Previously, on Code Red: CRITICAL MASS:
"What's to stop you from taking him away and killing him?"
"Diana," Clark said softly, "I can take care of myself." He knew what she was thinking. No you can't, really. Hera, Kal, you need me to take care of you. It doesn't matter if you're Superman, and that you have all these superpowers. To me, you'll always be vulnerable.
Galatea seemed to turn inwardly pensive. When she finally spoke, the expression on her face was wistful, "Believe me, that's the last thing I want to do."
Standard disclaimers apply. Superman, Wonder Woman and any other syndicated characters are the intellectual property of DC and Warner Bros.
Thanks of course to Angelic Enchantress for the beta and invaluable inputs.
Rating: Still Rated M for exploration of themes, especially in later chapters. Enjoy!
Code Red: CRITICAL MASS
By Cael-El595
Ch 3: The Chamber
She led him down the corridor to a door. Producing a key from out of nowhere, she inserted it into the lock and waited. The doorway yawned open, revealing an enormous hall flanked by two curving staircases and another pod tube. The entire place was lit by gleaming chandeliers, and decorated with marble busts and statues that seemed reminiscent of ancient Greece. On the walls, myriad pieces of weaponry of various levels of technological sophistication hung like a grim reminder of more sinister times.
"This is where you live?" Clark asked. He was trying to make conversation to ease his nerves. Since he was going to get to know her a lot better, it wouldn't hurt to be amicable.
"Most of the time. Follow me."
He followed her into the pod taking them upstairs, silently noting all the exits and doorways, just in case he had to make a sweep, or if worse came to worst, an escape. Was there no one around? His boots sank into the plush carpeting, and he felt as though he was taking a museum tour. He had been to the Palace of Versailles once, and to Diana's embassy a couple of times, and ran into her at a ball in Prague, all on assignment of course. He never vacationed abroad as Clark anyway.
Oh boy, he'd kept a respectful distance even from Diana. And now...
They arrived at another door. She produced another key. "Where are we going?"
She smiled at him, "You'll see." Clark nearly gasped at the sight that awaited him on the other side of the next door.
He found himself standing in front of a vast hallway, with green and gold columns and massive windows covered with stained glass. Outside, colors seemed to collide as he saw a series of staircases that twisted in defiance of everything he'd ever learnt about Einstein, Newton or Hawking. Before his very eyes, people stepped through doors only to reappear upside down on the bottom surface of a platform through another door. And was that an enormous narwhal 'swimming' in space?
She led him further, opening doors that seemed to alter the laws of physics and reshape the world in tune with her will, the scene constantly changing.
"You're doing this?"
"No, the Morphean chamber is. It's like a dream," she said. "Here, we are in a microcosm of our own. Time moves differently here than in the physical world."
"Faster or slower?"
"There are no parallels. Over here, time is like a river. It flows how we want it to."
"Wow." In all his years of space travel, he had never encountered anything like this. And he'd thought Torquasm-Vo was the ultimate out of body experience.
"Are you always this contemplative?"
"Just trying to work out the puzzle, that's all." It was a major mind bend, one that he'd remember for seven lifetimes.
"A man of science," she said pleasantly. "But enough of this. We have business to attend to."
Ah yes, unpleasant business. He suddenly remembered why they were here. It was a pity. He would have liked her a whole lot better if she had wanted to talk a bit with him instead of getting down to business.
He'd never been very good at romance. Even back in Smallville he'd kept Lana at arm's length because he thought he was destined to be alone forever. He'd felt that way, burdened ever since he learned who he really was. But all that had changed when he moved to Metropolis and ran into Lois.
He loved Lois with a deep, deep fervor that could only come to those who lived life dangerously, on a razor edge; as though every day would be the last they would have together. He lived in perpetual terror of losing her, because he was as close to being invincible as any man could be, and she was painfully mortal. The thought of her succumbing to one of the perils that he faced everyday filled him with dread. It was something too ominous to even speak about.
