Chapter Twelve
Perry White's intense stare roamed over the mock-up pages covering his desk for the following morning's first edition of the Daily Planet. Looking to his right he scanned what he hoped would be their lead story: the Russian pipeline disaster, with supporting articles highlighting the ecological and, probable social-economic fall out from such a catastrophe. And to his left, Perry considered the sordid details of an up and coming local politician's arrest.
Perry checked the time on his wristwatch and then the clock on the wall opposite his desk. Time was running out, as even he couldn't hold the presses indefinitely, and as Editor in Chief he needed to make a decision.
He was faced with a dilemma: should he run a front-page story without confirmation of the facts from an independent source? Something he'd never done before, or should he go with the tacky, but verifiable, story of yet another politician exposed by their sordid behaviour?
As yet, none of the Daily Planet's own domestic or foreign-based reporters were able to cite a single source or government agency to back up the Lex News Network's earlier report, although they were still repeating their exclusive breaking story.
Perry had spoken, less than an hour ago, with Walter Logon, the Daily Planet's senior Russian correspondent, who was based primarily in St Petersburg and Moscow.
"Nobody here knows how LNN got hold of a report like that, Perry," he'd explained. "All the Russian news agencies are claiming it's a complete fiction. Both Gazprom and Tenralk Oil and Gas have issued statements denying any knowledge of pipeline ruptures, and together they own about ninety-eight percent of Russia's gas industry."
"Well, maybe you need to contact whoever else owns the other two percent. A story like this just doesn't appear out of nowhere, Walter; they're probably lying."
"Twenty years ago I might have agreed with you, but this isn't the nineteen-eighties and we're not dealing with the Politburo anymore. If there was something to report, believe me, my sources in the Federal Assembly and the Duma would have let something slip; and I've been here too long not to know when I'm being 'officially' lied to."
"Well, someone's being lied to here, and I'll be damned if I make the Daily Planet look like anyone's fool."
"I hear you. Look, there are two flights out to Salekhard a week and I'll be on the next one, leaving first thing tomorrow morning, my time."
"Sally what?"
"Salekhard. It's the town that's the centre of the universe in terms of gas production out here. If something's amiss, they'd be the ones to know, and as of ten minutes ago, they were reporting green lights across the board in terms of production and safety."
The older newspaperman had snorted, "Forgive me if I'm not comforted by the reputation of Russia's safety standards--Chernobyl ring any bells for ya'?"
"Chernobyl's in the Ukraine," Walter had corrected smoothly. "Perry, seriously, I don't think there's a story here. The fact that flights are still scheduled for Salekhard speaks volumes to that. If they wanted to cover up a pipeline disaster, it would be the first place to be shut down and the last town anyone would be getting close to, right now."
Despite the number of times he'd been turning Walter Logon's words over in his head, Perry felt no closer to an answer now, than an hour ago.
" … I don't think there's a story here."
And the astute words of a reporter of Logon's stature and experience couldn't be discounted.
Something needed to go to press; time was running out and the Daily Planet's Editor in Chief had a decision to make … and the reputation of a great metropolitan newspaper to uphold.
He checked his watch again; he could hold off the presses for maybe one more hour….
-8-
The Daily Planet - Online
May 29th 2014
Dirty Politics – Youngest City Councilman arrested in drug den!
By Andrea Bailey, city desk
Six months ago, Martin Range, 24, was elected to office as the youngest city councilman in Metropolis' history.
He swept into office on a tide of optimism, idealism and youthful fervour, with many seasoned politicians, including former State Senator, Martha Kent, backing Range to go all the way to the Senate, some even further.
Shockingly those dreams lay in tatters last night, as the Metropolis Police Department confirmed his arrest with another, as yet unidentified, male in the notorious Bathhouse district of the city.
The police charges include possession of illegal narcotics, thought to be crack cocaine and heroin, and solicitation of a prostitute.
Story continues
Related Stories
Profile – Martin Range
Range War! – Councilman demands more care assistance for elderly
Range Wins! Young pup sweeps to power in local elections
$4 Million Stolen in Bank Heist
An armed gang forced a bank official to withdraw an estimated $4 Million dollars from the private city bank, Cleaver and Poole, in downtown Metropolis on Wednesday night.
They had taken his wife, his mother and the couple's three children, aged between seven and three years of age hostage.
Story continues
Daily Planet Online – Regular Features
NEWS
SPORTS
COMMENT
CULTURE
BUSINESS
MONEY
LIFE STYLE
TRAVEL
ENVIRONMENT
BLOGS
LNN in Hoax Broadcast Fiasco!
