Lex Luthor relaxed in the officers quarters of the Hitler Class U boat.
The submarine sailed under the command of Commodore Bauer. Who had told him proudly of that this was the Kriegsmarine's ultimate U-boat. Named the Black Knight, she was four times the size of the ubiquitous Type VII whose wolf packs hunted the north Atlantic. Where the crews of these lesser submarines suffered cramped and unsanitary conditions, lacking privacy, even the opportunity wash, and shave, or launder their clothes; the Black Knight, had in contrast all these facilities; she even had a freezer compartment to preserve fresh food.
Daylight hours meant the submarine switched to battery power and ran submerged, to stealthily glide under the sea hidden from sight, during the night the vessel surfaced, allowing the eight twelve cylinder diesel engines in two separate engine rooms to power the boat along charging the batteries as she sailed. Bauer unsurprisingly was extremely proud of his boat, the largest Submarine of it's day. He joined the SS Captain Leichlingen and Luthor in his small but well appointed officers lounge.
Lex greeted him. "I am surprised at how comfortable the accommodation is, I had expected something far less civilised."
Bauer smiled, saying. "On another boat that would be true, but the Black Knight is in a class of her own, I have a crew of one hundred and ten, and yet I can still carry an additional compliment of Special Coastal Troops, and up to six hundred tonnes of cargo above and beyond basic provisions, so my friend one more man hardly makes life awkward for us."
"How many of these amazing submarines are there?" Lex purred massaging the ego of his hosts.
The Commodore looked to the SS Captain. Leichlingen answered Luthor. "Four, but with the outbreak of War the program has been temporarily suspended, at present the Black Knight is the only vessel as in service, and as you know, is currently assigned to special projects."
"This war with Britain is unfortunate. Do you think they will continue to fight?" Luthor asked.
"We think not, our contacts in England are optimistic, there is much reluctance among the ruling class for war, many rightly admire the Fuhrer's leadership. Channels are open, there will be negotiation, and the Fuhrer has no desire to break the Anglo-Saxon British Empire. I think they will sue for peace."
"And if not?"
"Then they will crushed, they are ill prepared with old fashioned ideas, and technology, the Wehrmacht on the land, in the air, and in the sea will defeat them.
"This U-Boat is but a taste of what is to come, in due course this program of which you are a part will deliver Wunderwaffen; 'wonder weapons' that will obliterate any resistance.
"Science my dear Doctor will guarantee us victory. There is no higher ideal in the Aryan tradition."
"Indeed it does feel like I am coming home."
"Luthor is a good German name." The SS Captain laughed, pouring Lex a drink. "Schnapps my friend." He tossed back the drink.
"We have come a long way under the Fuhrer, since suffering humiliation at the hands of the Jewish-Communist untermensch plotters of Versailles, The Third Reich is strong, the German worker is strong, we are united, disciplined and self-sacrificing. The party manages the economy, this is the Third Way. National Socialism."
"The rise of Germany, has been impressive."
"The Aryan peoples can achieve much, when properly managed, when united. It was the untermensch who sought to divide us. Now the common people have a champion in our Fuhrer, they will be ruled by the wise, the intelligent."
"The common people rarely value intelligence, their heroes are sportsman or actors, men in funny costumes." Luthor observed.
The SS Captain laughed. Then said seriously. "Herr Doctor the masses are not equipped intellectually, neither are they educated sufficiently to decide for themselves details of politics.
"For this reason we must strive to better the race, to breed better, stronger, cleverer men, and if the people need more room to live and grow then Europe must make room for the greater German nation, either peacefully or it must be taken by force, either way, ours is the right, and their labour is ours for the taking, it is the heritage of our race to unite all the Germanic tribes into one nation, which is the greatest expression of the Aryan identity."
"That is why I come home, I seek the same answers. Like Prometheus I will steal fire from the gods, and I will bring the power of technology to my people."
"I will drink to that my friend." Wilhelm filled their glasses again with schnapps, he held up his saying. "To our victory - the Ubermensch; the soon to come German Over-man!"
-'S'-
Washington D.C, the brick red castle of the Smithsonian Institute; dusk falls late in the cold afternoon in December. Within it walls a research fellow deals with the latest acquisitions to Department of Planetary Studies.
"Okay Bob. Here you go, latest one for you."
"Thanks James." the young man replied, turning to staff assistant he saw the older clerk using a stack cart to move a relatively small wooden box.
"Here let me give you a hand, its a dead weight." James told him. Both me took hold of a sturdy rope handle on either side of the packing case.
Lifting this onto the work bench Bob grunted. "You sure weren't kidding."
"Here's the manifest." James passed a clip board across.
"Right. Great this must be the meteor they've been promising us."
"Where's it from?"
"Out west, Arizona I think." Bob ticked of the paperwork. "Yes there it is Arizona... Oh, sorry James, you really meant where it's 'from'. Okay.. well they reckon it's maybe a piece of the Barnett Winston Comet."
The older man seemed impressed, he had worked here in a long time, man and boy he would say. "Heck, that was some show, bet you guys are excited about this one."
Bob laughed. "Yes James you could say that; and on that note I best check this is what it's supposed to be."
Taking a screw driver Bob released the lid, and sure enough, in packing straw sat a small but heavy metal rich meteor.
"Darn if that thing isn't glowing."
"Looks that way. Just kill the lights for a second would you please James." Bob asked.
The room went dark.
"That looks like suped up version of the radium dial of my watch." James commented as the green glow seeped into the room.
"How fascinating." Bob mused, his face under lit by the luminescent meteor.
The high windows whose Gothic style typified the Smithsonian building were dark, but in that moment the one above the two men exploded, and glass rained inward. Crashing to the ground the purple caped figure was a blur a dark blue.
He snatched the meteor from the table with one hand, and sweeping Bob aside as if he was doll with the other.
The young man flew backwards smacking hard against the wall, where he crumpled to the floor. The dark Cape whirled over the head of James as the figure swept upwards flying out of the broken window into the night sky, and as quickly as he had arrived the dark angel was gone.
-'S'-
Clark Kent lay alone in his sparse apartment dreaming; he was trapped beneath a broken steaming car, and he could not lift it. Instead he was crawling free, struggling to walk the streets of Metropolis. He was wearing his costume, and yet it felt wrong, as if it was made of lead, making each step a huge effort, and he saw himself, stumbling stiffly like Frankenstein's monster. Around about him people ran away screaming as if he were such a thing, crying out 'run it's Superman'. Women screamed, he staggered weaker than any of them, seeking to hide, to crawl into the shadows, only to feel caged, like a frightened animal, trapped and powerless.
