The morning dawned leaden and angry for Lex. It had the decaying,
oppressive quality that harbingered a really hot day in Metropolis, and the
weather was only exaggerating his foul mood.
He paced his office in the newly built Lexcorp Tower and shouted at an unseen person on the 'phone. His secretary, knowing that he was in a vile temper. cowered outside the soundproofed office, fidgeting in her seat, knowing from experience that Lex in this mood was better left well alone. Lois had called several times, but Mrs. Bennett knew better than to put her through.
Inside the vast white space of his office, Lex's voice had dipped several octaves to a low clipped tone, and the party suffering his ire had true cause to beware, for beyond the sudden flare of anger, Lex as most dangerous of all.
'You had no details? You considered that a sufficient reason to not inform me yesterday? Did I not ask that all her actions be monitored and reported immediately and yet you failed to report her visit to Luthorcorp? I believe your firm's usefulness has ended. Consider our arrangement terminated, effective now.'
With that, Lex disconnected the line and buzzed his assistant.
'Mrs. Bennett, please send in Ms. Graves.'
Mercy came in almost immediately, sinuous and deadly, and with a voice like poured honey that she almost never used.
Now she stood silently before his desk, as was her wont, wasting no energy in asking useless questions.
Lex looked out onto the city spread out before him, and to the towering presence of Luthorcorp building in the distance. Then he turned back to his waiting head of security with decision.
'You know Lana Lang. I believe she should no longer remain in Metropolis. In fact, I think her departure should be arranged tonight.'
Mercy nods and departs, knowing that the address and relevant information will already be on her palmtop, with the standard encryption.
Lana reads the reply she has received from the Chernobyl Interinform agency. The communication is written in stilted and technical language, and her tired mind has to read it twice before she can make any sense of it.
' The authorities responsible for managing the disaster in the three countries affected estimate that people living in an area contaminated with 1 to 5 Ci/km2 absorb an average of less then 1.0 millisieverts per year. Sieverts (Sv) or millisieverts (mSv) are the internationally recognized units used to measure the harmful effects of radiation on the human body (biologically effective dose). Only when soil contamination is over 5 Ci/km2 are people likely to absorb more than 1 to 5 mSv per year. As a comparison: Within the European union the safe limit for people living near a nuclear power plant is 1 mSv per year. We estimate that the radiation fallout in the area around Nevanya in eastern Russia is less than .75 Ci/Km2 on an average, and so do not believe that the absorption or biological dosage of the population living in the areas would exceed the EU safety standards. This means that there is no data to prove that a subject resident in the area in and around the town of Nevanya would be in any danger from radiation fallout, above and beyond acceptable limits.
There was more technobabble and links to other information centers, but it did little to alleviate her concerns. This morning again she had woken up cramped and dripping with sweat, and her nose had bled during the night, and she still had no idea what was happening to her.
It was eleven in the morning, and she had barely managed to drag her reluctant body out of bed. However, she did not mind the disarray of her appearance, the pier glass in her tawdry parlour showed her a wan and defeated countenance. It was perfect for her needs.
Lionel was to be interviewed at two, so she decided to wait another two hours before making her call.
The phone rang at the other end and a brisk voice transferred her to the required extension.
'Clark! Hi... its Lana.'
It worked like a charm. Within a quarter of an hour, she is opening the door to fling herself into the arms of Clark Kent. She did not question how he had made his way across town in the mid-day traffic in ten minutes; she is only aware of a profound sense of relief.' Don't leave me Clark. There is nobody else.'
Her voice is crumpled and pleading and it is as if the past ten years never existed as Clark embraces her with his familiar gentle solicitude and carries her to the chaise lounge. She has conveniently left her medical reports outside so she has to do nothing but sob into the shoulder of his ill-cut coat as he murmurs words of sympathy into her hair.
An hour passes, then two, as he rocks her to sleep, and she can just picture in her mind an angry Lois and an amused Lionel as they wait futilely for Clark Kent to turn up.
In the late afternoon he persuaded her to eat some soup, and they talked—she falteringly and he softly, as if a few decibels alone could shatter her fragility. She tells him enough of the truth that he must already have deduced from the papers strewn about. His concern is evident and for a few moments, she feels qualms of an emotion that she recognizes faintly as regret, but it is an easy twinge to ignore. As night falls outside on the urban dystopia of Lars Town, Lana knows that Clark Kent is still, in many ways, hers to twirl around her little finger. It is eight in the evening before she finally persuades him to leave, and he does so reluctantly, with repeated instructions to eat well, not to worry and to call him if she needs anything.
As she closes the door behind him, she makes another phone call.
