"You're looking quite well, Lex." Lex started at the unexpected voice and the movement briefly submerged him. Sputtering the water out of his mouth, he assumed a vertical float as Lionel added, "I didn't mean to startle you," in a tone that was as close as he got to apology.
Lex dogpaddled back to the side of the pool and hauled himself out, and Lionel reached for the nearby pile of towels and tossed him one. "Dad. This is a surprise." Except by now, it wasn't really. Any family's dynamics would change after a fugitive son became the father's hostage to ensure the co-operation of an adopted alien. But trust the Luthor family to make the change one for the better. Duels that had been intended to wound, and wound to leave scars, were now just practice bouts and what was more, Lex was deeply suspicious that Lionel's visits were motivated by pleasure as much as by his wish to confirm that things were still exactly as he wished them to be. He was equally suspicious of himself--he was beginning to believe that he was enjoying them as well. "Gotham City running without you?" he asked lightly as he dried himself.
"Remarkably so, yes."
Once he was out of the water, Lex loathed the smell of chlorine and so walked to the small elevator at the end of the room, Lionel following. They'd even settled into a routine: At each visit, Lionel brought two bottles of some unfamiliar brandy or scotch, or occasionally of wine, and they'd spend as much as an hour engaged in leisurely sipping and comparisons. Some of them had been spectacular, but with one memorable bottle of scotch, after a dinner that didn't even get the taste out of their mouths, Lionel paused at the threshold and pointing at the superior bottle, told Lex not to drink the rest at one sitting, and then at the offending bottle, told him by all means to pour it down the sink in one go. Not that Lex was totally obedient: Instead, he poured it down the toilet.
"Breakthroughs in the landing gear?" he asked as he pulled his clothing back on.
"None at all." Lex had earlier asked, in genuine curiousity, if Lionel had found any way to replicate Clark's flight speed in aircraft, since Clark had mentioned in one of his letters that he'd spent an afternoon flying while they took photographs and made videos of all descriptions, from thermal to stop-motion to lighting out of the human visible spectrum. To his surprise, Lionel answered in detail, summarizing that they'd found ways to create a considerably lighter alloy for the plane's structure and engine. However, it hadn't reduced the weight enough and such an aircraft would need a landing strip almost six miles long to reduce velocity sufficiently without stripping the entire bottom off or air pressure crumbling the front half. Similarly, there was no way to reduce velocity enough while the plane was still in the air.
"How about a series of sacrificial wheels? Start at the rear, let the first set of wheels burn out for shatter, then the second one comes down, and so on." He'd at first felt guilty about thinking of possible solutions, but then told himself that it wasn't as though this was part of the agonizingly extracted information from that first examination. Besides, it was a fascinating problem.
"We ran that in one of the simulations. It just created its own set of problems." Lionel looked at Lex with the air of a professor who had posed a question to a bright student.
"Let me guess, to accommodate enough wheels, the plane would have to be impracticably long."
"Exactly."
"Two more ideas. One, a series of geared wheels, like clockwork. They might last long enough, if they've got a large diameter, since there is a loss of momentum on the ground." Lionel nodded, thoughtfully. "Or forget about making the change in the plane and use something along the lines of magnets with opposite poles to hold the plane up while shutting the engines off still in the air, and they'd keep it up while it slowed enough to land."
"Wouldn't that still take miles, though, just of magnets?"
"I'm not sure." Lex walked to the desk and picked up pen and paper. "If there were also another magnet, a strong one, running vertically on tracks in *front* of the plane, the repulsion might be enough to slow it down." Lionel pondered the sketch for a moment.
"What about the two attracting poles with the one on the ground and this one, wouldn't it be almost impossible to keep magnets that strong from attracting each other?"
"Mmm." *What would keep the two of them apart?* Another idea hit. "Make it arched. The bottom part of the arch would be nonmagnetic, tall enough that the part on top wouldn't affect the ground magnets. Then the plane would go *under* it, not behind it. It'd still provide resistance."