Waking from his nightmare; troubled, he lay staring into space, limited finite space. He was alone. No longer did he hear the cacophony of the living city, the individual heartbeats of its people, instead he only heard one, his own.
He thought about his current condition, how for years he'd fought for the principles of justice and truth, he'd become Superboy - the mythological angel of the Midwest, and then in his youth encountering a great secret, returning from his mysterious exodus; he then had at eighteen come to Metropolis, adopted an older man's persona, pretended cowardice, while hiding his true strengths. He had fought a war against injustice, against crooked racketeers, determinedly smashing their evil activities. From the Dust Bowl to the City, he remembered facing natural disasters, aiding widows and orphans; and unseating crooked politicians. He thought to himself; many times I have blessed the providence that had presented me with super-strength, for it enabled me to save the lives, and now the powers that enabled me to do all these things is gone, is this the end of Superman?
Clark thought, should I wait for my powers to return, assume a quiet existence as mere Clark Kent; but as a reporter, with Lois Lane as a partner, how quiet would that life be? He lay thinking; super-strength or no super-strength, I'm going to continue my battle against the forces of injustice come what may. I am a mortal man today, and as a mortal man I must do what can.
Rising from his bed Clark fumbled for the light switch, reflecting that he felt numb, like he trapped in strange invisible bubble and he felt strangely alone. For him it was very odd that this room, his immediate world, was now all of his world, no longer did he need to concentrate on his near surroundings; no longer was there a competing background sensations constantly accompanying him. Laughing at his own limitations, he thought, this is almost a holiday from thinking.
Almost a week had passed since he had succumbed to the strange radiation from the meteor shower torn from the passing Barnett Winston Comet – the last remnant of Krypton's incredible living metal. Now he was determined to return to work.
The clock told him it was a little after six in the morning. He found his glasses, and then cast aside the heavy lenses which had never been a problem before, but he could not hope to focus through the glass bottle bottom lenses without his vision powers. Opening a drawer took out another different pair with plain glass lenses, circumstances were now very different, so these stage-prop type had to be used.
Getting dressed Clark adjusted the waist band of his pants, they were still oversized, but that did not matter as he wore them lower around his hips so they were long enough in the leg, adjusting his suspenders accordingly. He could not hope to hold the exaggerated stance he had so far used for Clark, he didn't have the endurance for that super advanced muscle control, but he could slouch lazily, and the loose fitting jacket still did it's part.
So it was the revised Clark Kent who breezed into the Newsroom of the Daily Star, the changes he had been forced to make to his Metropolis persona went largely unnoticed, though Taylor's secretary Mary told him he looked better for losing weight. He sat at his desk and began to catch up on everything he had missed.
Jimmy's pictures of the Comet and the accompanying meteor shower were great, but the headline that preceded them was troubling. 'Comet Madness Grips City'. Clark scanned the pages, taking in multiple editions, his mental acuity was the least effected of his abilities, but still it took him longer than usual to process the news print.
Tellingly crime had increased in the hours following the Comet's Zenith. Kent read through the daily editions of the paper he had missed during his lost days, and was forced to conclude that indeed a bizarre version of 'full moon madness' had taken over Metropolis. Was this he wondered caused by the same radiation that robbed him of his abilities?
When it came to his lunch hour he found Lois had already decided how he was going to spend it. Lois made good on her earlier threat and Clark found himself shopping, and with her help, the girl reporter applied a critical eye to the process.
"For goodness sake Clark, stand up straight put your shoulders back." She complained as he tried on a suit coat for size.
"Lois you sound like a drill sergeant."
"And that's surprising how? My godfather is a drill sergeant. Seriously Cowboy how do you expect clothes to fit you properly when your posture is so bad?"
Reluctantly Clark relaxed into his natural stance.
"Now that's... better." Lois acknowledged, her violet eyes twinkled. "Yes this one will do for starters."
Things didn't improve much when they did stop to eat. Clark tried to order a hamburger cheese sandwich with extra cheese, but before the waitress put pen to pad, Lois interrupted. Making it clear to him that he wasn't in Kansas any more.
"Seriously back on the farm when you spent the day lifting... I don't know - cows around. I expect you needed to eat all those sugars and fat's but you are desk jockey now kiddo, not a farmer, so if want to stay trim, and you do, because those new duds you are modelling won't fit if you pile on the pounds again; well you need to eat better."
Clark sighed. He closed the menu. "Okay, what should I have?"
Lois seeing his frown countered. "Surely something good might as well come from you're being sick – shouldn't it?
"Listen to a friend, it's better for you if you eat sensibly."
"Lois it's not that I don't appreciate your err help, it's just I'm pretty much used to, y' know doing my own thing."
"Sure. And that was better just how? Come on Clark you know I'm right."
Kent let her order. He then stoically drank black coffee and ate a lean beef sandwich. It wasn't what he was used too, but then he reflected Lois might have a point, he no idea how his metabolism had changed, since his powers had waned he had felt comparatively tired and numb. Before Kryptonite basics like sleeping and eating had been more or less optional – in fact he had eaten whatever he liked, and when he wanted to, a lot of it, but had found this to be more for pleasure than necessity, he suspected this was no longer the case, just as he needed to sleep like a mortal man, he would need to eat as mortal man.
Conversation quickly returned to work. "The way I see things the real story is not so much what ever happened to the Man of Tomorrow, but where is and what is the Consortium doing?" He suggested.
"You are kidding? Superman is always the story of the moment."
"Yes – exactly. Of the moment. Neither of us know when or where Super-bad-man is going to turn up next. Whenever that happens, whoever gets the scoop... I mean if you're honest Lois you know that's going to be down to dumb luck."
"Unless we narrow the odds Clark, find out why this character, who isn't Superman by the way, took apart the mail train?"
"In the week since he did that, as best as I can tell - no one, cops, reporters, who ever, has come up with a rational explanation as why he tore into the mail train, unless you count 'meteor madness'. Given he ignored cash money and other valuables, maybe it was I dunno' a moment of madness."
"What? Moment of madness for who? You mean for like, I don't know... say for forty-eight hours Superman goes loco, wrecks a train, and then vanishes?"
"Perhaps?"
"I'm not buying that idea." Lois said with conviction. Clark had to admire her unwavering faith in Superman, faith he personally did not have; because Clark couldn't account for over three days, time he had lost, and since then his nights had been plagued with these strange nightmares.