He blinked, musing uneasily to himself. Yes, and then there was her. Diana. The woman was quick-witted and spirited, and could knock most men's heads off their shoulders with a well-aimed kick. And yet, there was that other side to her that he knew so well, gentle as a flower, her azure eyes large and honest, completely without deception, and brimming with life. She laughed, often and unrestrainedly, and boy, did her eyes light up when she did. She was kind, and tender; he let his breath out in a slow exhale as he remembered the gentle touch of her fingers on his hair as she had bid him farewell. The easy friendship that they had enjoyed for years was now colored at the edges with a glowing red heat, and he felt it every minute he spent with her. He still kept a safe and respectful distance from her around the others, but he would catch himself watching her lips as she spoke, gaze at her alluring throat as she laughed with her head thrown back; and every now and again, he would feel her eyes on him, following his movements when she thought he didn't notice.
And oh boy, were they ever passionate in their defense of each other against any criticism.
And now he was expected to reproduce that passion; that spellbinding overwhelming abandonment that would come only fleetingly in a lifetime with this woman who was a little too hot-blooded for him, one who was only looking for a flame of the flesh without the igniting spark that came from the spirit. It was going to be even more difficult than he initially thought.
Galatea led him through the hallway, their footsteps echoing in the unearthly silence, past another intricate maze of color and sound and into another smaller hallway, speckled with smooth black and white tiles. At the end of the hallway was another shuttle pod awaiting them, its doors invitingly open.
"Do you use this often?" he asked her.
"As and when." A bemused smile twitched on her features. "Are you always this polite?"
He had no answer to that. Inside, she depressed the top button, and he privately noted that they were nine floors altogether. He wondered about the number. One for each level of hell? Because, what was this, if not a deal with the devil?
The pod's doors slid apart and she beckoned to him to follow. They were in a castle, decorated in a seamless convergence of medieval and futuristic themes, with heavy draperies and gold tassels, and embroidered rugs and furniture of the finest elegance, alongside some newfangled gizmos and consoles, and a few holographic projections depicting various scenes of her home world's life. It was a very feminine room, and very opulent. Not to his tastes, but he supposed it was at least comfortable. Of course, nothing was going to make him comfortable right now.
In one corner, there was a table laden with a bowl of fruits.
"Would you care for something to drink?" She asked.
"Yes please." He hoped that would help him relax. The castle opened into several rooms, one of which was the bedroom. The door to that was ajar, and he could make out a huge bed with solid bedposts, constructed from what looked like the local equivalent of mahogany, gleaming with white silken fabric and an inviting comforter.
He really didn't want to go in there yet.
He turned, and found himself looking into her eyes. She was staring at him with an expression of what he could only describe as wonder.
"You have such innocent eyes," she remarked after what seemed like an eternity. "So pure. And so beautiful. I never expected to see that in you."
"I'm not as innocent as I look," he said wryly. She had no idea.
She seemed to collect herself. "I'll go get the wine. Chilled?"
"Yes, thank you."
He watched her disappear, and began to unfasten his cape. Underneath, he had the small compression pouch that hid his shrunken civilian clothes; the ones Diana had always insisted he needed to rethink. In fact, she found the large glasses unnecessary, tad overkill.
"Your dress sense is terrible," she'd once chided him when they were alone in Metropolis, "Especially those glasses of yours. Your face wasn't made this beautiful only for you to mar them with these hideous things," she'd finished, her disgust evident in her tone as she lifted the thick frames from his eyes. She wasn't exactly a fashionista herself, but then, she looked absolutely ravishing even in a flag-swimsuit.
He had bemusedly agreed, blushing slightly at her unexpected comment on his looks, and at his own unbidden thought about hers. Thankfully she hadn't noticed.
God, even in this timeless alien construct, he could find traces of her. Maybe that was a good thing. If he psyched himself to truly believe she was there, and if the bedroom was pitch black - with a really good imagination, he could sustain that pretense for half an hour or so. Yeah right, like anything was ever that simple.
