FOURTEEN
One day towards the end of 1921, Clark flew around the world many times. He just kept going. He was not flying for speed. Or endurance. Clark was inconsolable at that moment. Angry. Frustrated. He felt helpless. After circumnavigating the planet for nearly two hours, Clark took a deep breath and flew higher until he broke through Earth's atmosphere into space. He pressed his body to fly faster and it did. Two hundred forty thousand miles later, Clark found himself touching down for the first time on the moon. There was no enjoyment for him. No celebration. He found a rocky hill and sat. Before him was the planet Earth looking so perfect, so beautiful. A lie, his inner voice screamed at him.
Clark stood up and walked the surface of the moon. Time became lost to him until he felt the slight urge to gather a breath forming in his chest and lungs. He floated over to a large piece of rock sticking up from the moon's soil. The skin around his eyes glowed a dark orange. Eyes that had significant upgrades to the human model. In the absence of light, a human eye would widen its pupil to let as much light in as possible. Conversely, too much light, it would narrow the pupil's opening to protect the eye. Clark's eyes worked similarly until they accessed superior, visual physiology borne from the brilliance of a yellow sun.
The dim red, laser light emitted from one of those eyes. The beam heated up the moon rock as Clark's head moved back and forth with purpose. The beam flickered off and back on. He thought it off completely and paused at the rock, before pushing himself off the moon and onward back to Earth.
On the rock, were the etched words – "We must be better."
Clark inhaled greatly once he re-entered Earth's atmosphere. He quickly detoured to the Fortress to change from his Superman attire into a pull-over sweater and khakis. He was back in the air and made his way to Atlanta University located in Georgia. The university was founded in 1865 by two former slaves after the American Civil War. Clark hovered above the university grounds to visually locate the professor he was there to see. The professor was in a building towards the edge of the campus. Clark had no desire to cover his approach or arrival. The university was not as populated at the time due to the nearing holidays. Regardless, Clark's arrival caused quite the stir for those who were around when he landed down outside the three-story building.
"Oh my, God," said a female student. "It's him. It's him."
Clark was soon surrounded by a throng of student and faculty members. The cacophony of noise in their accusatory questions and declarations led Clark to shrink within as he rotated around. So many eyes, faces expressed anger and fright toward him.
"Why are you here?" a bespectacled, thin man asked. "Didn't your kind do enough in Tulsa?"
"That is not me," Clark attempted for them to hear. "Those are not my beliefs."
"You didn't stop it!" Clark heard from the crowd.
And there it was, his biggest fear as Superman. Not being there.
"I know," was all Clark's voice could find. Out of his peripheral, he saw a hand picking up a rock. The rock then being released and thrown in his direction. It would have had no effect on Clark, but the thrower was not accurate. Clark moved fast enough to catch the projectile before it hit the man near him.
The people paused in motion and fury. More scared than anything else.
Clark tossed the rock into a nearby pond. "You have every right to be angry," Clark said. "I have no answer for Tulsa. The so many others. I don't see color when I'm out here. I only see people."
"Bullshit," he heard.
"Supermassa, more like it," he heard.
"Get out of here, Mr. Charlie!" he heard.
Clark spied an older woman staring at him from the building's steps. She wore a non-committal expression as Clark locked eyes with everyone who did the same with him. The fuse he lit by landing would assuredly explode if he continued the engagement. He gently parted through the silent crowd of people.
"Mam," Clark said making his way to the woman.
The woman shifted her weight to better use the cane in her left hand. Her right hand shook involuntarily against her leg.
"So you're not here to hurt us?" she asked.
"Hurt you?" Clark repeated moving closer to her. "No, mam. I am not."
"I was born a slave," she said standing on the third step, able to look Clark directly in his eyes. "You are the white man's fantasy. Our nightmare."
"That's not my intention," Clark stated.
"What is your intention?" she asked.
Clark shook his head side to side. "I, I just want to help," he said. "Everyone."
"We'll see," the woman said moving slowly down the steps. "By the way, seeing color isn't the problem. Reacting to it with tarnished hate is. It's okay to see us as black folk, just don't make that the reason to hate us. Beat us. Lynch us."
Clark turned watching the woman walk away. The crowd of people stayed as he walked into the building. He did not encounter anyone else as he walked up a wooden flight of stairs and knocked on a glass pebble-pane door.
