"Truth to Power," by Paul Gustavson:
The Metropolis Post, November 5 2000:
"...Candidate Luthor cuts a stylish figure behind a cherry desk, in a darkly modern office he's recently remodeled, in a jet-Black suit, nothing too extravagant. He may come from Metropolis' famous progressive history but he presents conservatively, and this is the central contradiction of his life. The future and the past all together. He tells me he has fifty-two identical suits in his wardrobe, all Brooks Brothers, fifty-two identical white shirts—spread-collar, French-cuffed—the only thing he varies on are his choice of neckties. Today it's a deep purple Hilfiger in a four-in-hand. I ask him about the elephant in the room—superheroes—and what role they can or should have in influencing policy. He tells me he's interested in working with them, especially his old frenemy Superman, to confront and solve the issues plaguing our world. A direct quote. I ask him if I should take him at his word, and he tells me: 'What have you got to lose, Paul?'..."
Clark.
That was the name they gave him. When they found him. Jonathan and Martha Kent. His given name had been Martha's surname going back generations, nearly to the founding of Kansas, or so she tells him when he is young and cannot sleep. When he fakes falling asleep after her Kansas stories, and he lays there restless in bed, his legs twittering under the covers, his mind racing with a million thoughts, a million dreams, and all of them about the future, the horizon.
He lays there and does not sleep, but he imagines things. He knows he is different and has some kind of power. He knows that if the world finds out about these powers, bad men will come and take Ma and Pa and maybe him too, and they'll make him a lab rat. He'll become a conspiracy, like Lana's dad talks about sometimes.
He is ten years old in these days, and he knows he is different. He knows something will change, and soon, but he doesn't know when.
And here, flying up into space on his own power, Clark Kent, Kal-El of Krypton, the immigrant from the stars, at the peak of his powers and living at the dawn of a critical moment in the history of his adopted world—
He knew something was about to change.
He thought maybe he knew when. Today was Sunday, the fifth of November in their year 2000.
He stopped himself. Not their year. My year. I live here too.
Father.
I share their tribulations.
I'm one of them.
It's why you sent me here.
But I did not get the answers I truly sought from the Fortress. I barely got them from Kansas. Perhaps there are no answers. The world just spins.
Father—
Clark.
Joseph.
Kent.
That was the name they gave him.
When they didn't have to.
So here he was. Flying up into space on his own power no less. Customarily he used a spacesuit from STAR Labs, or a shuttle pod, also from STAR. But lately.
He told himself he needed to feel it.
What he felt was nothing at all.
The blue noise of the Earth fell away behind him. The radio chatter of six billion souls withered away. The electromagnetic beauty of the planet faded.
And he told himself he felt cold, but he knew that wasn't accurate either.
He felt nothing.
Eventually, he was free of the Earth.
In space.
Approaching the moon.
And thinking of Jor-El.
They're a brave people, Father. You said it yourself. They wish to be.
They flew to their moon and landed men successfully upon it with technology our world surpassed a million years ago, Father.
They are brave.
They are wise.
I have seen their true face. There are those among them who are venal, corrupt, and truly remorseless. But there is also grace.
There are heroes here. And—
Good people.
Men of good heart live on this planet, Father. It is the privilege of great men to watch over them.
That is my mission. It's why you sent me here.
It is why this League exists.
In the distance, the Moon grew larger until at last it was his whole view. And nestled deep within it, near a Sea of Tranquillity where Armstrong staked a claim for humankind, there it was.
A Watchtower on the world.
And within—
The hangar bay doors opened slowly, on command.
Once he was in, hidden speakers welcomed him. He landed.
It all seemed so perfunctory.
And walked up to the Observation Deck which they had all come to colloquialize as The Dome. In the highest part of the central spire, it stood alone: cold steel walls that were laced with alien metals from five worlds and one dimension and a single platform that stretched up to a forcefield which beheld the Earth itself.
This beautiful world.
He gazed upon it with a face that betrayed no emotion. He had been here—like this—before. It seemed only once, though. All the other days...they seemed so normal.
The seas, he remembered, are sapphires. The fields and forests emeralds. The Himalayas gleam like diamonds. This strange blue world to which my father sent me.
