To the untrained eye, the inside of the museum was just as beautiful as the outside. But there were little clues.

The geometric patterns on the floor looked like they'd been cut from the original, smooth surface and replaced. The dimples near the velociraptor pack. The enormous hole in the wall where those two criminals had blown a hole in it. This place was expecting- and getting- a whole lot more thievery than originally expected, and its security had needed upgrades to withstand it.

But... for all its flaws, and for all my father's less-than-stellar motives, it made a pretty decent museum. Plenty of good crystals, a wide variety of totally-not-illegally-obtained stuffed mounts, some bugs and stuff (including a few that would be good to nab the DNA from)- pretty much all that you could ask for from a museum of natural history.

There was an inexplicable amount of anthropogenic exhibits, like the totem poles my father loved so much, but I could let that slide. It was still pretty cool.

My father did not, however, seem to realise his mistakes in regards to the palaeontological section. He was smiling as he approached me, in that 'I'm-so-proud-my-daughter-is-so-smart' way.

"I'm surprised you're not spending more time with the animatronics," he said affably. "They're the finest tech, with the most rigorous reconstructions science and art could make."

"You might want to pay the artists less next time," I grumbled.

He looked down at me, an eyebrow raised. "Oh?" he said seriously.

I looked back at him in warning. "If you're planning on disproportionate retribution-"

The man looked positively offended. "Now why would I do such a thing?" he said, surprised. "You, of all people, should know better than that."

I do know better than that, I thought. There's no 'why' to ask, it's your default reaction!

But we generally ignored this business. I skipped it over. "Either way," I said, knowing I'd either gotten through or (probably) hadn't, "there's a large number of quite amateur mistakes. They've got pronated wrists, reversed halluxes, lack the girth that gastralia suggest and possess extremely erect-"

"Lena, I may be a super-genius but biological jargon is not something I bother with," Luthor snapped. "Speak English."

"-gaits." I frowned. "They all have bunny hands, sparrow feet, supermodel bellies and kangaroo hips," I said, internally quite happy with my simplified explanation. "And that's not getting started on individual issues."

"...I see," he said, and when I looked into his eyes I saw nothing but a big red 'show them what happens when they double-cross LEX LUTHOR' button being hammered like Tony Stark with palladium poisoning.

Sigh.

"I think I have a few phone calls to make, then," he informed me. "I shall see you back at the car later."

I nodded politely. "I shall talk to you later then, father," I told him, fully intending to ignore him for the rest of the day if possible as I headed back to the entrance.

I walked back- past such wonders as ancient Kaznian relics, a stuffed thylacine and an exhibit on metamorphism of sandstone- towards the entrance, where I was expecting Lois and Clark to be waiting for me. I was surprised to find it was just the latter, standing somewhat awkwardly in the entrance.

"Mister Kent," I greeted him. "Miss Lane's still occupied?"

The big man startled a bit, before chuckling embarrassedly as he turned around and realised it was just me. "Oh, she can never resist the opportunity to pick out a few more stories for later," he replied. "It's why she's on-track for those awards instead of me- but it does make sure I'm on time for the interviews I've already got." He pulled out that dinky little journal of his- the temptation to get him something technological for christmas was astounding. "So, the Fermi Paradox? What's that?"

"Good memory." It had been a few hours since I'd mentioned it, but any decent reporter would remember just as well as Superman would. "Have you ever wondered why we've been alone for so long, Mr Kent? Err," I interrupted myself, "in the universe, I mean. No radio signals, no stars being covered up by solar panels, no alien colonies- that sort of thing."

"You think it means we're alone?" He tilted his head, perplexed. "I don't see why you'd conclude that. Couldn't they just be too far away for us to notice?"

"No," I replied confidently. "If humans appeared one percent later in Earth's current history, Superman would have crashed on a planet before apes, let alone before humans. If humans appeared one percent earlier, our drive to improve and learn would have rendered us virtually godlike..." I shrugged. "...or possibly extinct, depending on how pessimistic you are."

"That's... certainly a narrow window of opportunity," Clark agreed. "But how do we know there weren't a hundred other Supermen who did end up on planets like those?"

