne Siegel and Laura Siegel Larson. This story, its characters and author, and any content related to Superman, are not authorized by DC Comics or the Siegels. Use of these trademarked and copyrighted properties is not intended to challenge said ownership. Superman was created by Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster.
Music/Lyrics:
Artist: Elton John
Title: "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road"
Now, you're probably asking yourselves, "What the hell prompted the above bit of prose...?" Well, a couple of things, really.
First off, I was born in the mid-Fifties, and grew up with the Silver Age comic books, the George Reeves television show, and the Saturday Morning cartoons of the 60's. It's reasonably safe to say that I'm a long time Superman fan.
Second off, I'm getting rather long in the tooth: I've outlived my wife of 35 years, I have children and grandchildren (the oldest is now a teenager), I've attended too many retirement parties and funerals these last few years, and I'm beginning to see the inevitable end-signs of my own existence. More-and-more of my time has been spent thinking about Legacies and Graceful Exits, and the many icons of my life...like Superman.
Third off, Superman has always been my favorite character because he's always been the Ultimate Orphan, losing not just his family, but his entire planet billions of years worth of geology, millions of years worth of biology, and thousands of years worth of anthropology (or, perhaps, krytopology), all snuffed-out forever in one titanic event. We've all had trouble fitting-in at one time or another, but here's a case of someone who has got it infinitely worse than we ever did, yet still manages to persevere. A true winner, in every sense of the word, and an inspiration to look up to. Not perfect, of course. He's subject to Sturgeons Law like everything else. And since he's the oldest, and the greatest, his gaffes are the most numerous and the most visible. I learned to live with that a long time ago.
When I think of Superman, I think of the late actor Christopher Reeve, and that the impact of his film portrayal of the character was profound. DC must have thought so, too, because they adapted the comic book portrayal to match Reeve's film portrayal: his mild-mannered soft-spoken perpetually-optimistic image. The character even married Lois Lane, in one of the foundational relationships in the comic book genre. Kal-El appeared to be at the top of his game.
And then DC shoved him through another re-boot. Gone was the gentle guardian and loving husband, replaced with the current cynical, snarky, and stand-offish vigilante. A daylight version of Batman.
I wasn't impressed, I was insulted.
And I don't hold much hope for this summer's release of "Man of Steel", either.
But, hey there is a valid need to reboot the franchise occasionally, to keep it fresh and appealing to the younger readers with money to spend, right? Well, no, not really. If you're tired of your main product, maybe it's time to close the books on it and bring in an entirely new concept.
Case in point: I can easily think of a dozen aging rock stars that were movers-and-shakers four decades ago, but time has since changed them; their voices are hoarser and their movements are coarser. They can still make music, but it lacks the verve, vibrancy, and vitality of their younger days. They can still fill venues with huge crowds, but those are composed mostly of nostalgic gray-haired fans; the younger crowds have gone elsewhere. The same can be said of action stars and athletes. You can only "re-image" and "re-paint" a product so many times, and then it loses credibility.
So, can you allow an aging character the chance to go out with his dignity and laurels intact? Yes, it can be done, even with superheroes; for reference, I would direct you to two of the all-time classic Superman stories, "Whatever Happened to the Man of Tomorrow?" and "Kingdom Come". Both tales inspired the above effort.