[Metro Centre Shopping Mall]
Chloe and Lana grinned at each other. Sweaters and cardigans were 20% off this week. They raced to the 'Young Miss' section of Sears.
Pete and Clark walked along the wide corridors of the mall. Families from suburbia sampling the urban delights of Metropolis' premiere shopping centre. Awkward teenagers trying to convey confidence in their not-quite- fitting clothes. The main foyer was a typical scene. If not for the motley crew of historical re-enactors grabbing a coffee, or resting their tired feet on a bench. Johnny Reb and Billy Yank putting aside their differences ... to try on $139 Metropolis Sharks jerseys.
"Now I know we're back in 2002," Pete joked. His eyes gawked at the atrociously-priced official merchandise in SportsZone, a sporting goods franchise LuthorCorp. had purchased six months ago. "All I can afford in here is a Sharks pen!"
Clark inspected the souvenir pen of the NFL's 'most exciting and fearsome' team in the conference. "Affordable ... if you call $6.99 a reasonable price!"
Next stop - the electronics store. A dozen TV screens showed live coverage of the last leg of the parade. In the reviewing stand, neither Luthor could be found.
"I guess the Luthors had business to take care of," Clark said.
"The pursuit of wealth waits for no one, as Lex likes to say," Pete groaned.
The local anchor interrupted the parade coverage. "...we're about to go live to a plaque unveiling in Gotham City ... a week from the anniversary of the murders that gripped a nation: the brutal shootings of Thomas and Martha Wayne some 20 years ago. Due to ill health, former president Jimmy Carter could not attend, but extended his best wishes in this statement - and I quote: 'In the mid-70s, America had lost its way. Vietnam, Watergate and racial upheaval haunted the American conscience. Thomas Wayne's efforts on behalf of peace re-ignited a passion for freedom that could never die. The Waynes have served America since the Revolution. They continue to serve now. The murders of Thomas and Martha hurt me deeply. I extend my prayers and wishes to Bruce Wayne on behalf of my family, and of all Americans. His father once told me he was honoured to serve in my administration. Thomas, America is honoured to call you one of its sons. God bless, signed Jimmy Carter' ..."
The anchor continued, "For those of you unfamiliar with the Crime Alley murders some twenty years ago, a beat cop by the name of Constable Joe McNeil discovered young Bruce Wayne clutching the hand of his dying mother, Martha. Through the scandalous tabloid headlines, the GCPD cop stuck by Bruce. They would have dinner every fall - as a tribute to the fallen Waynes ..."
A photo of -now- Inspector Joe McNeil appeared on the screen, flanked by both the Gotham City flag and Old Glory. "Inspector McNeil was shot dead two days ago, while trying to execute an arrest warrant for Georgie Giordano, an associate of racketeering kingpin Rupert Thorne. The plaque commemorates all GCPD officers who have lost their lives on duty. With the death of the inspector, the unveiling is all the more poignant ..."
Bruce Wayne removed the black tarpaulin to reveal a bronze plaque embedded in a black granite monument outside Gotham's Hall of Justice.
"My god," Pete gasped, "where does Bruce find the strength to go on. After everything ... Crime Alley, the tabloid mudslinging, the state custody battles ... and now this!"
Clark sat on a nearby bench. "He buries it. Deep inside. Where no one can see it."
"Man, that can't be good for anyone. Like a fuse ..." Pete began. "... waiting to burn." Clark feared.
[Teleconference room, LuthorCorp. headquarters]
The communications assistant was nervous. Lex Luthor had been ensconced in the black leather chair for the past half hour.
Fixated on the huge wall monitor. Bruce Wayne was making yet another heart- wrenching display on live television. Honouring the fallen officer who found him in Crime Alley all those years ago.
"Mr. Luthor will NOT like this," the impatient assistant worried, "We are having a video conference with our subsidiaries in Taiwan in 15 minutes. I don't think your father would like to start the meeting face-to-face with Wayne all over the news ...err ..., Mr. Luthor, sir."