"It's not about Superman," I said. "It's about the Kryptonians. Up until its destruction, there was a planet of equal technological progress- meaning we'd also expect a hundred other Kryptonian civilisations that are yet to evolve or so far technologically progressed." I paused for dramatic effect. "But we don't see them. So what's more likely- that Krypton just so happened to be the only other advanced civilisation in the galaxy... or that something awful happened to them?"

"Something awful did happen to them," Clark noted. He smiled- I could almost hear his amusement.

I raised a finger in defiance, before realising that I had indeed just said an incredibly stupid sentence. Frowning, I gathered my thoughts for a moment before I continued. Not quite my original direction, but in the immortal words of Darwin... 'Adaptation be wack, yo'. "Their planet exploded due to natural processes," I agreed, mainly for the purposes of convenient newspaper lines. "Not something that appears likely with us. And even if there's a hundred other civilisations since fourty-five million years ago, they're all vulnerable if they're like Krypton and stick to one planet forever."

"But not if they're like ours," he said, eyebrows knitted. "Our species explores, exploits, colonises new lands- if we have space travel, we'll colonise the stars. So if there's an ancient species like ours, they'll have enough planets to avoid natural disasters like Krypton. And they'll keep exploring, becoming independent, sending out colonies of their own. Which," he added, gesturing with his pen, "brings us back to our original question..."

"...Where are they?" I finished.

"So science is predicting that- since Superman suggests an abundance of alien intelligences appear, and we've never found evidence of one that's still alive- some sort of large-scale disaster is going to befall us and wipe us out," Clark reasoned. Being interviewed by him was enjoyable- he was smart enough to make it feel like a conversation, rather than a lecture, as much as I enjoyed lecturing people. "That's- pretty important, if it's true." He took a second to scribble in his notebook some more. "So, it seems pretty obvious it's a problem when you put it that way. Why do you think world leaders are yet to take it into account?"

"Same reason as it's fallen upon LexCorp and other companies like us to replace fossil fuels," I said. "It's not likely to affect the people in charge. And there's one more reason."

"Oh?" he said, raising his pen slightly off the page.

"We have a Kryptonian," I said. "And they think he can save us." I paused ominously. "But Krypton had Kryptonians too... a whole planet full of them. And we only have one." ...Once again, I left a gap in my speech for the purposes of sounding... well, ominious. "...And on that wonderfully ominous note," I said, "is there anything else you'd like to ask?"

"Sure," he said jovially. "What's your favourite exhibit, and did you like the animatronic dinosaurs? We are planning on having the museum on the front page, after all."

My favourite? "The giant water bugs!" I informed him happily. "They're really interesting, and there's an interesting fact about them I'm not supposed to know at my age or repeat in public. And the dinosaurs?" I waved my hand in a 'so-so' gesture. "Comme si, comme sa- they're impressive technologically, but I heard my father is planning on having them updated already to reflect the latest scientific knowledge. Nothing official, of course... Unofficially, I may have gone on a rant I'm sure my father would repeat if you brought up the problems with him."

"I'm guessing you don't think much of the designs. Any particular complaints?" asked Clark.

I giggled, before having to cut that off to maintain my professionalism. "Ahem- I'm sure my father would be happy to repeat them... As long as he can pretend it was him who described the words," I joked semi-seriously. "Now, I think I heard an ice cream truck stopping nearby, so I'll have to be going- I have an inordinate fondness for getting on my father's nerves by enjoying cheap junk." I nodded politely. "It was a pleasure talking to you, Mr Kent!"

"And you, Miss Luthor," he said cheerfully. "And thank you for the interview."

I waved him goodbye happily, and left. My rambling finally being over, I decided to make good on my word. After all, I thought,what could possibly go wrong with getting ice cream?

...Damnit, I just thought The Phrase Which Should Forever Remain Unused.

I mentally slapped myself for that, even as I heard the voice of one Miss Lane starting to complain to her totally-not-boyfriend behind me. Rule one of DC universe: Do not tempt Murphy, for Murphy is Law.