Pa.
I…
I miss you.
He felt them enter. One by one.
His friends.
Diana. The Wonder Woman. Champion of the Amazons, warrior princess of that wise and ancient society. Sworn to defend the world. Defend it against all sense and evidence to the contrary. Diana, he once told her, they are worth more than you know.
J'onn. The last of the Martians, another hidden society. An entire species wiped out—he sympathised—leaving the one whose named best translated to J'onn J'onzz among them. Eventually he'd found his way to Earth and masqueraded as a human before settling on his truest self. He dedicated his future to helping this wayward planet. Clark admired that.
Wally. The adventurer. In another life he was the junior sidekick of a man named Barry Allen, who had died saving the universe from multiversal annihilation. Wally grew up after that, and became The Flash in Barry's image. And yet, Superman remarked, how amazing to see him grow out of Barry's shadow and become his own man.
Kyle. This one was tougher. Kyle Rayner was the Green Lantern, and the last of their kind. A band of intergalactic policemen, watchers on their worlds, and they had been all wiped out—their Corps, their history, their awe and splendor—by one of their own. One of Earth's own. Hal Jordan had gone mad with grief, and killed every last one of them. And yet. Here was Kyle, carrying their torch.
Arthur. The King of Atlantis. Yet another hidden society. Arthur was so like Clark: a child of two worlds, with a foot in neither. A man with everything and nothing. Atlantis scorned him for genetic difference, not to mention dispositions of personality, and he scorned their atavistic ways in return. Superman thought perhaps Arthur had, or had found, a home with this League. But while they spoke often and were civil, he felt no small distance. Arthur was a man guarded in his feelings. Superman respected that, too.
And Bruce. The shadow.
They stood in an amorphous grouping in the Dome. Far in the distance was the lunar surface and the Earth beyond. Superman stood on the highest platform and shared Aldrin's view of the Earth.
So far. So small.
Lex.
Look at it.
They had already begun a conversation. He made himself pay attention.
Diana was already opinionated: "Does he know who we are?"
Wally was pacing: "I don't see the point to that. I'm more powerful than him—"
"That's what he's counting on," Superman said.
Wally made a face. "How do you mean?"
Superman turned around and looked at Wally. The ambient light in the Dome curled around him in a dim halo. He said only, "Luthor's actions as President would affect us all."
"It doesn't matter," Diana said. "Any one of us are capable of handling him, if the situation calls for it."
Superman looked at her. It surprised him. "What?"
Wally said, "I think she means he can't exactly threaten us."
"Whatever happens happens," she said. "We don't need his support."
"I feel like we need the people," Kyle said. "And we would be better with the government in our corner."
"And," J'onn said. "If Luthor is the government?"
"He cannot maintain control without the bureaucracy," Diana said. "Your government is bigger than any one man."
"Tell him that," Wally said.
"There is something else," Arthur said, leaning on the wall away from them, close to the Batman, and staring idly at his hook.
Diana looked at him. "Oh?"
"He is making overtures to Atlantis," Arthur said and felt the uncertainty in his voice. And when he registered it for what it was he cleared his throat and created resolve. "I thought you all should know."
"Before taking office?" Kyle asked. He looked at Superman. "Isn't that illegal? Or something?"
"He wants to make a new alliance," Arthur said. "He believes the old partnerships are a value loss. His words."
"You've spoken to him," Superman said.
"Yes."
Kyle rolled his eyes.
Wally said, "Well that's ominous as hell."
"Yes. We should all be concerned."
Diana stuck to her guns. "He's just a man. He cannot harm us."
"Men," the Manhunter said. "Have committed the worst atrocities and we know it."
Superman began pacing. He said, "Luthor can open the floodgates to a host of anti-superhuman sentiment. He can make our lives more difficult. People love the JLA now but it can always change. He already commands a stunning PR team. Trust me, I'm in the press pools."
"Sure," Wally said. "He's spent his life doing that. I read Gustavson's puff piece this morning. Clark, what the hell's going on in your town."
Superman looked at him. And the rest of the group. He said, "None of you know him as I do. He's cultivated an image for years as a benevolent businessman but it's the furthest thing from the truth."
