The irony was as insistent and irritating and impossible to ignore as a child's mocking sing-song. He'd delayed so that they wouldn't burst in on the boys during the middle of the night and one reason had been to keep them from the rush of panic that would have accompanied a middle-of-the-night invasion, with all of its Gestapo and other secret police associations. But somehow, they'd realized how close he was, and doubtless panicked.
And they'd paid for that with their lives.
Lionel Luthor looked grimly at the snow that seemed so undisturbed. A section of his mind idly tried to gauge just how much was weighing on the corpses somewhere below. If one square centimeter of ice weighs...he forced himself to stop calculating.
He'd ordered ground-penetrating radar equipment brought in. Seven machines were set up, each sending its patient 500 MHz into the snow, sending signals to their attached screens. There was no hope that Lex had survived. If he had been there. But it was possible that he hadn't been with Clark. And it was also possible that Clark might have survived, was still underneath, injured but alive.
In any case, he'd recover the bodies. They were his sons. They would be buried where they belonged. The part of his mind that had been calculating just how much snow and ice had crushed their lives out now amused itself by speculating how future anthropologists might have reacted to the discovery of a frozen alien corpse dressed in early 21st century clothing on a deserted mountain in Colorado. He was robbing the future of several hundred doctoral theses with each beep of the radar detecting any buried objects more massive than ice, less massive than rock, in the vicinity of the ring.
So far, several objects had appeared on the monitor, but all turned out to be false alarms as their dimensions and mass became clearer. The part of his mind that seemed obsessed with taunting him derived all kinds of amusement from speculating, during the moments between something was detected and when the image was formed on the screen, on exactly how each object could once have been part of one of his sons. The taunting thoughts had a grand time with what turned out to be an animal bone.
If he were alone, he might have sat down while he waited for the next object to be discovered and dismissed. But he kept standing, watching with eyes that wouldn't give anything away except impatience.
"Mr. Luthor, there is *nothing* there. Nothing within three hundred meters of the tracer, in any direction."
"Then go to four hundred."
He was determined to find them.
****
"Not really hungry. You go. I'll watch some tv or something."
*Or keep staring out the window.* Lex eyed Clark cautiously. When he'd gotten too tired to drive safely, they'd found a motel. When Lex had suggested finding something to eat, he knew something was wrong when Clark refused.
Part of the problem was that Clark hadn't sulked or snapped. He just kept looking out the window, or at his hands, or at the floor.
*Communicating is a real bitch.* "Okay. I'll bring something back, in case."
Another long pause, as if Clark were coming back from a long distance. "Uh. Sure. Thanks."
*A real bitch.*
***
Clark flopped down on the bed and propped his head on his fists.
*I wish I knew what I'm supposed to be doing. It was always, well, easier before. Even if I didn't want to, I knew what I was supposed to be doing, and why, and everything. Learn to be a Luthor, then get better at it. But now, I'm just running, and not *to* anyplace, just *from.*
*I guess life isn't simple. It just gets complicated in different ways. In a way, running away is kind of simple. I don't have to think any more about LuthorCorp or business or anything. I don't even have to care about the stock market or anything stupid like that. But then it's so not simple. I keep wondering what Dad is doing. Does he even miss me? Not in the hunting us down way but in the real way. I *really* wish I knew what he was feeling. But he'd not admit he was feeling anything, unless it was annoyed or disappointed or anything. Even when he said that he was proud of me, I just knew that he was gearing up for the next thing. He wouldn't stop for a minute. He kept saying it was to make me ready for being great, but he wouldn't let me stop at "pretty good," not even for a minute.*
*Lex says he's sure that she didn't know about the ring. I hope he's right. I hope she's okay. I wish I could go back and make sure. I bet she could tell me what it feels like to be, well, normal. Human. Breakable. Lex just keeps wandering off onto weird topics or thinks that because he can name a question or say that somebody else asked it a long time ago, he's answered it. It's not the same. I don't care whether everybody else has wondered what they're supposed to do with their lives, I want to know what I'm supposed to do with mine! I bet he doesn't know either. I wish he'd just admit it.*
*I wish I could just ask people questions. Not just her, but people. Maybe not even about big things, just about what they do all day, what they think about it, what they feel about stuff. Write it all down and see if it made sense. It's been weird, driving around, and just looking at everybody and wondering if they really think about being human. About belonging here. Or if it's something they don't even really think about because they've never had to wonder about it.*
*God, I wish Mom were here. Or somebody I could really *talk* to. Or just be with. I remember how she'd just come in my room and sit down and even if we didn't talk about anything, it was like that was just fine with her because she liked being with me. Now I'm not Clark Luthor any more. I've got to figure out who Clark Kent is supposed to be. I don't know who he is but I'm supposed to be him.*
*It was weird, driving here and looking at all the people and thinking that wham, if a car hit them, they'd be dead. But I wouldn't be. I don't even know if it's not fair to me or not fair to them.*
*Eh, screw it, maybe there's something on tv.* He reached for the remote to watch somebody else's unreal life for a few minutes.