"Yes," he heard from the other side.
Clark walked into an educator's office. The window was open across the room. The seated man would have heard the outside commotion.
"You here to see me, Mr. Kent?" the middle-aged professor asked. He remained seated behind his desk that had plenty of papers and books stacked upon it.
"You heard that," Clark said eyeing the window.
The professor raised a hand offering Clark a seat. Clark sat down and the professor placed his elbows on the chair's armrests. His thin, long fingers interlocked resting under his chin.
"I need to know what I can do?" Clark started.
"From what I've read," the professor stated. "It appears there is nothing you can't do."
"I couldn't stop Tulsa," Clark responded.
"Indeed," the professor smile-sighed pushing up to lean back in his chair. "You're interested in the plight of the American Negro, Mr. Kent?"
"I don't know how to address it," Clark stated. "Not just here in the states, but across the planet. The inhumanity we show to each other leaves me powerless to act. How do I wage a battle against a person's heart? Mind? Where hate resides there for no reasons that are sound."
"You can't, Mr. Kent," the professor answered. "Sound reasoning and hate are not partners. Thousands of years of man's cruelty and inhumanity cannot be erased so easily. Quickly, by even a Superman."
"So, I do nothing?" Clark asked.
"If I asked you to kill every white supremacist," the professor said. "KKK, in the government, military, businesses, so-called ordinary folk. What would you do?"
Clark was taken aback and unable to form a response.
"Don't worry," the professor said. "I'm not asking you to do that. I wouldn't shed a tear over their deaths, mind you, but I'm not advocating murder; even though they have no similar distinction. If you truly want to help the Negro, and those on this planet subjected to such abuse. You can only lead by example. Speak out, Mr. Kent. Be an advocate for the downtrodden; the people who are placed on a tightrope, and told to walk missing one leg, and vision in both eyes."
"Where do I begin?" Clark asked.
"Be prepared," the professor said. "There will be backlash."
"I can't sit idly by," Clark said.
"Okay," the professor said standing up. He walked around his desk and held out his hand.
Clark stood and reciprocated the gesture.
"You were raised in Kansas, correct?" asked the professor.
"Yes, sir," Clark responded. "Smallville."
"And the history of your state?" he continued. "Still relatively new. Sixty years."
"1861," Clark said. "Its entry into the union as a free state was very controversial. Some said it was the catalyst to the war."
"Maybe not the catalyst," the professor said. "But it was one. Evil, Mr. Kent. And don't mistake it for anything but. Cannot be extinguished, expunged through sheer hope. Words. It takes a mountain of voices and action to effect change. Not one, no matter how super, can do it on his own. Change is not time efficient. I little doubt in my lifetime there will be a day, a black American, and that's who we are – Americans, can own a home, work at a company; be anywhere out in this country after the sun sets without race being an insidious factor to that home purchase, that job security, that freedom to exist."
"Do you love this country?" Clark asked in total sincerity.
The professor smirked and sighed. He went over to the window.
"Warts and all, Mr. Kent," he said looking out upon the greenery everywhere. People were still milling about out front. Some seated on the long rows of steps.
"My family's blood - going back hundreds of years, is literally part of this country's makeup," he said. "We've fought in every war this country has been a part of. All we ask, and will continue to fight for, is respect and equality. And recognition, that we are America, too. I believe such things are written and inferred by this country's Declaration and Constitution. I do appreciate you coming here, in the brightness of day; not trying to hide. It gives me another ounce of maybe on the road we travel."
"My parents, Earth parents," Clark said. "They raised me to believe in people, regardless of race and gender, should be treated equally."
"Education and work are the levers to uplift a people," the professor responded. "Black, and white, Mr. Kent.
Clark reconciled his dismay over inequalities by having Superman attend civil rights conferences not only in America, but around the world. He knew the hate and violence would continue. He knew that he would not be able to stop it all. But his hope, his one narcissistic hope, was there would be those having heard him speak, who harbored that hate, would see some sliver of humanity in the people they hated. And that could be the first genuine step to exorcising such an intolerable part of one's makeup.
And time moved on.
Clark's early track record as Superman became a point of embarrassment for him as Kelex made an informed decision to track the number of lives Clark had affected positively since he declared himself to the world. Hundreds saved in a Germany chemical fire. Thousands saved from a typhoon in China. Thousands more in an earthquake cracking the grounds of Tokyo. Clark was there, always there to save as many as he could. He found Kelex documenting this to be a ridiculous exercise.