Morosely, waiting for Galatea to reappear, he sat himself down at the table and reached for the bowl of fruits.
When she re-entered the room, a decanter of Centauri's finest chilled red wine in one hand and a couple of wine glasses in the other, Galatea was stopped short by the sight of Kal sitting at the table. He was sucking at the seeds of what resembled a pomegranate with such a melancholic expression on his face that she wanted to hold him.
Did he have any inkling of what she had in mind?
Even she herself was not fully convinced she was going to go through with it. She wanted to see, feel, touch, and taste what he was like first. So far, she found herself drawn to him on a much deeper level than she had thought she would. Most men fell prey to her raw seductive power almost instantaneously, it never mattered whether they were married or attached or single. Her almost animalistic pheromones overwhelmed them before they had a chance to even react to her physical beauty.
But not him. Perhaps he was impervious to her chemical charms. She suspected nevertheless that the problem was psychological rather than physiological. He was still thinking about his human mate, and his Amazon confidante. He would probably view this as an act of betrayal, no matter how much he had tried to convince himself that it was not real.
She felt a pang. Men like him were a rarity in her world. He was a gem to be treasured, too good for the likes of her. Though that unbidden, fleeting thought had crossed her mind...the temptation to begin it was too deliciously sinister to pass up...
No. Wait.
She did have the power, the choice was all hers to use it.
She walked carefully to the table, setting the decanter and glasses down. He looked up.
"Shall I pour you some wine?" She asked him, amused to see him do a double take. She had changed into a flowing, almost translucent Grecian green dress that accentuated her full womanly curves. She knew she was a stark contrast to what he was used to. She was fleshy and voluptuous, like a depiction of ripe femininity, a startling reminder of the Amazon.
"Yes, thank you," he replied, not meeting her eyes.
He was flustered, she could tell. She had always been piqued by shy men, and he was more passive than any she had ever met before. It was a strange trait to belong to one such as he, but she'd seen enough paradoxes in the universe.
He downed the glass of wine she had poured him in one gulp. When she amusedly poured him another, he emptied it as well.
He was trying to get himself drunk. She almost felt sorry for him. Whoever had his heart was a lucky, lucky woman.
When he drained his fifth glass and reached out for a refill, she put her hand on his. "I think you've had enough."
He agreed. "It's not you, you know," he said almost apologetically. "It's just the circumstances."
"Of course." She took his hand in hers, gazing into his eyes. His hand was warm, very alive, and she felt a kindling inside her. Leaning over, she pressed her lips against his in a chaste close-mouthed kiss. He seemed hesitant. Then, abruptly as if making his mind about something, he responded; kissing her back slowly, still close- mouthed, but with a rapidly building hunger.
She liked the way his lips felt against hers. They were soft, moist and succulent, and they tasted of the wine he had just drunk. He would be so easy to love, really. The way he was so easy to look at; with his soft, gentle blue eyes that wore a perpetually bruised, questioning expression; his marvelously sculptured features and his unusual spectacular beauty that had divine craftsmanship written all over it.
You have to take the lead in this, because he won't.
Gently parting his lips with her tongue, she probed tentatively, sizing his response. He did not resist, and allowed her to continue this exploration, his arm creeping around her body to steady himself. She felt his lips pull against hers in a gentle sucking intensity, and a plethora of his emotions assailed her - She felt his confusion at the newness of his world; the purity of his love for this Lois- she knew his human mate's name now; the calm resignation he felt towards his burden; the strength of his bond with Diana and the spiritual connection and physical attraction he felt towards her that he was trying unconvincingly to deny.
So, he did feel something for that Amazon. Maybe there was some hope for herself as well.
She pulled apart before she could drown into him.
"Come with me," she said huskily, leading him into the bedroom. He hesitated for just one moment before he obliged.
If he wanted to be honest with himself, Clark had to admit he was feeling slightly tipsy, and definitely not himself. In a way that was good, because he wasn't sure he could do this when he was himself. Okay, maybe more than just slightly tipsy. The dire thing was - he had to admit again - he was horribly attracted to Galatea. Why wouldn't any man be? She had the face of a goddess and the body of a supermodel. But he wasn't any man. He was better than this.