By Omar Assad
LNN, The Lex News Network, is preparing itself for some scathing criticism from its peers and industry watchdogs today,as it prepares to answer questions over its broadcast of the completely fraudulent news story; that a significant number of Russian gas pipelines had been destroyed in an accidental rupture.
LNN have yet to comment officially, except to say that an internal investigation into these claims is underway.
Story continues
Related Stories
Russians crush rumours of ruptured pipelines
Superman Watch!
The Man of Steel takes day off it would appear, as there were no reported sightings of him anywhere around the globe, yesterday.
We think the big guy deserves his day off, but hurry back, Superman. The world is always in need of a hero.
The moment she finished reading the internet news headline, Lois knew, instinctively, that something was horribly wrong and her hands started to shake. The coffee cup she'd been holding fell from her fingers, the ceramic mug shattering upon impact against the kitchen floor. The barely sipped at liquid creating a dark, slowly, spreading stain across the tiled surface below her feet.
She didn't even feel the scratches against her legs from the shattered mug's ceramic shards, and her brain had yet to register the sensation of hot liquid seeping into the soles of her latest pair of bunny slippers.
Lois stood, immobile, at the kitchen island, her eyes wide in growing dread, as she forced herself to re-read the news article that stared back at her from the laptop's screen.
She'd returned home late from the office the previous night, exhausted, in an effort to keep her mind off of her husband. Working with Kim Okuda well into the wee-hours, in an attempt for the paper to have as much detailed, background, information as possible on what they'd all believed to be a genuine, developing, disaster.
Before she'd left, she'd heard rumbles from Perry's office that he was having trouble confirming the story's source, but that in it-self wasn't anything new or unusual. In this sort of situation, there was bound to be panic and confusion among the regular lines of communication. She'd thought nothing more of it.
She'd slept fitfully, when she'd returned home, unable to keep thoughts of what her husband might be facing out of her mind.
Waking up to the news that now faced her….
Lois tried to get a hold of her-self; maybe she was panicking.
Just because the gas story had been bogus didn't mean that Clark couldn't be somewhere else in the world, saving lives and helping out where he could. He'd sometimes be gone for days at a time … during a tsunami … or a hurricane, an earthquake … or flooding … forest fires.
No other disasters, natural or otherwise, seemed to be appearing in this morning's edition of the Daily Planet.
Shit. Shit.
Don't panic, Lane. Not now. He's okay. He probably came home, but didn't want to wake me. Yeah. Probably stopped off at the farm, to have breakfast with Mom.
Yeah. He's okay.
Lois finally tore her eyes away from the laptop and made a grab for the cordless phone that sat behind the fruit bowl. She slipped as she moved, nearly losing her balance as the spilt coffee at her feet finally made its presence known. Staggering a little she managed to keep her balance and looked down, quickly surveying the mess. It'd keep.
Cautiously, stepping around the clutter, she picked up the phone and selected a number from the speed-dial menu. Lois anxiously held her breath as she listened to the ringing monotone.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Mom." She hoped she was keeping the panicked sound out of her voice.
"Lois. Hi, honey. Is everything all right?" Martha Kent's warm, welcoming and unnaturally perceptive voice had Lois nearly losing it almost immediately.
She took a quick calming before saying, "Everything's great, Mrs. K. Umm, I was just calling to… " Oh, crap, what was she supposed to say?
Martha was quick to fill the hesitant pause in Lois' voice. "I know you and Clark planned to get away this weekend, but I hope you're still coming over for supper on Sunday evening?"
"Oh, so Clark didn't stop by for breakfast with you, this morning?" Lois could feel herself pulling faces at the phone. She sounded pathetic.
"Clark?"
"Yeah. He… said he might be stopping by the farm this morning… umm, before we left I mean. You know, later."
Martha paused on the other end of the line before answering. "No, he didn't stop by," she said slowly. "Lois, is something wrong?"
"No, no," she said casually, trying to diffuse the apprehension she was hearing in her mother-in-law's guarded reply. "I just wanted to ask him to pick something up for me, on his way back, and thought maybe he'd be at the farm."
"Oh." To Lois's ears, Martha Kent was clearly not convinced.
"If he does show up, can you have him call me?"
"Sure, honey."
"Thanks, Mom. I've got to go. Call you later, okay?"
"Lois, wait. If you and Clark are having problems, you know I'm here for you, Sweetie."
"What? Oh, no. I mean, we're good; we're good. It's nothing, okay?"
"If you're sure?"
"No… I mean, yeah, we're fine. I have to go. Bye." Lois disconnected the call, blew out an anguished breath and frowned.
God, I feel horrible. Did I just lie to Mrs. Kent?
She closed her eyes and tried to compose herself for a few seconds.
Focus, Lois, focus, she berated herself.