"We saw the Final Night," Kyle said. "We know."
"Where to start," Superman said. "Arms deals. Wire fraud. RICO. That's the little stuff. He's destabilized governments, set up and toppled dictators in Qurac, Bialya, Kasnia. He created Metallo, and Bizarro. He's engaged in illegal cloning experiments and unsanctioned military activities on American soil. He's killed people. Children. Children. I don't know what else to say."
"Jesus," Kyle said. "I thought he was like just Gates or something, crazy billionaire, crazy ideas."
"Clark," Wally said. "You have to tell people."
"I've tried," Superman said. "Lois and I have file cabinets on it all. LexCorp's lawyers have gagged any of our work from ever seeing print."
"Leak it," Wally said. "Linda could—"
"No," J'onn said. "That would set off a war we are not prepared to win."
"Or fight in the first place," Arthur said.
"He is pure evil," Diana said. "And must be fought."
Superman looked at her. And looked away.
"Kal?" And her warm hand on his shoulder—
And he pulled away.
He said, "Lois and I have been researching this. My contacts in the tech industries say he's months, maybe years, from developing a meta-gene sensor. He can find opposition and end it. Science would be only slightly less difficult for him than demagoguery."
"Jesus."
"Sure," Kyle said. "Not to mention all the other completely overpowered super-people in the world, all of whom we've beaten regularly and all of whom are waiting for the chance to get back at us. Oh and I'm just sure he has all these assholes on speed-dial."
Everyone looked at each other.
"Oh my god he does."
Wally shook his head. "What are we talking about here, guys?"
"Is it really so surprising," J'onn said. "That the most powerful man in the free world should be a figure of controversy?"
Arthur made a face. "He hasn't won yet."
Diana slammed one hand into an open fist. "We should be prepared."
"To do what?" Wally asked. "Storm the White House? Make him fix things we don't like just because we say so?"
"Not a great look, guys."
"He is a servant of the people—"
"We serve the People, as well—"
"It's not even Election Day—"
"He sounds like a fucking supervillain."
"Language."
"Sorry."
The Martian spoke: "If he does not fulfil his oath of office he should be remov—"
"That's enough."
The voice was thunder in the Dome. Powerful, forceful, but not a storm. Respectful and restrained. But authoritative. It was Superman.
He said, "This is dangerous, reckless thinking. Stop this now, before it reaches a logical conclusion."
Diana stalked closer and stared him in the eyes. "You agree that he should be removed?"
"No. I believe in the American people doing the right thing."
She was almost sneering. "What is the right thing, Kal?"
Kyle piped up: "Not voting for the crazy man to begin with?"
Superman stayed on Diana: "What?"
"I asked what the right thing was."
"No," he said. Looked at her. "You called me Kal. That's not my name."
"Yes it is. It is the name of your truest self."
Superman looked at her. "My name is Clark."
Silence.
"Well," Wally said. "If he wins."
"If he wins," Clark said. "We do our jobs. The world will still need the Justice League, and the Justice League will still need all of you."
"And the man?"
"We hope he's amenable too."
Arthur breathed, a loud sigh, and looked at the ceiling. He said, "How do you know?"
J'onn was pacing. "You never know, Arthur."
Arthur looked at him.
J'onn looked right back.
"You hope," J'onn said.
Kyle looked over at the shadow in the corner. "You've been very quiet."
The Batman regarded Kyle evenly, and his posture, what little he showed of his face, belied nothing. He looked at Kyle head-on. "When the time is right, we'll take Luthor down."
Jenny.
The bar was halfway between nowhere and everywhere, tucked in a forgotten part of Suicide Slum, rutted cobblestones for a street, and the facade of the place was bright green paint peeling in great strands. She stalked up toward it and clutched her purse under one arm. Wrapped cold, gnarled fingers around the handle and pulled and the door opened too easily, almost took her away with it. She was expecting, she guessed, a heavier affair.
But she rolled with it. Stepped in from the windy street and pulled it shut behind her. She felt hot instantly, someone had cranked the thermo. In the next few seconds, which seemed to stretch at an eternity, she cased the whole place. A bar in the center in the shape of a horseshoe, and facing the back wall. And there, an empty stage. Well. Not quite. A guy and a girl moving some audio equipment around, eyeing the jukebox, burbling out an old Julee Cruise song, and wondering between themselves if they could dolly it off the stage. She thought maybe it was band night. She looked at the bar.