"Bruce Wayne is the son of one of America's founding families," Lex explained, "Do you realize a Wayne was there in Valley Forge, with the Brits poised to wipe away the Revolution forever? A Wayne crippled Confederate forces at Gotham, sending them reeling to Gettysburg! Jimmy Carter, of all people, considers the late Thomas Wayne a legend. A legend! Like the Luthors."
He stood up and faced the assistant. "I'm pretty sure this videoconference won't be making history, whether or not it starts on time. The broadcast stays."
"Yes, sir, Mr. Luthor, sir," the assistant shuddered, "I'll just go and get the board ...umm... I'll just go ..." She scurried out of the room.
Lex rested his elbows on the marble table and focused on the broadcast. My father thinks that he is the most powerful man in America. LuthorCorp sprawls across almost every industrial sector: manufacturing, pharmaceuticals, biochemical engineering, genetics. LuthorCorp. offices can be found from Caracas to Moscow.
The Wayne and Luthor dynasties had common ground. The industrial revolution brought tremendous growth. As the railroads, mines and factories stretched across the continent, so did the Wayne and Luthor empires - the 'civil' dispute in the 1860s notwithstanding. Rumours persisted that both the Waynes and Luthors turned a blind eye to rampant booze-running during Prohibition in the 20s- using company trucks to smuggle liquor from distilleries in Montreal and Toronto to all points south of the Great Lakes.
Fortune favours the brave, Lex smirked, and to the brave go immense fortunes. Pearl Harbor would propel the Wayne and Luthor companies into their patriotic duty as war-makers. Wayne-built jeeps rolled across France and Germany, as the Third Reich evaporated with Adolph in a Berlin bunker. Grandfather Luthor actually saw action in the Battle of Midway as a sailor. With the post-war boom came consumerism ... and more wealth for the Waynes and Luthors.
Wayne Enterprises rivalled LuthorCorp. in both scope and size. The Waynes divested themselves of their military division after the My Lai massacre in Vietnam. "Waynes do not profit on the blood of others," Lucius Fox declared at some long-forgotten presidential primary for Bobby Kennedy.
Lionel Luthor, however, was more than willing to finance questionable covert operations for the CIA. In Cambodia. In Iran. In Africa. More recently, Grenada, Nicaragua and Colombia. If he could get away with it, he'd play both sides, while counting the profits of war-making.
Blood-letting.
Bruce remained stone-faced during the bagpiper's lament for the fallen officers. There is no doubt. He is his father's son.
Lex flinched. And I am mine. You're wrong, dear old dad. You are not the most powerful man in America. Bruce placed a hand on his heart as the 'Star-Spangled Banner' played. The officers' widows wept, dabbing their eyes with tissues in gloved hands.
Bruce Wayne is power incarnate. He could run for mayor, or state assemblyman. Once he's old enough, perhaps governor. He imagined a 40- something Bruce in a ticker-taped convention hall ..."...I, Bruce Wayne, do accept your nomination as president of the United States ..."
That is his destiny. If he could only realize it. Bruce was a friend, but Lex still harboured some envy. Resentment that the public adulation, the praise - all of it - belonged to a Wayne.
Instead of a Luthor.
Lionel Luthor strolled into the conference room, followed by the nervous communications assistant and the grey haired board of directors. Dad's puppets, Lex sneered to himself.
"Oh, Lex," Lionel remarked, "I've reviewed your proposal for the corporate plaza. Converting the site into a public space. Designations as a national historic site, and such. I presented it to our allies in council. And Senator Callahan ..."
"The construction of the corporate plaza would generate billions in revenue and create thousands of jobs, mere months from the congressional elections," Lex replied, "and that is why you intend to proceed with the plaza."