Opening her eyes, she selected another number from her speed-dial handset.
At least with this call, Lois assured herself, she knew she wouldn't have to offer any sort of opening preamble or guard her questions. A familiar male voice answered the call after three rings.
"Ollie, have you seen Clark?"
"And good morning to you, too. You know, just because you guys have the number to my scrambled line, it doesn't mean I'm here at your beck and call. It's supposed to be used sparingly, Lois," Oliver Queen drawled, sarcastically.
"This isn't a social call, Oliver. Have you seen Clark?"
"What do you mean? Like on the news? Is he opening a new library or is it a shopping mall this time?"
"Quit being a jerk. Like this morning; have you seen him?"
"Wow. You're in a great mood. No, I haven't. What's going on?"
"I think Clark's missing."
"What? You guys have a fight or something and he went AWOL?"
"Oliver, will you shut the hell up and listen to what I'm trying to tell you," Lois bit out impatiently. "Boy Scout has gone dark."
That got his attention. The line between the old friends and former lovers went silent as Lois waited for Oliver to digest the code words she'd just used.
"Big blue? Are you sure?"
"Yeah, and I don't care how this sounds, but I can feel it, Ollie. He's in trouble."
"And this feeling is based on what, exactly?"
Lois quickly took Oliver Queen through the events, as she knew them, from the night before. From the breaking news story that had set off this chain of events through to this morning's latest information: confirmation that the story was a deception.
"Look, maybe he realised that Russian thing was ruse, and he's just been doing his thing around the planet; like an away day patrol," Oliver offered by way of explanation, once she'd completed confessing her fears.
Lois shook her head as she adjusted the receiver against her ear. "No way," she adamantly responded. "Unless there was some other disaster somewhere--and I've done nothing but check all the news services on-line, since we've been on the phone--and nadda. He would have at least called, or found some way to let me know he was okay."
"So, you really think someone set him up, that this gas pipeline thing was a ploy to trap Superman?"
"Yes, and we need to find him, now," she asserted urgently.
Oliver took another moment to think about it, before responding. "I'll have the team form up right away. We're on it, Lois," he confidently assured her. "If he's out there, we'll find him."
"Thank you."
She hung up the phone, wishing that her conversation with Oliver had somehow assuaged her irrational fears, had calmed the rising panic that was threatening to burst up, from out of her throat on a hoarse scream.
Instead, all she felt was an ominous, creeping dread.
Come on, Lane. Keep it together, now, she reminded herself. Clark's out there somewhere and we need to find him.
Hold on, baby. I'm coming.
-8-
He who cannot revenge himself is weak; he who will not is vile
- Anonymous
Lex Luthor stared up at his prey, his arms folded over his chest as it rose and fell with puffed-up pride, surveying his quarry from the control room of his private island's laboratory.
His small island off the coast of Sweden had been a second home to him for some time now, and over the years he'd designed and constructed a number of labs, with this particular guest in mind.
Finally he had his prize and it was hanging, naked, before him, a latter-day pseudo-Christ in metal and Kryptonite chains. Lex watched, from behind a wall of five-inch thick, toughened glass, as a hydraulic mechanism lifted the limp hero into a large vat-like container filled with a clear liquid and holding him suspended in the fluid by his neck.
Injury was already marring the fair skin of the alien. Red welts and bruises had formed across his chest, abdomen, shoulders and thighs, from where his team's darts had hit their mark earlier. The alien had also earned himself a cut lip and a bloody nose on board Lex's private aircraft; having roused briefly from his weakened state to lash out, blindly, with his fists, against one of the guards. Lex had nodded a quick accent to his expectant team, and had watched in pleasure, as a set of brutal left-right combination punches were delivered to the face of his enemy, subduing him into unconsciousness once more.
"He's a fascinating specimen," one of the Lex's scientific team, a woman with a thick Greek accent, commented in awe. "His reaction to our compounds should prove very interesting," she continued.
Lex turned to the woman at his shoulder. All of Doctor Helena Thanou's earlier trepidation, about working with unknown alien DNA, had been replaced with a sense of excited expectation, now that the specimen was alive and before her.
If she recognised that the being suspended in the tank was Superman, she didn't acknowledge it in any way; no one on his science teams had.
"I've waited a long time to see just what sort of reaction you're likely to get, Doctor," Lex responded happily.
He'd been planning this entire scenario, meticulously, for the better part of six years.
Six years since he'd regained consciousness, in a private and remote Swiss clinic. Six years since waking to find his body battered and broken from his arctic experience. He'd contented himself, at the time, with the knowledge that at least his will had been indomitable, and Clark Kent was no more.