Lois and Diana's faces kept intruding themselves into his mind. And their voices ringing in his ears.
Breathe, he thought. This isn't real.
The bedroom was again very feminine, all white silk and embroidered lace, but it was comfortable enough, with heavily patterned palmettes and draperies lining the windows, shielding out all the light. There were several lamps and projectors placed strategically around the room, designed to give off as pleasing a glow as possible, to create a conducive environment. Clark felt weird in this pleasure palace, dressed completely in blue, standing out like a shadow amidst all that gleaming white. And a masculine contrast to the feminine aura pervading the room.
How would he even start? This was something he was so not good in.
"I think I need more wine," he announced.
"No you don't," Galatea said gently, taking his face into her hands and kissing him again. "Just do what comes naturally."
He felt himself responding to the kiss again, closing his eyes and tasting a vision that was part Diana and part Lois. The wine was making him light-headed, suggesting that there was something in it that could have an effect even on him, and the room was spinning a little. Or maybe it was her perfume. Whatever it was, he found himself hardening as she kissed him voraciously on the mouth, over and over again, as though she was trying to absorb him. Her hands were tugging at his shirt, and he helped her ease it off.
"So firm," she said, stroking his sculpted abdominal muscles. "And so alive. Such beauty. Have you always been like this?"
"No." He was beginning to feel more at ease, but still not enough. "In my civilian life, I'm dressed in loose suits and large glasses all the time. You wouldn't find me very attractive at all."
She smiled at that, "Somehow I doubt that. You'd still be the same man. And what about you, Kal? Do you find me attractive?"
He wasn't going to lie. "I think you're one of the most beautiful women I've ever met." And really, she was. Even if she belonged to the other side, nothing would ever change that. She was almost as beautiful as Diana.
"Would that be enough for you?" He caught just the faintest hint of sadness in her voice. "Or would you want me to put out the lights so you can pretend I'm someone else?"
Deep down inside, he thought she was just a little girl. Wronged by so many men in her life, sitting in front of a total stranger, begging to be loved. Something about that touched his heart deeply, and he felt a pang.
"No, that's enough for me," he replied, kissing her again and pushing her down against the bed.
He tasted divine, just like she knew he would. She was glad he didn't insist on turning off the lights. She wanted to look into his eyes as they kissed, wanted to see herself mirrored in them once he was inside her.
Through his deep, searching kisses; the feel of his skin brushing against hers; she could soak up his very essence like a sponge. She had yet to meet a spirit such as his - his incredible nobility, his compassion and empathy for those he protected, and his judgment in the face of right from wrong. He was not an innocent, as he had suggested. He was a modern-day warrior, a crusader of many battles. And indeed, there was something very chivalric about him. And sorrow. A sense of loneliness that came from being the last of his kind, a survivor's guilt.
It was a stretch to ask him to make her believe she was his beloved. He could not do that. Through him, she could feel his overpowering love for his Diana- that deep, undying emotion that was something approaching rapture. Such a love, so blinding in its intensity and so rich in its depth, could only spell doom for its partakers if it was cut short by fate. If either of them were to lose the other, the one remaining would surely wilt away, unable to sustain any enjoyment in life thereafter; for reality henceforth would be only poor consolation.
She knew now that he loved Diana as much as he loved Lois, even more if that was possible. He found her beautiful and earthy, as lush as she was feminine, and was drawn to her honesty and innocence. She could read the word he had framed in his mind to describe her: Goddess. She was divinity incarnate to him, a true testament to her namesake. His deification of her allowed him to separate his devotion to her from what he felt for Lois, who represented humanity to him.
But oh, Galatea could fall in love with him so easily. Already, she could feel this long-forgotten but once familiar emotion beginning to take root inside her.
I'm sorry, Kal, but I don't really want this to be over. I have to do what I must. Please, forgive me.