"How perceptive, son," Lionel gloated. He noticed Bruce on the screen, consoling an officer's widow. "Bruce, the poor baby left in Crime Alley. Spare me the public flagellation, Wayne!" He clicked the remote.
Lex stood up. "Surely, you not so bitter than you can't sympathize. The anniversary of his parents' death is a week away!"
"Now, on to our business in the Far East," Lionel sat at the head of the table, "Mr. Schmidt, you have the projections for LuthorTech Asia?"
"Bruce is my friend," Lex insisted, "I know that I can trust him. Far more than any of your paid courtiers."
Lionel peered at a report through his reading glasses. "Will that be all, Alexander Luthor, managing executive for LuthorCorp., one of America's Fortune 500 companies?" The corporate courtiers stared at Lex.
Lex gestured at them to proceed. "You were about to discuss our Far East growth. Mr. Schmidt, if you please, entertain us." The directors droned on about quarterly reports, the decline of the Yen, the potential of their Malyasian factories.
In the distance, Lex could see the excavation site of old Fort Orange. After the archaeological students from Metropolis U. unearthed all the important artifacts, LuthorCorp. would seal the site in a tomb of concrete and steel. Forever burying the shame of Elijah Luthor's failure to take this fort from the redcoats.
I haven't forgotten what you've just done, father, Lex frowned to himself. I remember what happened here 200-odd years ago.
One doesn't create a legacy by burying old wounds. If my plan went through, I would have exalted Luthor history. One that, in some cases, surpassed that of the respected Waynes.
The capitulation of the British garrison at Fort Gotham was won by the stroke of a pen, not at the tip of a bayonet. A Luthor lost at the Battle of Gotham in the Civil War, but at least Col. Nathaniel Luthor had his "bloody affair" to mark his place in American myth.
Later that afternoon, the board of directors held the vote to approve or reject the corporate plaza development. The final tally was 12 in favour. One against. Let the record show that I cast my vote against this cowering display of political weakness, Lex mused.
Lex remembered one late-summer afternoon, when some student uncovered the faded Union Jack amidst the earth and mud of the excavation. Plastered across the front page of the Daily Planet. A symbol of British defiance.
And Luthor disgrace. There's no glory in fighting a battle, when the war was already won at Yorktown.
[1782, Fort Orange, deep in Indian territory, early spring]
The siege had lasted two weeks. Their supplies should be running out. Elijah Luthor, commander of the Continental Expeditionary Regiment, had begun the bombardment of Fort Orange two days ago. He rained hellfire over the walls. He could hear the frantic screams.
George Washington wanted to "lance this festering boil". British troops, Loyalist militia and their Indian allies used the fort to resupply and rearm. From there, they could attack frontier settlements along the Great Lakes. With the potential for sweeping across New York, Kentucky and the other patriot colonies. He would attempt an escalade of the gates tomorrow, thus wiping the stain of British rule away forever.
A courier in a red uniform galloped towards them from the rear. He carried a white flag of truce.
"Major Luthor," the courier addressed him formally, "His Majesty, George III, extends a hand in friendship to the commander of Continental forces in these territories."
Elijah raised an eyebrow in suspicion. "As you can see, I am about to take this fort on behalf of the Congress of Philadelphia. You may watch, if you wish."
"I'm afraid you misunderstand," the courier beamed, "Lord Cornwallis surrendered his army to General Washington. Last year, the battle at Yorktown was decisive. In your favour. Even now, your statesmen are negotiating a treaty in Paris. The war is over! You, sir, will have a country of your own. A new nation, by God!"
The grizzled veterans, who had marched thousands of miles to carry the fight to the redcoats, threw their hats in the air. Some cheered - many wept.
Elijah removed his hat. Peace. Finally, after years of bitter fighting. Families torn apart. "I grant you leave to inform the fort's garrison of your news!" Elijah announced.
Tonight, he would welcome the enemy as a guest. To toast the birth of one indivisible nation under God.
And bid adieu to his one, last chance for epic glory ...