Lois sipped her coffee, then conceded. "However you are right, at least about the Consortium – that's still an important story, especially since Kingsley and Graham, as far as we know, are back in Metropolis."
"And it stands to reason that the Superman we both know would concentrate on bringing these traitors to justice, on breaking the Consortium."
"Okay Clark now you are making sense, you're saying to find Superman, I should start by looking where he's most likely to be found; chasing bad guys."
Lois finished her lunch. "Come on Kent, let's get back to the Star, and chase up some leads.
So it was Clark's first day back at work came to an end, new clothes, new circumstances, but the same mission, the same never ending battle for truth and justice; Lois Lane by his side, these were his thoughts as he succumbed to tiredness and drifted into sleep.
-'S'-
High in the Metropolis hills in the former estate of the Ultra Humanite, ruined crater under the light of a hunters moon. Unbeknown to men a hidden a shaft had been driven into the earth and rock by a titanic force, deep into the vast cavern created by the exploding Hyperion generator.
Rather than shrouded in deep darkness the huge chamber's blackness was interrupted by the green tell tale phosphorescent glow of Kryptonite, both the metallic and crystalline versions of various hues lay on the stone floor. A small collection of meteors collected on the fused glass like rock, the legacy of the heated explosion, the meteors themselves also the product of destruction, there was a circular logic that this place should be their home.
A lone figure hovers above them, the dark cloak hangs low, and from iron grip of dark angular hand a glowing rock is placed with the others. Energy crackles from the surface of the square fingers across to the pile of alien relics fragments of the substance that was once a long lost world.
In the darkness eyes glow eerily, a face clothed in shadows. A human shape augmented in size, angular, hard edged, and broad, giving the impression of great strength, and upon the chest in black metal the signature Kryptonian glyph that Lois Lane first interpreted as a snaking 'S'.
Standing, bathed in the strange emanations of the collected Kryptonite meteors the dark bizarre Superman seems transfixed. Then summoning his alien power he leaps upward defying gravity he charges throw the vastness of the cavern and exiting through a shaft driven for him, by him out into the night. His cloak stiffens in the wind taking the form a great wing and riding through the air, driven by the an unseen force they mystery man is drawn in search of the alien material that he longs Midas like to possess at any cost.
-'S'-
In Metropolis Kent and Lane finally get a lucky break in their hunt for the Consortium generals of crime; with time passing it was now almost Christmas. The two reporters leave the Star late in the afternoon. Their taxi crosses town to Little Bohemia, the district where the Purple Plague had hit hardest.
"Lois, are you sure this source of yours is sound?" Clark asked.
"Steven McBrodie. I think so, don't you?"
Kent nodded. "Ah." But wondered why his colleague had remained tight lipped about this lead. "Why didn't say back at the office?"
Lois sighed. "Back at the Star? Come on Clark, with Curly Lombard lazing around, mentioning Steven would of just invited smart-aleck comments – which no one needs."
"You and McBrodie are still friends – right?"
"There you go Clark, that's just what I mean." Lois stated coolly, before thinking better of it. "Yes we're friends, but just friends." She wondered why Clark would never look her in the eye; she felt he was being secretive again.
"I guess nobody measures up to Superman?" He noted.
Lois laughed the insinuation off. "He does sweep a girl off her feet, in more ways than one; but Steven and I... well it was never serious.
"Here this is the place." She added, pointing to bar on the edge of the Meat Packing District."
Clark paid the fare and they exited cab. "This is Graham's place?" He asked somewhat incredulously, it looked run down, not out of place for that, but it just didn't have the glamour of say Matson's Hotel, Clark had expected more of one of the city's crime lords.
"For the longest time. He started out from here, rose through the ranks." Lois replied.
"Looks kinda rough."
"It is, but it's also the place where you pretty much make a bet on anything, Steven couldn't walk in here and find out if there was any truth behind the rumour that Graham was back from the East Coast, because frankly he's too well known as one Metro PD's finest; they'd just blank him - but you and me, well we're just a couple in search of some action, if you see what I mean."
Clark nodded, he understood the game they would play, their cover story as it were. "You reckon someone might talk?"
"Maybe; that's why we're here."
At the bar Lois was direct. "I hear this a place a gal can get into a game."
"What kind of game are wanting to play honey?" The bar keep answered.
"Poker, something with cards. We've got cash." Lois replied pulling out and big wad of bills.
"Shhhh. Quiet down lady." The barman seemed annoyed. Lois shrugged and stuffs the bills fold back in her purse. Turning to Clark she said. "I guess they don't need money around here, funny I though since the plague, y' know business was slow, but what should I know."
"Wait. Just wait a minute, I'm just looking out for you, it's not the best side of town to go flashing cash, y' know c'mon lady let me just go see what I can do."
Clark and Lois found themselves in ushered into a room behind the main bar façade, it was bigger, cleaner and generally more cared for.
"This was a speak-easy back in the day." Lois told him.
"Gosh Lois do you know what you're doing?"
"Relax Cowboy." Lois replied taking a seat at a table, thick smoke hung around the group of men, the colour of the girl reporters money was all that mattered at this juncture, and she relaxed into the game.
Clark sat down at the black jack table, an older man stubbed out his cigarette, and turned his attention to the newcomer. He dealt the cards with practised hand, but everything about his manner spoke of boredom and quite possibly sadness.
Kent played a while, his conservative approach left him down a few dollars, and the low level proceedings did nothing to enthuse the dealer. Clark wondered how Lois was getting on across the way, he listened to the hum of voices from the poker table.
"Get you anything mister?" A waitress accosted him.
"Coffee?"
"Ah-huh she replied. "Yeah I can do that, sure you don't want to make it Irish?"
Clark shook his head. "No thanks, just the coffee." Thing was his metabolism couldn't be trusted to process the alcohol, once he could have quaffed poison and not thought a thing of it, now life was a good deal more uncertain, and yet as he studied his cards he noticed he heard over the sound of the piano being played on the stage, from across the room the lilt of Lois's voice, and the more he concentrated the clearer she sounded to him. Sure enough has he played a few more hands he could hear her steering the conversation around to the history of Graham's establishment, it's infamous days as a speak easy.
"You playing Boss? Or just planning on sittin' thinking about playin'." The dealer asked. He lit a cigarette and waited for Clark to make a decision.
Clark was losing money, this was after all a gambling den run by hoods, he was expected to lose money. By playing he was also creating a mental map of the deck, card counting the process was called, given time he was shortening the odds in his favour, but he was not here to win cash.
"This is Tom Graham's place isn't it?" Clark asked directly.