"I think you might have something there, Lex. Good thinking."
They continued with the details until an apologetic voice asked if they still wished for dinner at 8:00 or if the cook should delay it. Lionel chuckled, looking at his watch, and after receiving a confirming shake of the head from Lex, declined, adding to Lex that they could always continue through dinner.
***
"Clark?" Clark looked up from the paper at Bruce Wayne's level voice.
"You do realize that we're working strenuously to find your brother and figure out how to get him out, right?"
Clark nodded, brows wrinkling in confusion. Why was he talking like somebody laying down a court argument?
"And therefore, you've given up your campaign to drive me out of my mind, right?"
He nodded again, wondering where this was going.
His host's calm cracked. "Then for God's sake, stop that!"
"Stop...oh." He grinned, completely without repentance, as he realized what he'd been doing. "Sorry." He'd only recently discovered that if he pursed his lips just right, he could blow air so quickly that it would freeze whatever it hit. He'd started playing with it, first bringing his coffee almost to boiling, then freezing it, and repeating the sequence. Looked like it generated enough heat and cold that somebody eating breakfast at the same table could feel it.
He decided to play with this new ability later, since now he and Bruce were mostly on good terms again. Nonetheless, he wished that he'd discovered it while he was still in his campaign. There'd have been lots of ways to use it, particularly if he could find a way to do so while Bruce was showering. Not enough to scald or frostbite him, just enough to make his point.
The first time he and Bruce met and they talked through that night, Bruce introducing possibilities and concepts that hadn't ever occured to a boy raised almost solely by Lionel Luthor, in a moment of uneasy self-examination, Clark had asked, flippantly, if this was all just a long and wordy way to say "use your powers for good, not evil."
Bruce had chuckled faintly and shook his head. "If only good and evil were concepts that easy." They'd gone on, but Clark was willing to bet that if Batman could turn time back, he'd have tried to get a vow from Clark never to use them for evil or for pestering. In a way it was kind of a shame he felt obligated now not to annoy Bruce any more. After all, Mom had always told him to exercise his imagination as much as his mind and his body.
Lex dogpaddled back to the side of the pool and hauled himself out, and Lionel reached for the nearby pile of towels and tossed him one. "Dad. This is a surprise." Except by now, it wasn't really. Any family's dynamics would change after a fugitive son became the father's hostage to ensure the co-operation of an adopted alien. But trust the Luthor family to make the change one for the better. Duels that had been intended to wound, and wound to leave scars, were now just practice bouts and what was more, Lex was deeply suspicious that Lionel's visits were motivated by pleasure as much as by his wish to confirm that things were still exactly as he wished them to be. He was equally suspicious of himself--he was beginning to believe that he was enjoying them as well. "Gotham City running without you?" he asked lightly as he dried himself.
"Remarkably so, yes."
Once he was out of the water, Lex loathed the smell of chlorine and so walked to the small elevator at the end of the room, Lionel following. They'd even settled into a routine: At each visit, Lionel brought two bottles of some unfamiliar brandy or scotch, or occasionally of wine, and they'd spend as much as an hour engaged in leisurely sipping and comparisons. Some of them had been spectacular, but with one memorable bottle of scotch, after a dinner that didn't even get the taste out of their mouths, Lionel paused at the threshold and pointing at the superior bottle, told Lex not to drink the rest at one sitting, and then at the offending bottle, told him by all means to pour it down the sink in one go. Not that Lex was totally obedient: Instead, he poured it down the toilet.
"Breakthroughs in the landing gear?" he asked as he pulled his clothing back on.
"None at all." Lex had earlier asked, in genuine curiousity, if Lionel had found any way to replicate Clark's flight speed in aircraft, since Clark had mentioned in one of his letters that he'd spent an afternoon flying while they took photographs and made videos of all descriptions, from thermal to stop-motion to lighting out of the human visible spectrum. To his surprise, Lionel answered in detail, summarizing that they'd found ways to create a considerably lighter alloy for the plane's structure and engine. However, it hadn't reduced the weight enough and such an aircraft would need a landing strip almost six miles long to reduce velocity sufficiently without stripping the entire bottom off or air pressure crumbling the front half. Similarly, there was no way to reduce velocity enough while the plane was still in the air.