Chloe and Lana grinned at each other. Sweaters and cardigans were 20% off this week. They raced to the 'Young Miss' section of Sears.
Pete and Clark walked along the wide corridors of the mall. Families from suburbia sampling the urban delights of Metropolis' premiere shopping centre. Awkward teenagers trying to convey confidence in their not-quite- fitting clothes. The main foyer was a typical scene. If not for the motley crew of historical re-enactors grabbing a coffee, or resting their tired feet on a bench. Johnny Reb and Billy Yank putting aside their differences ... to try on $139 Metropolis Sharks jerseys.
"Now I know we're back in 2002," Pete joked. His eyes gawked at the atrociously-priced official merchandise in SportsZone, a sporting goods franchise LuthorCorp. had purchased six months ago. "All I can afford in here is a Sharks pen!"
Clark inspected the souvenir pen of the NFL's 'most exciting and fearsome' team in the conference. "Affordable ... if you call $6.99 a reasonable price!"
Next stop - the electronics store. A dozen TV screens showed live coverage of the last leg of the parade. In the reviewing stand, neither Luthor could be found.
"I guess the Luthors had business to take care of," Clark said.
"The pursuit of wealth waits for no one, as Lex likes to say," Pete groaned.
The local anchor interrupted the parade coverage. "...we're about to go live to a plaque unveiling in Gotham City ... a week from the anniversary of the murders that gripped a nation: the brutal shootings of Thomas and Martha Wayne some 20 years ago. Due to ill health, former president Jimmy Carter could not attend, but extended his best wishes in this statement - and I quote: 'In the mid-70s, America had lost its way. Vietnam, Watergate and racial upheaval haunted the American conscience. Thomas Wayne's efforts on behalf of peace re-ignited a passion for freedom that could never die. The Waynes have served America since the Revolution. They continue to serve now. The murders of Thomas and Martha hurt me deeply. I extend my prayers and wishes to Bruce Wayne on behalf of my family, and of all Americans. His father once told me he was honoured to serve in my administration. Thomas, America is honoured to call you one of its sons. God bless, signed Jimmy Carter' ..."
The anchor continued, "For those of you unfamiliar with the Crime Alley murders some twenty years ago, a beat cop by the name of Constable Joe McNeil discovered young Bruce Wayne clutching the hand of his dying mother, Martha. Through the scandalous tabloid headlines, the GCPD cop stuck by Bruce. They would have dinner every fall - as a tribute to the fallen Waynes ..."
A photo of -now- Inspector Joe McNeil appeared on the screen, flanked by both the Gotham City flag and Old Glory. "Inspector McNeil was shot dead two days ago, while trying to execute an arrest warrant for Georgie Giordano, an associate of racketeering kingpin Rupert Thorne. The plaque commemorates all GCPD officers who have lost their lives on duty. With the death of the inspector, the unveiling is all the more poignant ..."
Bruce Wayne removed the black tarpaulin to reveal a bronze plaque embedded in a black granite monument outside Gotham's Hall of Justice.
"My god," Pete gasped, "where does Bruce find the strength to go on. After everything ... Crime Alley, the tabloid mudslinging, the state custody battles ... and now this!"
Clark sat on a nearby bench. "He buries it. Deep inside. Where no one can see it."
"Man, that can't be good for anyone. Like a fuse ..." Pete began. "... waiting to burn." Clark feared.
[Teleconference room, LuthorCorp. headquarters]
The communications assistant was nervous. Lex Luthor had been ensconced in the black leather chair for the past half hour.
Fixated on the huge wall monitor. Bruce Wayne was making yet another heart- wrenching display on live television. Honouring the fallen officer who found him in Crime Alley all those years ago.
"Mr. Luthor will NOT like this," the impatient assistant worried, "We are having a video conference with our subsidiaries in Taiwan in 15 minutes. I don't think your father would like to start the meeting face-to-face with Wayne all over the news ...err ..., Mr. Luthor, sir."