The old timer tugged on his smoke. "For a guy whose mighty cautious with his cards you sure shoot y' mouth off."
"Clark stared at the dealer's cads, one was according to convention face up, and was a King, the other card was dealt face down in human terms was an unknown, yet as he concentrated he began to see a pattern through the surface of the decorative printed background.
Smiling he realised that this in tandem with overhearing the conversation from the poker table confirmed to him his senses were gradually returning, having an eidetic memory meant he recall his earliest moments, and as with any baby he had begun life with limited focus, however as he grew his senses quickly outstripped his peers, and adults in general, now the same process was repeating itself.
With a hand of seventeen, Clark knew he was beaten by the two cards the dealer held, the second undisclosed card was he now certain a ten of spades. Now he concentrated on the shoe containing the deck if the card was a four of anything he was in luck.
"Well in life I find it's best not to be rash. If you are going to do something, it pays to know what you are doing." Clark replied, noting he was going to lose this hand. He played again, letting chance take him along until a similar situation arose, he had eighteen, and he was certain the Dealer was again at twenty. The next card this time would take him to twenty one. Clark bet heavily, and took another card.
"Twist."
The Dealer smiled and played the three of hearts. Then Clark indicated he was sticking at three cards, the Dealer seeing his total said. "House pays on twenty one buddy."
Clark turned his cards over.
The Dealer frowned. "You win Mister."
"I'd like to cash out." Clark said. Everything was theoretical, the bets were entered into a note book, they were no chips. If the place was raided the excuse was no money was changing hands, it was just all pretend.
Surreptitiously the Dealer passed a roll of cash, Clark took back what he had lost, so that he was even, and the balance he pushed back towards the old man. For a moment the dealer was stunned, but he swiftly reached for the cash, for the first time the old timer look animated, but Clark's fingers held onto the bills.
"Where would a guy find Mr Graham, say if wanted to, you know – say, discuss some business."
The dealer looked uncomfortable.
"Look Mister, I don't know what your game is, truth is Mr Graham's been out of town."
"Yeah I know he was in LA, but I also know he's back."
"Not LA – not now I mean, sure he was out West, and he did call back here, but the Boss didn't stay here in Metropolis, he cleared out quickly."
"Where?" Clark tapped the money.
"Look there was gambler, the worse kind, the gee gee's, game, cards – the weather, the guy bet on anything, he was in real deep - but he was somebody."
"What kind of somebody?"
"A Professor they said, up at Met U."
"Barnett Winston?" Clark asked.
"Nah, that wasn't the name. Any-ways I didn't know him but by the name Ernie, Earnest Ernie we'd call him, he sure could babble on."
"What's Ernie got to do with Tom Graham?"
"Last time I saw the Boss he was having a talk with Earnest Ernie, him and Kingsley from over on the Westside; they left with the Prof' in tow. That's what I know."
Clark nodded and released the cash. He walked over to Lois.
"Are you winning Darling?" He asked, keeping up the appearance that she was his girl.
"About evens, you?"
"You know what they say, unlucky in cards, lucky in love." Clark replied.
One of players chuckled. "You is a lucky fella, this dame of yours is one sweet potato."
"She's also luckier than Ernie." Said another.
"And Prettier than the Prof."
"Who's Ernie?" Clark asked innocently.
"Oh Sugar, Doctor Dalton, was the gentlemen that would usually take my chair at this table with these handsome fellows."
"Oh nothing untoward happened to poor Ernie I trust?" Clark laughed, making a joke of his serious inquiry – keenly watching for a response.
"Nah, nothing bad, unless you think getting a job out of town is bad."
"Why do you ask?" The questioner had been silent until this moment. He looked Clark up and down, getting the measure of him. The air of menace about this particular well dressed man, the expensive suit had mobster written all over it.
"No reason, personally I would loathe to leave the Golden Apple." Clark quipped with a jolly tone, he smiled innocently at the gangster in the Italian crocodile shoes. Whoever this Dalton was, he was linked to both Kingsley and Graham, and Metropolis University. Perhaps even to Barnett Winston too.
Sensing the atmosphere had chilled towards him he turned to Lois. "Darling I hate to interrupt you but look at how the time has flown and mother is expecting us, and know how Mrs Taylor hates it when we miss one of her deadlines."
Lois in turn looked at him quizzically. He winked at her. She sighed loudly and said with an exasperated smile. "Sorry Gentlemen it appears I must bid you adieu." Getting up from the table Lois said her goodbyes, paid her dues, apparently Clark noted she was only a few dollars down. Lois then allowed Clark to take her arm together they walked out of the shady establishment.
Once in a hastily summoned cab Clark explained his conclusions.
Lois seemed pleased. "So you think Professor Earnest Ernie Dalton, late of the poker table, is the guy that could lead us to Kingsley and Graham?"
"Well what you do make of it?"
She considered Clark's question. "Okay Cowboy I see your point. Given the Consortium deals in stolen technology it's interesting they took a personal interest in a Met U professor, especially given the circumstances surrounding that Astronomers disappearance."
"It's getting late we'll have to wait until tomorrow to talk to the University."
"Unfortunately." Lois agreed.
-'S'-
Gamma Reynolds watched Kingsley relaxing in the living room of the rambling farmhouse that adjoined the hidden laboratory complex, the Ultra Humanite's gift to the Consortium. The Mobster cradled his drink as he lent over the fire place watching the flames roar in the grate as outside the Atlantic born weather front brought winter to the countryside. He looked across at Reynolds and said.
"Got to say I'm glad to have you over this side of the country. It's good to see something go right; Luthor has been handed over. That's got to be the first thing to go our way since Superman began messing up the plan."
Gamma Reynolds smiled. "Thank you for securing the services of Doctor Dalton he is proving most helpful."
The mob boss nodded. "You've not heard any thing more from the Ultra Humanite – have you?" Kingsley asked.
"I have not spoken with the Superior Intelligence since leaving California.
"But saying that Mr Kingsley I should advise you; don't go thinking I am willing to repeat the error's of dear departed Beta Reynolds, his self importance, his foolishness." Gamma sneered. "Thinking he could alter the well laid plans of his betters.
"The Consortium will concentrate on the plan as given, nothing more, nothing less."
Kingsley knocked back his drink. He glared at Reynolds, yet said. "I'm in no hurry to change a thing; after all Beta's grand idea for the Purple Plague, well that sure worked out badly.
"Damn Superman not only cheated us out five million dollars, but he nailed Jackson as well!