Veritas, Lionel Luthor's scheme to manipulate the Visitor for his own ends, had failed, and Lex had succeeded in securing the safety of his country and his planet from the threat of a conquering alien hoard.
That grim satisfaction had sustained him for all of seventy-two hours, until his numerous LuthorCorp lackeys had brought him up to speed, on all things business, Smallville and Metropolis related.
Senator Martha Kent was not grieving. Clark Kent lived.
Clark Kent, the man whom Lex had thought of as a brother; had brought into his confidence; had been generous to, with his time and money; had helped on numerous occasions; had lied for and defended… only to be betrayed by him.
Clark Kent had humiliated him by lying to him for all of these years, no doubt laughing behind his back while Lex had tried to fathom the strange and unexplainable occurrences that seemed to follow Clark wherever he went.
Lex thought about all of the times he'd confronted Clark about this perceived "oddness", offering his hand in friendship and support again and again, only to be lied to and deemed untrustworthy; not good enough for the naive farm boy and his family.
And all along this farm boy turned man, was an alien sent here to rule.
It all could have been so different, if Clark had just trusted him. They could have worked together … ruled together … too late.
It was all too late.
Lex knew better now, he was no longer the gushing, grateful friend or ersatz-brother, he, Lex Luthor was not about to allow the Earth to fall into this or any other alien's clutches.
With provisions already in place for his "disappearance" from the public eye, should it ever be warranted, his recovery period was the perfect opportunity to develop another plan, one that would rid the world of its alien scourge once and for all, but not before conducting some experiments--though some might describe what he had in store as torture.
Now, all of those plans, laid out so long ago, were finally reaching fruition.
"When you're ready, begin," Lex instructed to the assembled and handpicked team of, lilac coloured lab-coat wearing, scientists that stood behind him.
"Let's draw some blood before applying the electrodes and twenty cc's of compound B," stated a technician from one of the workstations.
Clark awoke to the feeling of itchiness. His skin was tingling with a pricking sensation in several places at once across his body. Instinctively he tried to scratch at the irritation only to find that his hands wouldn't move. His eyes snapped open and he jerked in his bonds as recent memory came crashing back to full awareness.
The bogus pipeline explosion.
Lex.
His neck felt like it was in a vice and he found that he couldn't move his head. His hands and arms were restrained out and away from his body, in what he assumed were Kryptonite bindings. He could feel the sensation of water, or some other type of fluid against his body, and he kicked out against it with his legs, that remained free from restraint. The tepid fluid sloshed up against the sides of the tank he was held within, rising to cover his head briefly.
He spluttered and coughed up the foul tasting liquid with every thrash of his legs in an attempt to gain some momentum and break himself loose.
A thin, sharp-tipped, plastic looking, remote controlled arm was lowered into the tank with him and several seconds later Clark felt the sting of a needle entering his lower back, just above his buttocks.
He gasped as the freezing sensation of the needle penetrated him deeply. It remained embedded within his skin for several seconds before it was withdrawn slowly.
Within another two minutes he could feel his skin start to burn with a heat he'd never experienced before, not even during his worst fever. Moments after that he felt the muscles in his calves begin to contract with earth-shuddering spasms, and suddenly the pain he was already experiencing was increased by an order of seismic proportions.
Clark struggled to hold back his cries of pain and anguish, not wishing to give Lex, wherever he was, the satisfaction of hearing him scream, but these torments were intolerable and after several long minutes of enduring what felt like his muscles being shredded from the inside out, and his flesh, feeling like it was being pulled back from the bone an inch at a time, he couldn't help the wild and chilling scream of agonised horror that was torn from his throat.
Squeezing his eyes tightly shut Clark tried to focus his thoughts inward and away from present horrors being visited upon his body. He tried to concentrate on the sound of her heartbeat, that rhythmic thump, thump that always made him feel at peace.
Lois.
He couldn't hear her and his legs began to thrash wildly in the tank as panic overtook him.
Lois.
Her scent, that mixture of peaches and cinnamon and that spicy, alluring, perfume she always wore, that was always so close to the edge of his awareness… and now… it was gone.
He couldn't smell her. Oh, God.
"Hold on, baby. I'm coming."
Her voice.
Lois.
Her could hear her voice in his head and it calmed his thrashing limbs, though they still jerked in involuntary spasms of pain. Slow tears of relief made tracks against his already wet cheeks as her voice repeated her soothing words to him.
Oh, God, he needed her now.
Lois, please help me.
… To be continued …
To those that have been waiting patiently for an update, thank you for continuing to hang in there. I really apologize for not posting sooner; this has been an oversight on my part and not from a lack of motivation.
I'll try not to be so tardy with further instalments.
I always warmly welcome feedback; so don't be afraid to leave a little, if you're enjoying the story.
Annie