And they'd paid for that with their lives.
Lionel Luthor looked grimly at the snow that seemed so undisturbed. A section of his mind idly tried to gauge just how much was weighing on the corpses somewhere below. If one square centimeter of ice weighs...he forced himself to stop calculating.
He'd ordered ground-penetrating radar equipment brought in. Seven machines were set up, each sending its patient 500 MHz into the snow, sending signals to their attached screens. There was no hope that Lex had survived. If he had been there. But it was possible that he hadn't been with Clark. And it was also possible that Clark might have survived, was still underneath, injured but alive.
In any case, he'd recover the bodies. They were his sons. They would be buried where they belonged. The part of his mind that had been calculating just how much snow and ice had crushed their lives out now amused itself by speculating how future anthropologists might have reacted to the discovery of a frozen alien corpse dressed in early 21st century clothing on a deserted mountain in Colorado. He was robbing the future of several hundred doctoral theses with each beep of the radar detecting any buried objects more massive than ice, less massive than rock, in the vicinity of the ring.
So far, several objects had appeared on the monitor, but all turned out to be false alarms as their dimensions and mass became clearer. The part of his mind that seemed obsessed with taunting him derived all kinds of amusement from speculating, during the moments between something was detected and when the image was formed on the screen, on exactly how each object could once have been part of one of his sons. The taunting thoughts had a grand time with what turned out to be an animal bone.
If he were alone, he might have sat down while he waited for the next object to be discovered and dismissed. But he kept standing, watching with eyes that wouldn't give anything away except impatience.
"Mr. Luthor, there is *nothing* there. Nothing within three hundred meters of the tracer, in any direction."
"Then go to four hundred."
He was determined to find them.
****
"Not really hungry. You go. I'll watch some tv or something."
*Or keep staring out the window.* Lex eyed Clark cautiously. When he'd gotten too tired to drive safely, they'd found a motel. When Lex had suggested finding something to eat, he knew something was wrong when Clark refused.
Part of the problem was that Clark hadn't sulked or snapped. He just kept looking out the window, or at his hands, or at the floor.
*Communicating is a real bitch.* "Okay. I'll bring something back, in case."
Another long pause, as if Clark were coming back from a long distance. "Uh. Sure. Thanks."
*A real bitch.*
***
Clark flopped down on the bed and propped his head on his fists.
*I wish I knew what I'm supposed to be doing. It was always, well, easier before. Even if I didn't want to, I knew what I was supposed to be doing, and why, and everything. Learn to be a Luthor, then get better at it. But now, I'm just running, and not *to* anyplace, just *from.*
*I guess life isn't simple. It just gets complicated in different ways. In a way, running away is kind of simple. I don't have to think any more about LuthorCorp or business or anything. I don't even have to care about the stock market or anything stupid like that. But then it's so not simple. I keep wondering what Dad is doing. Does he even miss me? Not in the hunting us down way but in the real way. I *really* wish I knew what he was feeling. But he'd not admit he was feeling anything, unless it was annoyed or disappointed or anything. Even when he said that he was proud of me, I just knew that he was gearing up for the next thing. He wouldn't stop for a minute. He kept saying it was to make me ready for being great, but he wouldn't let me stop at "pretty good," not even for a minute.*
*Lex says he's sure that she didn't know about the ring. I hope he's right. I hope she's okay. I wish I could go back and make sure. I bet she could tell me what it feels like to be, well, normal. Human. Breakable. Lex just keeps wandering off onto weird topics or thinks that because he can name a question or say that somebody else asked it a long time ago, he's answered it. It's not the same. I don't care whether everybody else has wondered what they're supposed to do with their lives, I want to know what I'm supposed to do with mine! I bet he doesn't know either. I wish he'd just admit it.*
*I wish I could just ask people questions. Not just her, but people. Maybe not even about big things, just about what they do all day, what they think about it, what they feel about stuff. Write it all down and see if it made sense. It's been weird, driving around, and just looking at everybody and wondering if they really think about being human. About belonging here. Or if it's something they don't even really think about because they've never had to wonder about it.*
*God, I wish Mom were here. Or somebody I could really *talk* to. Or just be with. I remember how she'd just come in my room and sit down and even if we didn't talk about anything, it was like that was just fine with her because she liked being with me. Now I'm not Clark Luthor any more. I've got to figure out who Clark Kent is supposed to be. I don't know who he is but I'm supposed to be him.*
*It was weird, driving here and looking at all the people and thinking that wham, if a car hit them, they'd be dead. But I wouldn't be. I don't even know if it's not fair to me or not fair to them.*
*Eh, screw it, maybe there's something on tv.* He reached for the remote to watch somebody else's unreal life for a few minutes.