The mobster swore angrily. "And Jackson had just gotten Mayor Hansen nicely where we wanted him, now Hansen gone as well. I feel royally screwed."
Kingsley stared out the window. "Looks like I'm going to be stuck here for a while, the way this snow's coming down." He poured himself another drink mostly bourbon and a token splash of soda.
He sat down, and said. "Truth be told I was wondering if you knew anything about Superman raiding the mail train?"
"Nothing, if the Superior Intelligence had a part to play it that he hasn't confided in me.
"Honestly Kingsley, it seems out of character for the Man of Tomorrow - the papers seem to think so, then again it is in their nature to build heroes up and then tear them down again.
"If it was Superman he may have had good reason to do what he did."
"If it was Superman? Who else could it be?"
Gamma Reynolds stood up and walked to the fire, he warmed himself. "Who indeed, but we have no idea where Superman comes from, indeed what are his goals, his aims?"
"Well from what Cordell tells me, he isn't the team playing type, I can't see his goals being similar to our own; he values life way too highly, he stopped at nothing to end the plague."
"That doesn't mean he can't prove helpful."
"I can't see that happening."
"There are other ways Superman can help the plan, he doesn't need to lend a helping hand, his very existence demands people believe gods walk the Earth, and that is entirely fitting."
Kingsley leant forward and took Reynold's arm, squeezing, where is meat, where is the muscle? Huh Reynolds? Tell me where is the strength to match the Man of Steel's – when it comes to blows?"
"Life is in the blood, Mr Kingsley. Don't you know."
"What if it is." Kingsley said releasing the Ultra Humanite's chief agent.
"That is what we do here. We work with life itself."
"And?"
"The Superior Intelligence established Superman's abilities come from a highly evolved physiology, millions of years ahead of yours or mine."
"Come on, what are you saying to me this guy is from the future?"
"From our future? Or a possible future? Who knows from whence he came, but he came, now I have his blood, so I have his life; I am but a step away from his secrets."
Kingsley laughed. "Forgive me Reynolds Prime, but you're not making sense."
"I can't expect you to grasp scientific ideas that are decades ahead of their time."
"Try me, you might be surprised what I can grasp."
It was Gamma Reynolds turn to laugh. "Very well, put simply I am seeking to create, to evolve a man like you into a super-man using a serum, developed from a sample of Superman's blood."
"Your kidding right... Wait. You are serious." Kingsley stuttered. "Okay that is impressive, far more so than a germ weapon."
The mobster lit a cigar. "So how is it going?"
"Wonderfully well." Reynolds smiled, caught in the moment. "Initially they were real problems, but recently I have been able to move onto animal testing."
"What gave, I mean, why was there problems? Why not do the do-da that makes you guys, the Reynolds brothers?"
"Cloning? It's complicated. Even setting issues of time aside; we all have to grow up. The material would not replicate, I mean copy – do you follow me?"
Kingsley nodded. "Yeah I get it, you - the Reynolds, you are all like identical twins, but you haven't been able - how did say it – to clone Superman? So you are trying to work out how to copy his powers – right?"
At that moment they were interrupted. "Mr Kingsley, it is good to see you again."
The mobster stood up and greeted the interloper. "Ah Prof' Dalton. I trust you are happy with the facilities Reynolds has here." He shook the older man's hand.
"Oh it's incredible, so much more advanced than anything at Metropolis University, and the salary, well that helps too."
"And not being close to a bookmaker's also helps I should think." Kingsley added with a sly grin.
"Sir, I won't forget your err... generosity, and err... I'm too busy here to worry about the horses, well apart from the horses we have here. Obviously." Then he continued without a pause to pick up on the fragment of conversation he had just heard. "But it's really incredible stroke of luck, whatever happened, I mean for the Superman sample to start replicating in standard medium, I mean heaven knows why it should do that, but there you go, that's often they way with great breakthroughs, chance and fortune, the lap of the gods."
Kingsley, laughs. "Yeah well doc, you'd know all about chance."
Reynolds scowled. "What is it Dalton? What brings you here? Is all well with the test subjects?"
"Ah! Err... no, I'm afraid the latest err... tests have failed again. But the good news is the other earlier impregnations are still holding, and it's been y' know been several weeks, that's a real record."
"Problems gentlemen?" Kingsley asked. "Lady luck no longer shining on your work Reynolds?"
Gamma frowned. "It is simply a matter of establishing what was different, what environmental factors are at work, why these test subjects are stable and the ones before and later fail.
"I am sure we will determine the cause."
Kingsley puffed on his cigar, well if I was a betting man, I'd say there was something very different about last month."
Reynolds stared at him blankly.
"The comet man, I mean it lit up the sky for a week or so, either side of that huge light show, y' know when it was closest to the Earth. It was like some super Fourth of July.
"I know I'm not a scientist, but I can tell you we sure noticed the environmental effects at the bookmaker's and my clubs. Hell people went comet mad, the cops say it was like a full moon times ten, crime was up, drunk and disorderly was up, everything went nuts.
"I guess you guys were too wrapped up in your lab to notice it, up there I mean."
Reynolds laughed. "That's crazy how would a stellar event effect a biological experiment, there would have to be..."
"Something entering the atmosphere?" Dalton suggested.
Reynolds frowned at him, but the Professor babbled on. "Something like... say those shooting stars – meteors I mean of course, something about them.
"Say they've added to the natural background radiation levels perhaps?" Dalton suggested.
"We'd have measured that?" Reynolds snapped back, but his face registered a look of surprise and uncertainty.
"Only assuming we can measure whatever they are, measure what really went on." Dalton said. "Look maybe it's all connected, the comet is mighty strange according to what I've read, then the meteor shower comes from it. Then what happens? Well Superman goes bad, people go crazy, and crazily enough our chimera's remain stable."
"That's one of hell a reach." Reynolds replied.
"That's why you gave me this job, because that's what I'm good at, taking chances, making intuitive leaps, least ways that's what you told me."
"That's what you told me to." Kingsley said. "Hire that guy, he's good."
Reynolds ran his hands through his hair. "All right Dalton. Let's test your hypothesis, let's see if you're right."
-'S'-
Clark pulled on the parking brake, killed the engine and exited the grey staff car. Lois made her way to the property, it looked a little run down, but according to the Registrar's office at Metropolis University this was the home address of Professor Dalton.
Kent waited beside his partner, a middle aged lady answered the door, her pinny covered in flour. She appeared flustered. The house was decorated for Christmas.
"Mrs Dalton?" Clark asked, doffing his hat. "We were hoping to speak with your husband."