"How about a series of sacrificial wheels? Start at the rear, let the first set of wheels burn out for shatter, then the second one comes down, and so on." He'd at first felt guilty about thinking of possible solutions, but then told himself that it wasn't as though this was part of the agonizingly extracted information from that first examination. Besides, it was a fascinating problem.
"We ran that in one of the simulations. It just created its own set of problems." Lionel looked at Lex with the air of a professor who had posed a question to a bright student.
"Let me guess, to accommodate enough wheels, the plane would have to be impracticably long."
"Exactly."
"Two more ideas. One, a series of geared wheels, like clockwork. They might last long enough, if they've got a large diameter, since there is a loss of momentum on the ground." Lionel nodded, thoughtfully. "Or forget about making the change in the plane and use something along the lines of magnets with opposite poles to hold the plane up while shutting the engines off still in the air, and they'd keep it up while it slowed enough to land."
"Wouldn't that still take miles, though, just of magnets?"
"I'm not sure." Lex walked to the desk and picked up pen and paper. "If there were also another magnet, a strong one, running vertically on tracks in *front* of the plane, the repulsion might be enough to slow it down." Lionel pondered the sketch for a moment.
"What about the two attracting poles with the one on the ground and this one, wouldn't it be almost impossible to keep magnets that strong from attracting each other?"
"Mmm." *What would keep the two of them apart?* Another idea hit. "Make it arched. The bottom part of the arch would be nonmagnetic, tall enough that the part on top wouldn't affect the ground magnets. Then the plane would go *under* it, not behind it. It'd still provide resistance."
"I think you might have something there, Lex. Good thinking."
They continued with the details until an apologetic voice asked if they still wished for dinner at 8:00 or if the cook should delay it. Lionel chuckled, looking at his watch, and after receiving a confirming shake of the head from Lex, declined, adding to Lex that they could always continue through dinner.
***
"Clark?" Clark looked up from the paper at Bruce Wayne's level voice.
"You do realize that we're working strenuously to find your brother and figure out how to get him out, right?"
Clark nodded, brows wrinkling in confusion. Why was he talking like somebody laying down a court argument?
"And therefore, you've given up your campaign to drive me out of my mind, right?"
He nodded again, wondering where this was going.
His host's calm cracked. "Then for God's sake, stop that!"
"Stop...oh." He grinned, completely without repentance, as he realized what he'd been doing. "Sorry." He'd only recently discovered that if he pursed his lips just right, he could blow air so quickly that it would freeze whatever it hit. He'd started playing with it, first bringing his coffee almost to boiling, then freezing it, and repeating the sequence. Looked like it generated enough heat and cold that somebody eating breakfast at the same table could feel it.
He decided to play with this new ability later, since now he and Bruce were mostly on good terms again. Nonetheless, he wished that he'd discovered it while he was still in his campaign. There'd have been lots of ways to use it, particularly if he could find a way to do so while Bruce was showering. Not enough to scald or frostbite him, just enough to make his point.
The first time he and Bruce met and they talked through that night, Bruce introducing possibilities and concepts that hadn't ever occured to a boy raised almost solely by Lionel Luthor, in a moment of uneasy self-examination, Clark had asked, flippantly, if this was all just a long and wordy way to say "use your powers for good, not evil."
Bruce had chuckled faintly and shook his head. "If only good and evil were concepts that easy." They'd gone on, but Clark was willing to bet that if Batman could turn time back, he'd have tried to get a vow from Clark never to use them for evil or for pestering. In a way it was kind of a shame he felt obligated now not to annoy Bruce any more. After all, Mom had always told him to exercise his imagination as much as his mind and his body.