'I do not think Lars town is a nice place for a young girl to live.' she says without preamble, and within five minutes, she has the access code to a luxury apartment in the Pioneer Circus.
Lana is exhausted when she goes to bed, but has the satisfaction of knowing that her day was well spent. Her thoughts are all of Clark as she drifts of to sleep-- his quiet strength, his bumbling ineptitude, his fortuitous rescues; his beautiful eyes and fresh-faced innocence; his kisses and his warm embrace.
In the dark street below, prowled by junkies and tired women flaunting their tired wares, Mercy waits with infinite patience. She is but another shadow in her cat suit and ski mask, and Lars town is a place of deep shadow after dark. Waiting in an alley overrun with stray cats and the smell of putrefaction in the stagnant warmth, she had seen Clark leave the building, and the lights in flat 6 go off. She lets another two, patient hours go by during which the tabby in the alley occasionally strops against her leg in purring affectionate familiarity, and the sporadic traffic in the street dies off completely. Then she makes her way up the deserted warehouse that flanks Lana's building and stalks steady as a cat across the narrow window ledge, and slowly forces the window open. It is the work of a moment to adjust her eyes to the dark of the parlour and she makes her way to the bedroom, her trusty garrote in readiness. She opens the door soundlessly and steps into the bedroom lit by the patchy moonlight that shines in through the grimy windows. She approaches the door and bends to accomplish her mission when she pauses and then abruptly turns around and leaves.
Her retreat is not as quiet as her entrance, and the window in the parlour slams shut after her.
Inside, Lana wakes up with a start in her bed. She sees that the door to her bedroom is open and warily gets up to investigate. She wraps a sheet around her naked form, and extracts her little gun from under her pillow. Its cold metallic grip feels unfamiliar in her hand—fear is a scarily discombobulating emotion. Heart beating in little frightened flutters she steps into the parlour and slowly navigates the cluttered space, looking around wildly. Something in her peripheral vision catches her attention and she whips around to face the pier glass on the wall and gasps in horrifying, heart-stopping shock. Then it is as if she cannot breathe-- her head pounds like a locomotive is running through it at full throttle and her body threatens to split into a million fragments with the agonizing, red hot shards of pain. Blood gushes out her nose in great gouts that shine wetly black in the dimness and she collapses on the floor.
Mercy runs for two blocks, before she calls Lex.
'Well?' he is characteristically terse.
'Unsuccessful. She wasn't there.' Mercy never wastes words.
He paced his office in the newly built Lexcorp Tower and shouted at an unseen person on the 'phone. His secretary, knowing that he was in a vile temper. cowered outside the soundproofed office, fidgeting in her seat, knowing from experience that Lex in this mood was better left well alone. Lois had called several times, but Mrs. Bennett knew better than to put her through.
Inside the vast white space of his office, Lex's voice had dipped several octaves to a low clipped tone, and the party suffering his ire had true cause to beware, for beyond the sudden flare of anger, Lex as most dangerous of all.
'You had no details? You considered that a sufficient reason to not inform me yesterday? Did I not ask that all her actions be monitored and reported immediately and yet you failed to report her visit to Luthorcorp? I believe your firm's usefulness has ended. Consider our arrangement terminated, effective now.'
With that, Lex disconnected the line and buzzed his assistant.
'Mrs. Bennett, please send in Ms. Graves.'
Mercy came in almost immediately, sinuous and deadly, and with a voice like poured honey that she almost never used.
Now she stood silently before his desk, as was her wont, wasting no energy in asking useless questions.
Lex looked out onto the city spread out before him, and to the towering presence of Luthorcorp building in the distance. Then he turned back to his waiting head of security with decision.
'You know Lana Lang. I believe she should no longer remain in Metropolis. In fact, I think her departure should be arranged tonight.'
Mercy nods and departs, knowing that the address and relevant information will already be on her palmtop, with the standard encryption.
Lana reads the reply she has received from the Chernobyl Interinform agency. The communication is written in stilted and technical language, and her tired mind has to read it twice before she can make any sense of it.
' The authorities responsible for managing the disaster in the three countries affected estimate that people living in an area contaminated with 1 to 5 Ci/km2 absorb an average of less then 1.0 millisieverts per year. Sieverts (Sv) or millisieverts (mSv) are the internationally recognized units used to measure the harmful effects of radiation on the human body (biologically effective dose). Only when soil contamination is over 5 Ci/km2 are people likely to absorb more than 1 to 5 mSv per year. As a comparison: Within the European union the safe limit for people living near a nuclear power plant is 1 mSv per year. We estimate that the radiation fallout in the area around Nevanya in eastern Russia is less than .75 Ci/Km2 on an average, and so do not believe that the absorption or biological dosage of the population living in the areas would exceed the EU safety standards. This means that there is no data to prove that a subject resident in the area in and around the town of Nevanya would be in any danger from radiation fallout, above and beyond acceptable limits.