"Why? Does he owe you money too?" She snapped.
"No, nothing like that. Quite the opposite." Lois replied. "We're reporters from the Daily Star, we're doing a follow up to the Purple Plague, the unsung heroes who worked behind the scenes to get the vaccine out to the city." Lois showed the lady her press card.
"Oh, I see. Yes Earnest leant a hand to medical faculty, he's really a biologist you know."
"Yes, Metropolis University, in fact Professor Danvers spoke very highly of your husband, and Doctor Travers also." Clark told her.
Her attitude softened. "I'm sorry to tell you he had taken a sabbatical, well more a working holiday. He's living out at his new place of work, he comes back at the weekend to see us, the children and I, so obviously today he isn't here."
"Oh. What rotten luck." Clark replied. "Adding whereabouts is he? Perhaps we could give call him by telephone, errm arrange an interview."
Mrs Dalton looked uncertain.
Lois noted. "That way he will get the credit he deserves of course."
"Do you have a telephone number, and address, perhaps we could send him a telegram?" Clark persisted.
"You say he'll be mentioned in the paper?"
Lois nodded affirmatively. "Yes, he certainly deserves recognition."
Mrs Dalton excused herself, and returned with a slip of paper. "This is my husbands place of work."
Lois reached out and took the note. It gave the name of Circe Farm Animal Husbandry and Breeding Centre, the address listed the nearest town as dormitory suburb south of Metropolis called Midvale.
"He's working with farm animals, making better milk cows and beef cows and so on, so he tells me. Of course he's coming back for Christmas day, but you appreciate that he won't have time over the holiday to talk to you, I mean family has to come first doesn't it?"
"Thank you Mrs Dalton, yes of course, perhaps we'll be able to speak to him after the twenty-fifth." Clark said. Lois bid the woman goodbye, and the two reporters returned to the grey ford."
"Damn it. Best lead we've had and we can't chase it. That's what happens when you get to Christmas, nobody can think of anything else except Santa and eggnog."
"Bah Humbug Lois?"
"Leave it out Clark, don't remind me. We've got to go and make jolly at the office party, don't we?"
"Taylor made it clear we were expected to be there. I didn't realise Christmas was such a big deal for him."
"Sure you missed this last year, you were with your family right?"
Clark nodded.
Lois continued. "Well it's got a lot to do with the Chief's wartime experience, but either way he likes to make a big deal of this time of year."
"I can't wait." Clark replied.
-'S'-
James Olsen Cub reporter had a hobby and that was photographing aeroplanes, so it came as unexpected and early Christmas Present when George Taylor – Editor in Chief of the Metropolis Daily Star - sent him on a solo assignment.
"By rights I should send Lois Lane." The Chief joked. "But seeing you are such a aviation buff I thought I'd let you cover this one, because in many ways this is all about the pictures."
"What is Chief?"
"Jacqueline Cochran is making an appearance at Pegasus Field. Let's just say I've got a tip off. Think about it Kid.
"Pretty woman, married to a rich and famous film mogul, who is also the best female pilot in America is going to be on our doorstep, I'm thinking a glamour shot – the beauty, and the the beast of a racing plane she's famous for."
"Murder! I'm on it Chief."
Olsen made his way through security and into the military base. Miss Cochran, as she liked to be called made her approach, her powerful race plane roared as it touched down on the run way, and Jimmy was there to take the pictures.
Cochran emerged from the cockpit immaculately turned out, as befitted the head of a cosmetics company, whose distinctive "Wings" logo was emblazoned on the side of her plane.
Jimmy photographed her being introduced to the base commander Colonel Lane. He couldn't resist the urge to exclaim, "Jeepers," as the lady in question looked his way and flashed a Hollywood smile in his direction.
"She's quite a Lady." The blond haired Army Air Corps Officer beside him noted. Olsen agreed as he watched the famous aviatrix escorted by Lane to a waiting Jeep.
"I'm James Olsen, of the Daily Star." Jimmy offered his hand.
"Steve Trevor."
"Pleased to meet you Sir. Any inside information on why a famous lady pilot has come to Metropolis?"
"Jackie is full of ideas, especially since the War began in Europe, and Colonel Lane is more accommodating to new ideas than most. Let's just say there are a lot of Americans who feel we should be doing more to help the British fight their war.
"Oh, do you know her well Captain?"
Trevor laughed. "You're a young un' to be chasing stories. Well who I am to dampen your enthusiasm.
"Sure I know Jackie, you could say she as a friend of the family now, but it began because was a big fan of my Mom."
"Your mother?"
"Yes my mother, Diana Trevor was an early aviation pioneer."
"Golly. Hang on Sir, I'm so sorry, I remember reading about her now. She was Island hopping in Greece when she didn't make her next scheduled landing... Sorry I shouldn't have..."
Trevor patted him on the back. "It was a long time ago now Jimmy, and unfortunately flying has it's dangers, as the mystery surrounding Amelia Earhart's disappearance a couple of years ago demonstrates."
"I'm sorry Sir that must have brought back a lot of memories."
Steve Trevor smiled sadly. "Well it did, but look at me, I grew up to be flyer too, so you can say I found my mother's courage inspirational."
"Captain Trevor you are right, your mother was inspirational." Jacqueline Cochran stated. She had made her way across to greet him.
"I will always remember Diana Rockwell Trevor alongside the likes of Harriet Quimby."
Jackie continued, winking at young cub reporter. "Quimby if you didn't know, was the first licensed female aeroplane pilot in America, you might want to use that in your story young man."
"Yes Miss Cochran, oh wow thanks. I think you are amazing."
"Jackie this young man from the Star, goes by the name of James Oslen."
Jacqueline Cochran was impressed by Olsen's enthusiasm. "Say James, have you ever considered joining the Air Corps, like our darling Captain Trevor?"
"Jeepers Maam, I'd love to fly."
"Wonderful James." Jackie waved back at Colonel Lane who beckoning her back. "Steve we'll catch up later okay, I've got some business with the Colonel."
The Aviatrix walked away, her neat beige flying suit was tailored perfectly.
"If you want to fly Mr Oslen, you could do a lot worse than the Army Air Corps?" Trevor told him.
"I'd be lying to say I hadn't thought of it Sir, but my Mom, well she's not too keen on my joining the Army."
Steve laughed. "Okay son. Look if you hang around I'll see if I can persuade Jackie to give you a proper interview, that should get you a byline shouldn't it?."
"Gosh Sir that would be great."