Six in the evening on a Sunday and she pretty much had the sight to herself. Except for the bartender and the jukebox couple, and of course Jenny herself, there was only one other person in the whole place.
A kid, really.
Skinny, probably ninety pounds soaking wet, in a black tee shirt and jeans, perched on the edge of the bar and hunched over an open trapper keeper, a legal pad on one side, a textbook she didn't recognize on the other side, and his spindly hand clasped around a pencil. He looked young, with a face square and perfect. His nose was straight, a single line down his face from God's brush, his eyes were deep brown. They glanced up from his homework every few minutes and he was not scared, but curious, studying her in turn. His hair was jet-black, messy, but swept forward in the idea of a pompadour.
The bartender, six nine if he was an inch, and arms of straight muscle, leaned in front of her. "Whaddayahave?"
Jenny looked him and said, "Uh, gin and tonic?"
He nodded and turned around.
She looked back at the kid.
He looked up from his homework.
Smiled.
She smiled back.
He said, "I'm Tim."
She looked at him. "Jenny."
"Hi."
"Hi."
He went back to his homework.
The bartender came back. "Gin and tonic."
She took it and gave him a minor smile, and he was gone.
She looked at the drink.
She'd never had a drink in her life.
What you did to me, Luthor.
Lex.
Luthor.
That fucking name.
She put the drink on the bar. Ran her hands over her face and breathed.
"Are you okay?"
She looked down at the bar. Over at Tim.
"Uh. Yeah."
He looked around. Back at her. "Are you sure?"
She ran the straw around the curvature of the glass.
"Where are you from?"
She looked at him. "Uh, Kansas."
"Oh cool, like Topeka? I had a buddy that lived in Osage—"
"Lawrence," she said. "Kinda outside it, in this little development." It was a lie she'd concocted twenty minutes into the bus ride.
A moment passed.
She said, "How old are you?"
"Fourteen."
She scoffed. "What the hell are you doing in a bar?"
He shrugged. "My parents aren't around. Bibbo lets me do my homework here sometimes. It's nice, and it's quiet until like seven when the townies roll in."
She took a big drink and put it back down. The gin danced in her mouth, and she swallowed it fast. Breathed and closed her eyes. She shook her head and said behind a cute smile, "That's wild."
"I dunno," he said. "It's peaceful. School is whatever, you know. But it's nice to sit here where no one needs me for a few hours and just do my German homework."
"That does sound nice."
She thought—lamented—her own life. A life in the service industry. On your feet, ten, twelve hours a day. Go here go there, rush rush, do what they ask you to do, be where they need you to be, for a miserable wage. A miserable wage that never covered the small-ass house she had with Wally. A bedroom and a half, crunched in on two sides. One of the last arguments with him—
We don't even have a yard, Wally, what if—
What if what, Jen?
What if one day we have kids.
He stops there and he looks at her and says I thought you never wanted them. She says maybe I do but I don't want them here. Jesus, Wally, we're scraping by. The neighborhood is a demilitarized zone. Who wants a kid in a place like this? And then he says we can get out we can move. And she says we can't. We can't just move around willy-nilly, we're not those people and the world doesn't just let you do that. We're stuck Wally.
We're stuck, he says. Or you're stuck. And that tears it, the screaming starts. It starts because of insecurity and it doesn't end, it'll never end, she just grabs her things and leaves.
She comes back that night, after sulking at the diner, the fucking diner of all places, the place where Lex Luthor showed her a future and took it from her, and it's then that she grabs her things and his gun and leaves. And she doesn't even wake him to tell him, she just leaves and he can file the missing persons report all he wants. She is so tired and so beyond caring.
"I'm sorry," she said and looked Tim in his eyes, those deep brown eyes and how they seemed to glow even in this dank hole.
"It's okay," Tim said. "I can tell something's bothering you. I know we just met but if you need to talk about it, I'm told I'm a pretty good listener."
"Well spoken, too," she said.