"Bruce Wayne is the son of one of America's founding families," Lex explained, "Do you realize a Wayne was there in Valley Forge, with the Brits poised to wipe away the Revolution forever? A Wayne crippled Confederate forces at Gotham, sending them reeling to Gettysburg! Jimmy Carter, of all people, considers the late Thomas Wayne a legend. A legend! Like the Luthors."
He stood up and faced the assistant. "I'm pretty sure this videoconference won't be making history, whether or not it starts on time. The broadcast stays."
"Yes, sir, Mr. Luthor, sir," the assistant shuddered, "I'll just go and get the board ...umm... I'll just go ..." She scurried out of the room.
Lex rested his elbows on the marble table and focused on the broadcast. My father thinks that he is the most powerful man in America. LuthorCorp sprawls across almost every industrial sector: manufacturing, pharmaceuticals, biochemical engineering, genetics. LuthorCorp. offices can be found from Caracas to Moscow.
The Wayne and Luthor dynasties had common ground. The industrial revolution brought tremendous growth. As the railroads, mines and factories stretched across the continent, so did the Wayne and Luthor empires - the 'civil' dispute in the 1860s notwithstanding. Rumours persisted that both the Waynes and Luthors turned a blind eye to rampant booze-running during Prohibition in the 20s- using company trucks to smuggle liquor from distilleries in Montreal and Toronto to all points south of the Great Lakes.
Fortune favours the brave, Lex smirked, and to the brave go immense fortunes. Pearl Harbor would propel the Wayne and Luthor companies into their patriotic duty as war-makers. Wayne-built jeeps rolled across France and Germany, as the Third Reich evaporated with Adolph in a Berlin bunker. Grandfather Luthor actually saw action in the Battle of Midway as a sailor. With the post-war boom came consumerism ... and more wealth for the Waynes and Luthors.
Wayne Enterprises rivalled LuthorCorp. in both scope and size. The Waynes divested themselves of their military division after the My Lai massacre in Vietnam. "Waynes do not profit on the blood of others," Lucius Fox declared at some long-forgotten presidential primary for Bobby Kennedy.
Lionel Luthor, however, was more than willing to finance questionable covert operations for the CIA. In Cambodia. In Iran. In Africa. More recently, Grenada, Nicaragua and Colombia. If he could get away with it, he'd play both sides, while counting the profits of war-making.
Blood-letting.
Bruce remained stone-faced during the bagpiper's lament for the fallen officers. There is no doubt. He is his father's son.
Lex flinched. And I am mine. You're wrong, dear old dad. You are not the most powerful man in America. Bruce placed a hand on his heart as the 'Star-Spangled Banner' played. The officers' widows wept, dabbing their eyes with tissues in gloved hands.
Bruce Wayne is power incarnate. He could run for mayor, or state assemblyman. Once he's old enough, perhaps governor. He imagined a 40- something Bruce in a ticker-taped convention hall ..."...I, Bruce Wayne, do accept your nomination as president of the United States ..."
That is his destiny. If he could only realize it. Bruce was a friend, but Lex still harboured some envy. Resentment that the public adulation, the praise - all of it - belonged to a Wayne.
Instead of a Luthor.
Lionel Luthor strolled into the conference room, followed by the nervous communications assistant and the grey haired board of directors. Dad's puppets, Lex sneered to himself.
"Oh, Lex," Lionel remarked, "I've reviewed your proposal for the corporate plaza. Converting the site into a public space. Designations as a national historic site, and such. I presented it to our allies in council. And Senator Callahan ..."
"The construction of the corporate plaza would generate billions in revenue and create thousands of jobs, mere months from the congressional elections," Lex replied, "and that is why you intend to proceed with the plaza."