-'WW'-
Princess Diana of Themyscira ran like the wind, her hair following behind a great mane of vibrant shining ebony. Greek Hoplite spear in hand, shield in the other she moved like a dancer with the feline grace of lioness. The Princess of Themyscira was at one with the island paradise she called home.
Diana was last and greatest of incarnate Amazon Warriors. Fast, strong, wise, beautiful, possessing the eye of the huntress, the Amazon's had for centuries practised their own unique martial arts, and yet Diana who was barely twenty-one years old was more than their equal, she was uniquely blessed by the goddesses of Paradise Island a child protege now a grown woman.
The Chief of the Guard General Philippus stood to one side of Queen Hippolyta. They and the Amazon Oracle, Menalippe, watched the Princess of Themyscira approach the glorious marble Temple, one of many such monuments to the fallen dotted across the island. With them was the Priestess Akantha who tended this Shrine to the Fallen.
"My Daughter has grown in grace; see she even out paces Mala, and in full armour.
"Phillipus how fast these few fleeting years have past, wasn't it but yesterday that Diana was still a babe in swaddling clothes." The Regent of Themyscira said.
The Amazon General said simply. "Practise perfects. This the way of the Amazon, We embrace and honour the gods who birthed us; who gifted us with our abilities, by daily disciplining the mind and the body."
"Are you suggesting Diana is a little undisciplined?" Hippolyta asked.
Phillipus frowned. "I would only say she is still very young Majesty"
Menalippe smiled. "The first child of Themyscira is truly a wondrous young woman, possessing great strength of heart, of body, and of mind.
"She has the eyes of the hunter, but in her heart she loves the hunted, she is civilisation – fire tamed."
"You speak in riddles Oracle." Phillipus replied.
Akantha the Amazon Priestess looked up from her task. "Menalippe, the Princess was also blessed with the speed of Hermes, it seems to serve her well, she is almost upon us."
Hippolyta watched as Diana charged up the hill to the elevated Temple. "Yes Akantha, she has the blessing of our Lord Hermes." The Queen said. "And I can't help wondering how will this god-speed change her?"
Phillipus frowned once more. "Majesty what do you mean?"
"Diana has an acute mind, Amazonian trained and disciplined, all won in a handful of years, I confess I find myself wondering what kind of immortal will she be - after a handful of centuries, even a few thousand years? Will she still be like us then?"
"I would hope she would have learned more discipline." Phillipus said dryly.
Menalippe laughed. It was infectious. The Queen chuckled putting her hand on the stern woman's shoulder.
"I'm sure she will. Given time."
The women fell silent as the Princess approached. She thrust her spear into the ground, and removed her helm. Looking up the marble steps Diana asked.
"Mother for whom do we race, which great Heroine of Themyscira do we honour? The young Amazon was not even breathing hard, behind her others followed, first Mala, Diana's constant companion, and after her the Warriors of General Phillipus; the Amazon Royal Guard.
"We burn incense upon the fire today to remember one who fell defending Dooms Door against the monsters from Tartarus." Hippolyta replied. "Come Diana, it is time you saw this place.
Diana walked up the steps and through the heavy bronze doors that had on always in her experience been locked shut.
Once inside she looked around the Shrine to the fallen hero.
"What strange symbols adorn this place." She said. "I always wondered why it was here, though no one spoke of it." Diana turned on her heel looking around about her.
General Philippus answered "These are symbols are heraldry of the people beyond the World Ocean, the warrior who wore this coat of arms was fearless unto death, and gave her life saving this Island from the demons of hell."
Hippolyta took her daughter's hand. "This all took place in the days before you were born, and to remember her brave sacrifice forever, I called you after her, your name is her name, you are both called Diana."
-'S'-
The Christmas party at the Daily Star was winding down, guys were leaving to do their late shopping before the big day. Taylor manoeuvred Kent and Lane together getting Jimmy to bring Clark over, he in turn positioned Lois to left of the Mistletoe.
She for her part was telling him how they might have a lead on the whereabouts and maybe even an insight into the plans of the Consortium's leading men. It was interesting, but today Taylor was enjoying himself.
Jimmy acting under orders pushed Clark directly under the traditional sprig of winter greenery, just as Taylor hustled Lois one hundred and eighty degrees around to face him, nudging her under the Mistletoe too, at that self same moment.
Taylor blew a smoke ring, and smiled. "Well, well, kids, look at where you are now!"
"I think someone has had a little to much punch." Lois told Taylor. The Chief laughed.
"I think Curly Lombard, added to the punch more punch than Alice intended." Clark noted.
Lois shook her head a chuckled. "Okay come here Cowboy." She thought to herself she would dazzle the boy from Kansas with a real Christmas kiss.
Clark only a few weeks ago would have bumbled his way through this moment with self conscious ineptitude, but the last few weeks had made a big difference to Kent's life, his alter-ego had taken a back seat for once, his mission had been curtailed by human limitations. Yet in weakness, his strength of determination had grown, and now while tantalisingly his powers were ever so slowly returning, Clark not only appreciated his unique abilities all the more, but felt conscious of his mortality; the truth of the adage that time waits for no one seemed so more real, and seizing this moment he did not hesitate.
His lips met Lois's with all of himself, he did not hold back his true feelings, or pretend weakness, or shyness, or cowardice, here he was all he was - the son of two worlds, he had fire in his heart, and he brought all this to this moment.
He placed a super kiss on her lips, for it wasn't strength or speed that was needed for this to be marvellous, but strength of heart and true feeling.
Lois went limp in his arms. "Oh my word Cowboy, where did you learn to kiss like that." She gasped.
Clark winked at Jimmy, seeing his face agog with surprise, and calmly took a glass of punch from his boss. "Thanks Chief." He said, turning to Lois. "Here you are partner you seem like you need this more I do."
-'S'-
Gamma Reynolds looked at the glowing crystalline rock. "So Mr Graham; where did this come from?" He asked the Mobster.
"Canada."
"And you are certain it is a Barnett Winston Comet meteor rock."
"It glows doesn't it? How the hell should I know what a meteor should look like, you guys asked me to get you one, so I went looking. It was hard to find."
"Really I read there was a number of reported strikes across the northern hemisphere."
"Look I'm just a guy who is good at getting things other people can't get, all I know is what my network tells me, and they say in a matter of weeks those rocks have got a bad reputation for trouble; nothing but bad luck I'm told."
"What do you mean?" Kingsley asked. The Well dressed Mobster seemed perturbed by the suggestion from his colleague.
"Come sirs. We are men of the Twentieth Century – we hardly believe in superstition?"