"Private school," he said. He held up his hands in a meek defense. "Makes you a cut above, or so I hear."
"It was a compliment," she said.
"I accept your compliment," he said and smiled.
A moment passed. She took another long drink of the gin and tonic and felt it burn going down. So this is what everyone's talking about.
"Jenny," he said. "Can I make an observation?"
"Sure."
"You're worried you're gonna get mugged? We don't get those here, Jenny, I mean guess why, right. They spend their time on bigger stuff. Like someone tried to rob a bank last week and when he went to leave Superman had his getaway car already crunched up there outside Citizens National."
"That's wild," she said. "Nuh-uh."
Tim nodded. "Yep. But like my thing is, you're here for something else. I dunno. I can feel it."
She started shaking her head. Drank again.
"Can I ask why you're shaking your head?"
She looked up and said sorry.
"I dunno," he said. "I find you—I dunno, I find you supremely interesting. But I'm right. Aren't I. You walked in that door and kinda sniffed the place. You felt everything like you wanted to remember it. I don't think you're FBI because FBI agents don't typically wear big heavy cable-knit sweaters and a turquoise smock underneath."
She looked at him.
"Why do you wanna know so much about me, Tim?"
He looked at her. "It's about Luthor, isn't it. The reason you came. Not just the election but him specifically."
She was running her finger along the rim of the glass. "Yeah. I don't know what's going to happen."
"I don't think anyone does. But I feel like you want to be here. Be part of something."
"That transparent?"
"Eh," he said. "Kind of a psychic."
She chuckled.
He laughed and looked down. "I shouldn't joke. I guess I want to be part of something too. I was thinking about going down to the plaza on Tuesday, wait for the returns, you know?"
She glanced up from her drink. "Yeah maybe. Maybe."
"It would be nice to see a familiar face. Sometimes the city gets me, you know. I live out in the suburbs. It's crazy, Jenny, you get over the bridge and how fast it all becomes farms and shit."
"You grew up on the farm?"
"Yeah kinda," he said and looked away. "Parents worked. I hung at my grandparents a lot. Grandpa had dairy cows."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
She said, "Me too," and smiled. "My grandfather helped build our church. You know, single room, middle of a cornfield. They carved his name on the cornerstone."
"I'm sorry," Tim said. "He must have been very special to you."
She reached out and patted Tim's hand. "Thanks."
"You're welcome."
Bibbo was there again with another gin and tonic. She smiled and took it in both hands, and drank slow, savoring it.
Then her purse buzzed in her lap. She set the drink down and fished her mobile out with one single move.
"My room is ready," she said. "I've got to go."
"Oh," he said. "Sure thing."
She threw a twenty on the bar. It was the most she'd spent on any drink of any kind in years.
"It was nice talking to you, Tim."
"You too," he said. "I hope you enjoy your stay."
He watched her slide off the stool, gather her purse close and bundle her sweater up. She smiled one last time at him and walked lithely away from the bar, around the corner and down the ramp to the front door. She pushed it open gingerly, politely, all the adverbs. Then she was out on the street and gone.
He breathed.
Made a face.
And pulled his cell from under his German book. He already had a text.
It was—
Conner:
Metropolis Plaza Hotel, 4star AAA Rating on a wait service salary, maybe she's saving up?
He texted back:
Smart thinking dude, good job.
Conner:
I learned it from watching you lol. I'm here all night can you bring pizza or something?
He texted:
Big Belly Burger?
Conner:
Ew no. Bring me Sundollers or I get to hit you in the nuts with a wiffleball bat lol
Tim rolled his eyes, texted okay, and closed it.
He held the phone in his hand a minute longer and then flipped it back open.
Dialled.
"Yes?"
"It's me."
"Did you get her?"
"Yessum."
"Did she say anything?"
"Uh, definitely maybe."
"Tim—"
"Well, I thought I'd go for an easy approach rather than asking her if she planned to shoot the future President."
"He hasn't won yet."
"Ah," Tim said and it was a single chortle. "Even you said 'yet.'"
"She's traumatised and wants to retaliate. An attempt on his life could create the crisis he needs to win."
Tim waited. "Do you hear yourself sometimes?"
"Tim."