And his legend continued to grow.
He was amused in 1923 when an American radio show premiered with tales of Superman that left Clark rolling in laughter as Earth's Kryptonian hero battled invading, green aliens from Mars. Or taking down gangsters accentuated by kooky bullet and flying sound effects. Hollywood and multiple corporations sought out Superman for movies, endorsements and spokesman opportunities. Yet, Clark never chased for the almighty dollar that had taken over parts of the country, ushering in the glitz and decadence of the Roaring Twenties.
In the first days of January 1925, Lois Lane reached out to Martha Kent hoping to get a message to Clark. As managing editor, Lois was the second highest ranking employee at the "Daily Planet" behind Perry White. She was the highest-ranking woman employed by a nationally distributed newspaper. She thought it would be a great idea to write a five-year retrospective on Superman's planet debut. Clark and Lois had only seen each other twice since the breakup. Both times were awkward and mercifully short. Nevertheless, Clark agreed to an interview with Lois. She would only be the third person to visit his Antarctica home base of operations.
The Metropolis wind that January morning whipped and dipped hard through one of the many gauntlet corridors of tall buildings. Clark swooped upward to the city's highest building that was the "Daily Planet." Its iconic, huge golden revolving Earth globe made it a must-click for airplanes taking aerial photographs of the continuously growing city.
Clark carried under him a large square-shaped, compartment on his approach to the building's roof. He drifted down slowly holding it steady until the metal softly thumped on the roof. He exchanged eyes and smiles with Lois, who stood nearby wearing a furry hat, matching gloves and a long coat. She was not alone. A man taking photographs moved around the roof's structures to get premium shots as Clark landed several feet from Lois.
"Hello," Clark opened, his gaze semi-distracted by the photographer's movements.
"Hi, Clark," Lois smiled. "No cape?"
"Left it behind," he said. "It kinda' gets in the way when I'm working."
"How have you been?" she asked.
"Busy. Moving. One day at a time. But, I'm good," he said feeling more nervous than he thought he would. The photographer's constant movement did however, help distract Clark from such emotions seeking foothold in his mind and potentially worse, his mouth.
"I know. You've been quite the, Superman," Lois responded. "We get daily news feeds of your activities."
"And you, Lois?" Clark inquired. "Are you good?"
Lois took a deep breath and smiled at Clark. "Yes, I am."
Clark marveled at Lois' smile still having an affect upon him. Yet, not the way he expected.
The last time they saw each other was during a Metropolis gala, at which Lois received the "Woman of the Year" award for 1921. Their run-in was five minutes at the most. What made those three hundred seconds more awkward and agonizing was Lois attending the event with Pete Ross. It still stung Pete that his childhood friend kept not only his Kryptonian secret from him, but would then offer the biggest story in modern world history to another reporter. The irony that Pete would turn around and date Lois, left Clark questioning many things. And Lois' decision to date Pete. She knew of their Smallville connection. Was Clark a point of clarification between them in their decision to see each other? It puzzled Clark that he was happy for the two of them, rather than being jealous. Was it a sign the romantic love he thought was once upon a time with Lois, was never truly there? Inevitably leaving his mind to wonder whether a woman will ever bring him such love.
"By the way," Lois said. "The energetic kid taking the photographs is Jimmy Olsen."
"Nice to meet you, Jimmy," Clark said extending his hand.
"A real honor, Superman," Jimmy said shaking Clark's hand. "I can't believe you're here. If I stopped to think about it too much, my hands will start shaking."
"Could be the cold weather," Clark said. "If not, just take a couple of deep breaths, and you'll be fine. And call me, Clark."
Jimmy smiled, nodded and continued taking photographs of Superman.
"I was hoping," Lois opened. "That Jimmy could come with us. He has a great eye at such a young age. And I wouldn't mind getting a photo scoop of Superman's secret home."
"Are secret and private interchangeable these days, Lois?" Clark joked. "No worries. I'm okay with Jimmy."
"We're travelling in that, I surmise," Lois said pointing to the contraption Clark brought.
"Flight tested," Clark said walking over to the compartment box. "I've flown my parents, together in this."