"Say what you like Reynolds Prime. But I'm telling you that where these rocks go, disaster follows, fires, house collapse, guys ending up in hospital; and the rocks – well they go missing." Graham informed them.
"Sounds like there is someone collecting these things – by whatever means possible." Kingsley noted.
"Could be that." Reynolds acknowledged. "But we have one now, and it does seem to confirm the wilder suggestions of Dalton. There is clearly some energy being given off by this crystalline rock, quite what that is, I'm uncertain."
"Question is will this have the desired effect on your serum, will it mean the animals will stop dying?" Kingsley demanded.
Reynolds appeared surprised. "Really a man willing to poison a city is squeamish because a few animals are dying?"
Kingsley frowned. "People, you never know where you are with people, but dogs, well they are different; and it's not just dogs, you've tried this serum on just about every animal on this farm, and what have you to show for it, but a big hole in the ground."
"I admit there has been failures, but as you pointed out the Serum produced, and injected during the Comet's passing, these animals have survived."
"Have they shown any special powers?"
"No, but I have greater hopes for the serum we directly injected in-vitro."
"Come again buster?"
"Into the foetus; some of the serum was injected into the pregnant animal's baby whilst it is still developing."
"Perhaps I didn't want to know." Kingsley acknowledged.
Reynolds laughed. "Science is not a pursuit for the squeamish."
Kingsley frowned, but before he could counter the accusation, one of his own people interrupted them.
"Boss there is couple of reporters out at the house, the reckon they want to interview Dalton."
"Why?" Graham snapped.
"I don't know, they said something about how Dalton had worked on the Plague vaccine, doing up a story on the unsung heroes who saved the city, so they said."
"How did they know he was here?" Reynolds demanded, adding to his assistant. "Get Dalton. See what he knows." He turned to Graham's enforcer. "Did they say which paper they worked for?"
"The Daily Star."
Reynolds closed his eyes and cursed. "Don't tell me, one of them is a woman."
"Yeah she's a doll, looks like that actress that Butch knew."
"You know them?" Kingsley demanded.
"Yes Gentleman, I know them, and I do not doubt they know you two too.
"This can only be Lane and Kent, the dynamic duo of the Daily Star's front page, they're same two who brought Superman to the attention of Metropolis.
"In short my friends, if they are here, you can bet your last dollar it isn't just to interview Dalton."
Well maybe we should send Dalton out there – he did work on the Purple Plague, maybe that is the reason they are here, sounds reasonable enough." Graham suggested.
"Coincidence they choose Dalton for a story, and then come all the way out here just to talk to a minor player in that business, all the while here is the place where the plague was made, and here being the place where we are?
"No I don't buy that for a moment."
Clark Kent and Lois Lane waited in the rambling farmhouse, the roaring fire was welcoming, and Clark at once felt at home; but beyond the rustic charm of the well appointed home there was more to this operation than first met the eye. His vision powers were not working at anything like full capacity, but he absorbed enough to know this was nothing like any working farm he had ever visited, and the huge barn complex seemed particularly out of place.
It was however still very surprising to see Gamma Reynolds walk into the room with both Kingsley and Graham in tow; on the one hand it confirmed all their suspicions but also immediately placed them in serious danger. Something which Clark felt responsible for, and he was at a loss how to counter.
"Miss Lane, Mr Kent. I'm sure you recognise me, and my colleagues so let's dispense with any lies and tales you might think to tell, and cut through to the meat of the matter. You came here looking for what exactly?"
"Professor Dalton." Lois replied.
Reynolds raised his pistol. Clark moved to himself between the gun and his partner.
"Yes, it was Dalton that brought us here, because we learned he had be hired by Mr Kingsley and Mr Graham." Clark replied. "That you are here too, that is interesting.
"You are the same Reynolds from Los Angeles aren't you, I mean you have his colouring." Kent asked.
"And you are the same reporters who were at Colossal Studios." Reynolds acknowledged. "Now we know who we all are, perhaps you would be so kind as to tell me what you expected to find here?" He reinforced his question with a gesture of his gun.
Lois was defiant. "Well we didn't expect to find a rat like you, maybe we thought we'd get a lead on where your mob boss friends were hiding out, looks like we were right, really right."
"Yes well aren't you the cat who got the cream, only to find herself caught in the dairy, with no where to run.
"Come Miss Lane, Mr Kent, you really came all the way out here on the off chance you might locate my two friends."
"Yes we did. It's been a slow news week, what with it being the Holidays and all." Clark replied.
"Hmm perhaps you have been lucky – unlucky, whatever, perhaps not. Maybe I need you to think more clearly Mr Kent." He turned and pointed the gun at Lois. Clark saw him squeeze the trigger. He place himself between the bullet and Lois.
Reynolds shot Clark. The slug entered on his left side close to his heart. Kent crumpled to one knee, he groaned, shaking he pressed his hand to stem the blood flow.
Lois screamed. "You monster why did you do that?"
"I meant to wound you, I thought Mr Kent might be more forthcoming, if you were hurt, seeing he has an apparently undeserved reputation for timidity, I expected him to talk more readily than you.
"But I have shot him, close to his heart, and I as a doctor I can tell you his life is very much in danger, so you now face the dilemma – and the same question applies.
"What do you know?"
"He told you, you bastard, he told you, we don't know anything."
"Perhaps I can shoot him again? Or maybe you." Reynolds replied calmly and coldly.
Lois was white with rage. "We knew about Dalton because we went to Graham's club, and we heard he'd been seen with Graham, that he owed him money, then his wife told us he was here - researching animal husbandry, that you were breeding better animals, that's all we know – I swear it."
Reynolds pocketed his gun. "Very well Miss Lane I believe you." He turned to Kingsley and Graham. "Have them taken to the lab."
"You don't want to waste them?" Kingsley asked nonchalantly lighting a cigar.
"Mr Kent will probably die anyway, but lets see, he and Miss Lane... well, she - at least, may as well be made useful, I wasn't planning human testing at this point but the information from such an experiment will only add to our knowledge. So yes have them put in one of the isolation rooms.
"Meanwhile I must see how Dalton is getting on building the projector unit to concentrate the energies from the meteor rock sample, he believes it will create a duplicator enhancement device, under whose rays we will enable us to create a new viable batch of Serum." Reynolds simply walked away.
The mobsters indicated to their guys to get hold of the bleeding Kent, and weeping Lane.
"Oh Clark." She cried.
He looked at her, and whispered with determination. "We'll be okay Lois, just you see."