"Look, Bart and Conner are in town too, and we're all taking this very seriously, okay, Bruce? Conner's watching the hotel, Bart's covering her walk back, and I'm headed there now to recap. Don't worry. You worry too much."
"I have faith in you. It's Luthor that concerns me."
"I know. I'll give you hourly reports."
"No need. I'm on the moon, then I've got an appointment."
"Selina? Or something less interesting?"
"Or something."
"Oh."
"Tell the boys…"
"Yes?"
"Tell them I said thank you."
Tim smiled and said, "Yeah, yeah."
Jesse.
He couldn't be upset. He guessed so anyway. Maybe he was just tired. The barista had one of those manufactured smiles, the one so twisted and so wide you could just tell she was faking it.
"What can I get for you?"
"Uh, iced coffee?"
She looked at him. "We have like an iced mocha?"
He looked around. "Uh."
"Yeah."
"Can I just get like a regular Earl Grey?"
"Uh, sure. What size."
He fished his wallet out of his pocket. "So large God himself couldn't finish it."
She smiled and said okay, and he threw a fiver on the counter. Moved down the line. It was nice coming here this late in the day. The assholes and hipsters cleared out: he told himself he could get used to having the sight to himself. Pike Place and the fish market, and split between the buildings a striated grey sky, rain incoming, a bustling street, people coming and going and he himself sitting here where no one needed or wanted him, at least for the moment. It was nice.
"Sir?"
He looked at the pickup counter and the barista. She said, "what's the name?"
"Jesse."
"E on the end?"
"Uh, yeah. I mean unless you want a fake name?"
The barista laughed. "People give me, like, Batman all the time, it's a little ridiculous."
"I bet."
She handed the cup over and said, "Have a good one."
"Thanks you too."
He took it and scoped a place at the counter near the front of the store. He sat and relaxed. Drank once. Twice. Leaned back and watched the street.
In a minute he'd have to go back to King Street and catch the bus.
His pocket vibrated and he made a face. Plucked his mobile out, one of those small Motorolas in those days, only good for playing snake and texting lewd messages to your buddies. He used it for both.
"Yello."
"It's me."
"Oh hi," he said and smiled a little. "How are you?"
"I'm doing very well, thank you, and you? How's Kyle?"
"Oh he's good, he's fine, thanks. He stayed home."
"Home?"
"Yeah! I disappeared to Seattle for a minute. The greyhound was like ten bucks, I couldn't resist. You guys have Starbucks in Metropolis?"
"No."
"Well, it's pretty great, let me tell you."
"You seem very happy. What's going right in your life, Jesse?"
"I mean, Kyle's a big part of it. He's a cool kid. School's going well. Family's family but what are you gonna do."
"Family is important."
"Yeah," Jesse said and made a face. "You have one?"
"Not anymore."
"I'm jealous."
"Are you?"
"A little. It's whatever. We've talked about it."
"We sure have."
"So what's up," Jesse said. "What time is it there?"
"Six at night."
"Big day Tuesday, right?"
"Yes."
"Would it be premature to offer my congratulations?"
"Not at all. Thank you. It's partially to your credit as well."
"Meh. I just do what you tell me."
"I do pay you, you know."
"I know," Jesse said and chuckled. "I'm sorry I'm acting goofy. I just kinda like my life right now."
"That's nothing to feel sorry about."
"So what can I do for you?"
"Roy Harper has been asking questions."
"Ooh," Jesse said. "They're getting shitty with you aren't they?"
"It's a war they won't win."
"So let me guess, it's time to do something about it?"
"Yes."
"Let's see, I seem to remember a history of drug abuse? Before my time, of course."
"He has a daughter as well."
Jesse laughed. "No, not a chance in hell am I going there. But I can look at the other thing, get with my guys back home and see what's what."
"I expect nothing less."
Jesse made a face. "So what about the senior Arrow?"
"Not yet. But I like your forethought."
"So I have to ask, what if his buddies find out and bring the house down on you?"
"They won't."
"Alright. Hey I gotta go, but don't be a stranger okay?"
"Same to you. You should come for the inauguration."
"Yeah, I'll buy the tickets tonight. Bye, Lex."
Continued...