With little trepidation, Lois followed Clark over to the shiny, silver metal box. It was not quite as tall as her. She could see what looked like two handles on the roof of the cube. There were glass windows on two of the sides and a larger one on what would be considered the front of the box.
Several raised eyebrow expressions and a few wobbles later, Clark was in the air carrying the box with Lois and Jimmy inside.
Clark maintained the Fortress at a constant temperature of sixty degrees Fahrenheit so that any human visitors would be comfortable in a sweater or jacket. The first time he flew his parents to the Fortress was the first time he realized how barren his new home appeared to others. Rather than capitulate to his mother's decorating taste, Clark and Kelex came up with designs and architectural features that enhanced the natural ice beauty. A metallic and glass fusion with ice that made the Fortress a true wonder to behold.
One year in after breaking ice, Kelex surprised Clark with two, thirty-foot ice sculptures of his Kryptonian parents. They stood side by side – Lara-El's left-arm outstretched; Jor-El's right, holding a globe-shaped, metallic representation of Earth in front of them.
Clark carefully flew the compartment past his parents' sculptures. He gently lowered his visitors to the floor of the Fortress' main entry hall room. Lois opened the compartment's door, stepped out, wobbled some more and audibly gasped. The walls and ceilings were of natural ice, but the Superman-made designs felt futuristic in their angles and cuts. The entire breadth of the floor was a dull, silver metal that contrasted beautifully with the translucent, white-bluish ice.
"I feel like I just stepped out of a L. Frank Baum book," Lois said gaining her bearings. She stretched her body as Jimmy quickly got out to take photographs.
"Would that make you Dorothy?" Clark asked.
"You're the kid from Kansas, Smallville," she said.
"Indeed," Clark nodded. He heard the familiar machinery whirring of Kelex approaching. The gold-colored robot was a stark contrast against the icy environment.
"Ms. Lane," Kelex greeted. "It is good to see you again. Welcome to the Fortress."
"Kelex," Lois responded. "You seem, to be operating well."
"Thank you, Ms. Lane," he answered. "My systems are all at ninety nine percent efficiency."
"One hundred is something to aspire for," Lois, as soon as she said it, noticed Clark putting his hand up to an exasperated facial expression.
"You shouldn't have gone there, Lois," Clark half-smiled.
"Your observation is quite accurate, Ms. Lane," Kelex began. "I have approximately thirty-three interconnected systems. For the last two hundred ninety-two days, I have been stymied by…."
"Kelex," Clark interrupted. "Not now on your systems, okay?"
"Of course, Kal-El," Kelex responded.
"The Fortress?" Lois questioned at Clark.
"We couldn't come up with anything else," Clark explained.
"You should have asked me or your mother," Lois joked. "We did pretty good with you."
"Thanks, Lois," Clark mocked.
"Kelex?" Lois asked. "Do you have emotions? You said it was good to see me."
"Really?" Clark bemoaned to Lois, fearing a long-winded Kelex response.
"Not emotions in the Earth human sense, Ms. Lane," Kelex said. "My programming is ever-evolving that my algorithms are sensitive to familiarity."
"Wow, is all I can muster with that," Lois said.
Jimmy rotated around Kelex taking photos from every angle, which was made harder as Kelex rotated along with Jimmy.
"That's Jimmy Olsen," Lois said to Kelex.
"He's documenting the Fortress?" Kelex asked of Clark.
"It's okay," Clark said. "Why don't you give him the grand tour."
"Of course, Kal-El," Kelex responded. "This way, Mr. Olsen."
Jimmy gave an incredulous expression to Lois and Clark, and then hurried after the smooth floating robot.
"Clark?" Lois asked. "Why am I not freezing? It was much colder on top of the Daily Planet."
"Kelex and I were able to redirect underwater, ground thermal heat vents," Clark said.
"Yep, that's what I thought," Lois laid out with a sarcastic smile. "But it does sound impressive. So, with these heat vents, why isn't…"
"…the ice melting?" Clark finished anticipating Lois' question.
"Yeah?" she said.
Clark motioned Lois to follow him. He walked over to an ice wall.
"Feel it," Clark instructed to Lois.
She removed a glove and placed her bare hand against the wall.
"I'm not touching ice, am I? There's something here," Lois said. "It's not cold."