The best-case scenario would be me remaining paranoid for the rest of the day. The worst-case scenario was Zod careening down from the heavens to laugh evilly and make impolite requests for kneeling. And there was a whole lotta stuff in the middle, like the guy in the van secretly being a bug monster or something.

Alas, there was no way to tell. So I'd go get my ice cream and worry about it later.

Walking away from the museum, I headed for the road- there were a few people there already, including that reporter with the blue hat I liked so much. Being Not Lex Luthor, I stood in line, waiting patiently.

The museum had been perfectly fine, but that had been air-conditioned. And I'd got here by car (as I did most places, to be fair, but eh). Now that I was standing around in the baking sun, in a 'Lex Luthor suit for midgets', which he specifically wore when not expecting to be outside in the middle of a Metropolis summer... Well. Obvious flaws are obvious.

A pair of kids in front of me left with their ice creams, giving me a curious glance as they passed by. The man in the blue hat glanced their way as well- and his eyebrows raised. "Miss Luthor!" he said in that overpleased reporter way. "What a surprise! I'm Chezza, Salsesar Chezza, and-"

"Salsesar Chezza?" I repeated, blinking. That's made up right? That name's got to be made up. Seriously.

"Right, right," he said, apparently not noticing my reaction. "So- I'm a reporter. I'll buy you ice cream if you answer a few questions for me. Good trade, am I right? Of course! So let's start asking."

"Bu-"

"First question, should be an easy one," Salsesar continued, regardless of my attempted interruption. "What's your opinion on the relationship between LexCorp and the rise of boy bands?"

I gaped incredulously. Is this guy for real?

"Not something you now much about?" He shrugged. "Next one then- girl scouts and crop circles. Your thoughts?"

"I don't-"

"-know about that one either. Unfortunate." The reporter steamrolled over me in a long trail of insanity that I knew could fill only the cookiest of magazine back pages. "What about the link between-"

"Will you stop that!?" I said, finally raising my voice- and ignoring the twitch in my eye. "I am Lena Luthor. I can buy my own ice cream."

He started to interrupt.

"And Mr Chezza? Your questions are really, really dumb! If you think there's a grain of truth, then you're dumb! And you're holding up the line!"

He had the audacity to look behind me. "You're the only other one in the line," he pointed out.

The guy driving the ice cream truck spoke up. "And you're holding her up," he growled. "Now stop harassing the poor kid and let her get her ice cream. So order yours and go away."

Salsesar looked at me. Then he looked at him. Finally, he raised his hands defensively. "Hey, it's not my fault she doesn't know about the latest big news story," he said indignantly. "I'm not having the same thing as someone so insufferable. You people are all morons anyway." The reporter turned his head. "Good day!"

As the hypocritical man stormed off, still wearing that hat on his undeserving head but blessedly lacking in sweet icy goodness, I turned to the ice cream seller. "Thank you," I said politely. "Some reporters don't know when to quit, unfortunately. Could I have one vanilla cone with as many toppings as you can provide, please?"

"Of course," he said. I watched greedily as he produced the ice cream and slowly started piling things on top- flakes, sprinkles, sherbet, strawberry sauce...

I was all too eager to throw my money at him, but unfortunately I had a reputation to maintain. "Thank you," I repeated as I stretched up to pass the money over, before taking a bite.

It tasted funny.

Suddenly I felt woozy. The ice cream fell from my grip, and I turned towards him, outraged. "What's the..." meaning of this!? I'd been intending to say, but my voice was already slurring. I had provoked Murphy! Damnit!

The ice cream salesman grinned- and it wasn't natural. I saw sharklike teeth in front of a set of mandibles. Shark teeth, I noted. Lobster mandibles. Which means the less visible parts are... rotifer and tardigrade.

"You did this to me," he said, the mandibles twitching as he spoke. "It's your fault- but I've got you now. And once I've got the cameras set up? Your pa's going to see me do it to you, too. It's gonna be a blast. And then the world will know the name... of Vital."

I stumbled and fell. With the darkness encroaching, I thought one thing very hard:

Luthor, you son of a bitch, I told you not to steal my formula!