There was more technobabble and links to other information centers, but it did little to alleviate her concerns. This morning again she had woken up cramped and dripping with sweat, and her nose had bled during the night, and she still had no idea what was happening to her.
It was eleven in the morning, and she had barely managed to drag her reluctant body out of bed. However, she did not mind the disarray of her appearance, the pier glass in her tawdry parlour showed her a wan and defeated countenance. It was perfect for her needs.
Lionel was to be interviewed at two, so she decided to wait another two hours before making her call.
The phone rang at the other end and a brisk voice transferred her to the required extension.
'Clark! Hi... its Lana.'
It worked like a charm. Within a quarter of an hour, she is opening the door to fling herself into the arms of Clark Kent. She did not question how he had made his way across town in the mid-day traffic in ten minutes; she is only aware of a profound sense of relief.' Don't leave me Clark. There is nobody else.'
Her voice is crumpled and pleading and it is as if the past ten years never existed as Clark embraces her with his familiar gentle solicitude and carries her to the chaise lounge. She has conveniently left her medical reports outside so she has to do nothing but sob into the shoulder of his ill-cut coat as he murmurs words of sympathy into her hair.
An hour passes, then two, as he rocks her to sleep, and she can just picture in her mind an angry Lois and an amused Lionel as they wait futilely for Clark Kent to turn up.
In the late afternoon he persuaded her to eat some soup, and they talked—she falteringly and he softly, as if a few decibels alone could shatter her fragility. She tells him enough of the truth that he must already have deduced from the papers strewn about. His concern is evident and for a few moments, she feels qualms of an emotion that she recognizes faintly as regret, but it is an easy twinge to ignore. As night falls outside on the urban dystopia of Lars Town, Lana knows that Clark Kent is still, in many ways, hers to twirl around her little finger. It is eight in the evening before she finally persuades him to leave, and he does so reluctantly, with repeated instructions to eat well, not to worry and to call him if she needs anything.
As she closes the door behind him, she makes another phone call.
'I do not think Lars town is a nice place for a young girl to live.' she says without preamble, and within five minutes, she has the access code to a luxury apartment in the Pioneer Circus.
Lana is exhausted when she goes to bed, but has the satisfaction of knowing that her day was well spent. Her thoughts are all of Clark as she drifts of to sleep-- his quiet strength, his bumbling ineptitude, his fortuitous rescues; his beautiful eyes and fresh-faced innocence; his kisses and his warm embrace.
In the dark street below, prowled by junkies and tired women flaunting their tired wares, Mercy waits with infinite patience. She is but another shadow in her cat suit and ski mask, and Lars town is a place of deep shadow after dark. Waiting in an alley overrun with stray cats and the smell of putrefaction in the stagnant warmth, she had seen Clark leave the building, and the lights in flat 6 go off. She lets another two, patient hours go by during which the tabby in the alley occasionally strops against her leg in purring affectionate familiarity, and the sporadic traffic in the street dies off completely. Then she makes her way up the deserted warehouse that flanks Lana's building and stalks steady as a cat across the narrow window ledge, and slowly forces the window open. It is the work of a moment to adjust her eyes to the dark of the parlour and she makes her way to the bedroom, her trusty garrote in readiness. She opens the door soundlessly and steps into the bedroom lit by the patchy moonlight that shines in through the grimy windows. She approaches the door and bends to accomplish her mission when she pauses and then abruptly turns around and leaves.
Her retreat is not as quiet as her entrance, and the window in the parlour slams shut after her.
Inside, Lana wakes up with a start in her bed. She sees that the door to her bedroom is open and warily gets up to investigate. She wraps a sheet around her naked form, and extracts her little gun from under her pillow. Its cold metallic grip feels unfamiliar in her hand—fear is a scarily discombobulating emotion. Heart beating in little frightened flutters she steps into the parlour and slowly navigates the cluttered space, looking around wildly. Something in her peripheral vision catches her attention and she whips around to face the pier glass on the wall and gasps in horrifying, heart-stopping shock. Then it is as if she cannot breathe-- her head pounds like a locomotive is running through it at full throttle and her body threatens to split into a million fragments with the agonizing, red hot shards of pain. Blood gushes out her nose in great gouts that shine wetly black in the dimness and she collapses on the floor.
Mercy runs for two blocks, before she calls Lex.
'Well?' he is characteristically terse.
'Unsuccessful. She wasn't there.' Mercy never wastes words.