"For lack of my typical more science-y explanation," Clark said. "It has multiple layers that keep one side very cold, the other side, that you're touching, not so much. It took Kelex and I nearly a year to produce, cut and fit the pieces."
"That definitely deserves another wow," Lois said.
"Lois?" Clark asked. "Is that an engagement ring?"
Lois went to cover her ring finger, but stopped herself midway.
"Not the way I wanted to let you know," she said.
"Pete?" Clark asked.
"Yeah," Lois managed.
"You're happy," Clark observed.
"I am, Clark," she said. "Peter and me. We just work. He's a good man. And I should stop right there, I don't want you to think I'm making negative comparisons with you."
"I'm thrilled for you, Lois," Clark said, tentatively holding out his arms. He felt relief and joy when Lois walked into them giving him a loving hug.
"I truly am happy for you," Clark said gently letting Lois go. "You're right, Pete is a good man. Remind me to, or better yet have him, tell you the Nineteen-o-two Halloween story."
"Oh, not just a Halloween story, but an actual year?" Lois commented. "I will definitely ask him. Clark? Just now, the hint of sadness in your eyes. Tells me that you miss a friend. I see it in Peter's when your name comes up. He's ready, Clark, whenever you are."
"Have you two set a date?" Clark asked.
"June," Lois said. "The twentieth. Strangely. Oddly, maybe not so much. I would love for you to be there."
"Well, that gives me some time to make things right with Pete," Clark said. "I can't attend if he doesn't want me there."
"Fair enough, but I know you boys will work it out. And what of you, Clark?" Lois asked. "Is there anyone in your life?
Diana and Clark ooze through the Oa ship's hangar force field. Clark's face is the first body part to enter space. Almost simultaneously, he feels a tingling sensation across his body. He watches, mesmerized as a near clear film envelops his hands. It is adhering directly to his skin; his uniform is still subjected to the elements of space. His fingers intertwine and touch his hands feeling a hard yet pliable substance. He feels Diana tapping on his shoulder. He looks back to see a thumbs up from her.
The scientist in Clark has him marveling at this technical accomplishment. He opens his mouth wide to further tests the suit's capabilities. The film covers his mouth and nose area in a raised outward air pocket. His breathing is normal as the suit is creating and supplying oxygen. Looking back to Diana, he notices her hair; specifically her ponytail floating. It has not been enveloped in the substance. Clark feels the top of his head and feels hair strands between his fingers. They are not coated in the film. Yet, feeling past his hair, he feels the substance atop his head. His mind reels at the technical expertise of the suit's properties and actions.
"Can you hear me?" he asks, over-enunciating his words as he turns to Diana.
"No," he reads her mouth's reply.
Clark smiles and touches her hand. The pleasurable grip of Diana's arms and legs tighten around his torso and upper body. The two have floated a good distance away from the Oa ship. Clark re-establishes his bearings to locate Braniac's ship, which looks to be thousands of miles away. He and Diana make their approach through the space sea of ship debris. And bodies. How did he fail to notice so many of them earlier? And not just whole bodies, but separated body parts. Forever to drift in space. Clark thinks of their families who may never know the truth behind a loved one's demise.
Clark steels himself for some form of attack from the ship as he and Diana get closer. To his complete surprise, the anticipated attack is not an offensive one, but rather a defensive one as he crashes into an invisible force field surrounding Braniac's ship. His outward fists make first contact blunting the collision's impact. It does not, however, stop Diana from sailing forward, upside down from Clark. Her body slams back-first into the field, bouncing off and away.
Her awareness returns as she drifts quickly from Clark's position. The beauty of the stars and Oa planet serves as points of serenity. The red sun watching it all millions of miles away. Diana's breathing is calm, for she knows. He will always have her. She can barely make out his figure, and then a second later he is holding her in his arms.
"Sorry," Clark mouths.
Diana kisses Clark on the cheek, and then playfully punches him in the arm, which sends them spiraling more. Clark resettles their position. Her expression of regret is quickly answered by Clark kissing her on the forehead. He points up to Braniac's ship and they cautiously approach the force field. Clark hovers within reach of the field, Diana has resumed position on his back. He takes a moment, feeling the field's surface. Then delivers a straight jab punch. No effect. Again. Nothing.
Diana taps his shoulder. She mimics throwing a larger punch while holding up her lasso. Clark nods as Diana wraps one end of her lasso around Clark's waist. She holds the other end and allows herself to float away giving Clark more area to work. The punch is thunderous.