Then, all of a sudden, he stopped kissing her, and pulled away in a cold sweat.
"Sorry," he apologized as soon as he caught his breath. "I can't do this."
She sighed. "No. You don't have to be sorry. I understand." She sounded sad, resigned. He really was immune to her.
He rolled away and lay beside her, looking at the ceiling, still bare-chested, "I'm sorry to run, but I really should be getting back."
"Time works differently here. You can spend the night here with me. It would make no difference." She squeezed his hand. "Please do. Just lie with me. Give me that at least."
"Are you doing this to get back at Ragnor?"
"Probably," she said truthfully. "But mostly because I enjoy being with you. You're not like other men I've encountered."
His face lit up with a genuine smile. "You know, Galatea, you're not really a terrible woman. In this life I'm already taken. But in another life maybe...if we'd met under different circumstances."
He was hovering too close to the truth, so she said no more and let him drift off to sleep, still holding his hand. For a while, she watched him, admiring the way the shadows played in the contours of his chiseled features. When she was sure he was deep in sleep, she arose from the bed and crept out of the bedroom, her feet padding silently onto the plush carpeting.
She entered another room leading to the Morphean chamber's hidden wing, one that was guarded by a massive door only she had the key to. Opening a panel, she selected one known only to her, and cradled the tiny object to her bosom.
He was wrong about her. She was a terrible woman for what she was about to do to him.
Kal, I'm sorry. But I'm about to betray your trust.
She fought a rare and uncharacteristic bout of conscience, but eventually brushed it aside before placing the disc below his left ear.
-----x-----x-----x-----x-----x-----
Diana's heart suddenly lurched within her chest. Something had gone wrong, she just knew it.
They'd only been gone for ten minutes. But that woman had reneged on her deal, had done something underhanded, she was sure of it.
Her heart was fluttering in her breast, a disturbing thudding that was as unusual to her normally calm exterior as it was painful.
She struggled to collect herself as she considered her options with a growing dread. If something happened to Kal, she would never forgive herself. She would never forgive J'onn or Bruce. They had talked him into accepting this mission, damn them. Kal wasn't invincible, the way everyone seemed to think he was the rate they were going. It was always him up against some insurmountable odds, and he did it gamely, without complaining, without hesitation. He was risking his life for them everyday, facing threats that no one should have to face, and they, the League, and she were taking him for granted.
Damn them all to Tartarus, if they weren't in it already.
She was going to tear down the entire palace if she had to, just to make sure Kal was safe.
She knew she'd been told to wait. But when it came to Kal, all reason and rationality seemed to fly out of the window.
"Hera, forgive me," she said, unhitching her lasso as she rose into the air, "but I've to do this for a friend."
-----x-----x-----x-----x-----x-----
The moment he woke up, he immediately knew the world felt wrong.
He was lying on a divan swathed with red and gold sheets, propped up by an amazing number of pillows. Above him, a canopy of filigree curtains hung, bordering the bed in a cloud of transparent gold. The walls of the room were hung with heavy tasseled drapes, and there were plush rugs on the veined marble floor, all worked in the same pattern, but with blue and gold instead of red. There was so much blue and red and gold in the room that he thought he'd go colorblind.
Blue always was your favorite color...
He frowned. Now where did that thought come from? And more significantly, where was he?
He sat up in alarm. It was not so much a realization that he didn't know where he was, but that he didn't know who he was. His mind was churning up an empty blank. Wait... there were images… but these were so fleeting and so jumbled he couldn't make any sense of the flotsam.
Damn it, concentrate. Within his chest, he was aware his heart was drumming up a frenetic staccato.
Then the images formed in his mind. Yes. A woman with long burnished flaming hair in a green dress. A pool in a center court, with a fountain in the middle. Lush gardens with olive trees and white marble statuary. Crystal ewers of spring water. A waterfall and a river. Wondrous flying machines capable of fantastic feats. A menagerie of exotic animals- a winged golden lion, a silver unicorn, a six-tusked pachyderm. None of it made any sense.