"How perceptive, son," Lionel gloated. He noticed Bruce on the screen, consoling an officer's widow. "Bruce, the poor baby left in Crime Alley. Spare me the public flagellation, Wayne!" He clicked the remote.
Lex stood up. "Surely, you not so bitter than you can't sympathize. The anniversary of his parents' death is a week away!"
"Now, on to our business in the Far East," Lionel sat at the head of the table, "Mr. Schmidt, you have the projections for LuthorTech Asia?"
"Bruce is my friend," Lex insisted, "I know that I can trust him. Far more than any of your paid courtiers."
Lionel peered at a report through his reading glasses. "Will that be all, Alexander Luthor, managing executive for LuthorCorp., one of America's Fortune 500 companies?" The corporate courtiers stared at Lex.
Lex gestured at them to proceed. "You were about to discuss our Far East growth. Mr. Schmidt, if you please, entertain us." The directors droned on about quarterly reports, the decline of the Yen, the potential of their Malyasian factories.
In the distance, Lex could see the excavation site of old Fort Orange. After the archaeological students from Metropolis U. unearthed all the important artifacts, LuthorCorp. would seal the site in a tomb of concrete and steel. Forever burying the shame of Elijah Luthor's failure to take this fort from the redcoats.
I haven't forgotten what you've just done, father, Lex frowned to himself. I remember what happened here 200-odd years ago.
One doesn't create a legacy by burying old wounds. If my plan went through, I would have exalted Luthor history. One that, in some cases, surpassed that of the respected Waynes.
The capitulation of the British garrison at Fort Gotham was won by the stroke of a pen, not at the tip of a bayonet. A Luthor lost at the Battle of Gotham in the Civil War, but at least Col. Nathaniel Luthor had his "bloody affair" to mark his place in American myth.
Later that afternoon, the board of directors held the vote to approve or reject the corporate plaza development. The final tally was 12 in favour. One against. Let the record show that I cast my vote against this cowering display of political weakness, Lex mused.
Lex remembered one late-summer afternoon, when some student uncovered the faded Union Jack amidst the earth and mud of the excavation. Plastered across the front page of the Daily Planet. A symbol of British defiance.
And Luthor disgrace. There's no glory in fighting a battle, when the war was already won at Yorktown.
[1782, Fort Orange, deep in Indian territory, early spring]
The siege had lasted two weeks. Their supplies should be running out. Elijah Luthor, commander of the Continental Expeditionary Regiment, had begun the bombardment of Fort Orange two days ago. He rained hellfire over the walls. He could hear the frantic screams.
George Washington wanted to "lance this festering boil". British troops, Loyalist militia and their Indian allies used the fort to resupply and rearm. From there, they could attack frontier settlements along the Great Lakes. With the potential for sweeping across New York, Kentucky and the other patriot colonies. He would attempt an escalade of the gates tomorrow, thus wiping the stain of British rule away forever.
A courier in a red uniform galloped towards them from the rear. He carried a white flag of truce.
"Major Luthor," the courier addressed him formally, "His Majesty, George III, extends a hand in friendship to the commander of Continental forces in these territories."
Elijah raised an eyebrow in suspicion. "As you can see, I am about to take this fort on behalf of the Congress of Philadelphia. You may watch, if you wish."
"I'm afraid you misunderstand," the courier beamed, "Lord Cornwallis surrendered his army to General Washington. Last year, the battle at Yorktown was decisive. In your favour. Even now, your statesmen are negotiating a treaty in Paris. The war is over! You, sir, will have a country of your own. A new nation, by God!"
The grizzled veterans, who had marched thousands of miles to carry the fight to the redcoats, threw their hats in the air. Some cheered - many wept.
Elijah removed his hat. Peace. Finally, after years of bitter fighting. Families torn apart. "I grant you leave to inform the fort's garrison of your news!" Elijah announced.
Tonight, he would welcome the enemy as a guest. To toast the birth of one indivisible nation under God.
And bid adieu to his one, last chance for epic glory ...