No give in the force field.
Clark realizes he will not be able to deliver his strongest hit without something supporting, stabilizing his body. Each blow he delivers sends him and Diana sprawling away.
The heat vision beams make contact.
The intensity ratchets up as the pair of blazing red and yellow focused beams hit and are absorbed by the force field. Splashes of red and light-orange colors flair in myriad directions. Clark crosses his eyes to have the two, separate beams meld into one. And then it finally occurs, an indentation push upon the barrier. It is working, but each passing second has his body drifting slowly away from the force field. For every action there is a reaction. With nothing to brace against, he is unable to maintain the high-level intensity of his eye beams.
Several meters away, Diana does not need to see Clark's face to detect his annoyance. His shoulders and arms are his story to her. She knows him completely. She reels herself in to his back and then circles around to see his face. The flesh around his eyes are slightly red from the cool down. His furrowed brow is not one of frustration, but more of working the problem.
She reaches over her shoulder, behind her back and gives him the Sword of Athena.
With little momentum, Clark attempts to pierce the force field with the sword. Like his heat vision, there is a disruption to the field's integrity, but not nearly enough. Making matters worse, Clark is still being pushed backwards with each moment of increased pressure from the sword's tip upon the field. Diana points toward Clark's eyes and the sword. Understanding her strategy, Clark pantomimes whether the Sword of Athena will hold up to his heat vision. Diana's disgusted expression tells Clark all he needs to know on the sword's durability.
He cricks his neck and holds out his hand for Diana to take. She swings around and returns up onto his back. They fly roughly ten miles away from the force field before turning back around. One last look at his wife, and Clark accelerates toward the barrier.
Speed increases. Momentum gained as the Sword of Athena leads the charge. Its tip and blade ready to make contact. A quarter of a mile away, Clark's eyes light up, beams accelerating faster than he is flying. He sees the point of resistance on the barrier.
Faster he flies. A comet swirl of reds, blues and yellow that are he and Diana. The noiseless void of space contradicting the loud humming in his head. He feels Diana's fingers applying pressure on his shoulders. Unleash more speed he tells his body.
Contact.
His arm muscles contract hard, yet stay rock-solid straight as Athena pushes through the force field. Clark's bulk bulldozes behind through the opening. He refuses to stop as friction from the field battles him to slow down. To stop. All that he sees before him is the sword's hilt as the effects of his heat vision blinds the immediate vicinity in bright light.
And then, they are through.
Clark checks on Diana who has a smile on her face that tells Clark she is in prime kick ass mode. She provides a love squeeze to Clark's neck as he hands her back the Sword of Athena, which is no worse for the wear. The barrier behind them reflects no damage. Clark floats to confirm the field is still there. It is.
He turns his attention to the ship and questions his visual sanity. Braniac's ship is huge, but it appeared much larger from outside of the force field. Little time for him to ponder as several smaller vehicles exit the ship and speed through the barrier towards the planet. Clark and Diana move to where the smaller ships exited. A wide opening on Braniac's ship is closing. With a burst of speed, Clark and Diana sail through the opening as it seals shut behind them.
They hover in complete darkness. Silence. Clark notices Diana removing Athena from its sheath. Tracking lights turn on from above. A clanging noise. Clark spins Diana in his arms so that she is facing him, her legs still wrapped around his waist. The suit film around their mouths begins to disappear. It continues its removal across their bodies leaving a spotty, slick residue. Diana brings her fingers up to Clark's lips, then caresses his face, while maintaining her senses on high alert.
"The room is pressurized," Clark whispers.
"How large is it?" Diana asks.
"It goes down," Clark responds. "An access tunnel."
The duo floats downward as the lights above begin to fade and disappear from their view.
"Did you notice something odd about this ship once we broke through its shield?" Clark asks.
"It was smaller," Diana says.
"Yes," Clark agrees.
"So things may not be what they seem aboard here?" Diana questions.
"We're nearing the bottom," Clark informs.
Diana looks down to see a hint of lighting and back up to her favorite face.
"Hey," Diana says.
"Hey yourself," Clark returns.
She leans in to taste his lips before kissing him softly. "The death out there, Kal. We need to stop this. Let's get J'onn."
"Yes, mam," Clark says.