My name, I know my name. It was at the tip of his mind...something that began with…
The door opened and a young woman entered, carrying a crystal pitcher. She had dark braided hair that was wound around her head in a style he found both familiar and yet strange, as though his mind was in a dichotomy, split in two as to what was right and wrong. She wore an off-shoulder, sleeveless white tunic that fell loosely down to her ankles. Around her arms were gold circlets, with a pentagonal insignia of something he knew he should recognize worked into the metal.
She looked at him, and obviously something about him startled her, because her mouth gaped open in surprise.
"Hello?" he said uncertainly.
The pitcher fell and crashed onto the floor, shattering on impact. The woman's cheeks colored. He looked down, and realized that he was naked, and the sheets had fallen off.
"For… forgive me, Your Majesty," the poor girl was stammering, terrified, "I'll… I'll go get the Queen."
She rushed off, leaving him bewildered. Queen? What Queen? Again, it was something he knew he should have known, but his mind - which was at this moment more scattered than the light splitting into myriad hues on the shards of crystal across the floor - was refusing to accept.
He groped for the sheets and swung his feet onto the floor, hoping to make himself presentable before this Queen, whoever she was, arrived and pronounced some dire fate on him for frightening her handmaid. If only he wasn't so addled. He wasn't sure where his clothes were, or what they were supposed to look like, if he had any.
In fact, he wasn't even sure if he was supposed to be fleeing right at this very moment.
Crossing the room, he made a beeline for what he assumed was the bathroom, his bare feet taking care to avoid the debris from the pitcher. He found himself in a smaller room that was completely silver and ebony mosaic, replete with a square pool in the middle and several miniature animatronic fountains that sprung from faux granite daises, showering the place with a pleasant tinkling sound. There was a large mirror above a marble table against one wall, and to this he strode, still frowning.
He was almost afraid to look at the face in the mirror. What if it was someone he couldn't recognize? A pulse was throbbing painfully in his forehead now, and as his reflection stood before him - a tall, extremely muscular and imposing black-haired man with lightly tanned skin and puzzled, deep blue eyes - hand raised to touch his own at the surface of the mirror, as though in supplication. Two worlds colliding, divided only by a crystal barrier...and...
"Kal?"
He jumped. That was his name. Yes! Only it felt otherworldly, as if it didn't quite belong there. The titan-haired woman he had seen in his vision was standing at the threshold of the bathroom that wasn't quite a bathroom, dressed in the same green dress he'd seen her wear in his vision, a long dress made of gossamer material, translucent everywhere except over her more private regions. She looked hesitant, as though she was afraid to step in.
"Are you all right?" she asked again.
He was deliberating on how to answer, and decided on telling her the truth. "I… I'm not sure I remember anything... about who I am, or what I'm doing here…"
She drew closer, and he could see how beautiful she was. If beauty was equated to royalty in this weird little world, then he surmised that she had to be the Queen.
"Do you remember anything about the riding accident?" she pressed, " You crashed your Vulcan 5. You were unconscious for two weeks. We were worried about you."
Riding accident? He wasn't aware he rode anything called a Vulcan 5; even the word felt strange to his mind. An image of a sleek gold and bluish silver hovercycle zipped across his temporal recesses, and a very large, bellowing three-horned, bull-like animal charging at him.
"I… I don't remember."
"It's all right." She had come up to him now, and she was standing so close that he could smell her perfume. "It'll all come back to you. I'm just so glad you're awake..." She laid a slender hand on his cheek. "…My darling husband."
The memories came in a dizzying rush all of a sudden, and he knew it to be true.
TBC
A/N: So, there it is. Clark didn't go through with it after all, but there are consequences to this choice as well. What, you ask? And what about the red-K that was advertised? All in due time (or maybe I've already introduced the infernal rock in some way, who knows?). You'll just have to r & r to find out. Again, thanks to all those who reviewed Ch2. I appreciate it, and I hope this fic manages to hold your interest a while longer.
Until the next chapter, take care.
Cael