It's terrifying that this hour is now what I consider 'late'. Actually, this is to the point of 'obscenely late' to me now. What is the world coming to? *winces*
Also, we answered a few questions in this chapter that you're all asked about. Now, I'm not say just *how* fully, but... ;) And anything that looks too simple a solution? Don't 100% trust it.
Enjoy!
Jason wasn't sure what, exactly, he was supposed to talk to Donna about. Shared commiseration over the loss of their powers? Advice for dealing with normal life when you were used to punching through steel?
What she wanted to talk about, it turned out, was that normal life. "I had it all," she said, once they got on the topic. "Husband, son, house, car, a nice little life for myself. I went from Titan to housewife, and Jason, I loved it. I liked taking care of the house, planting flowers along the walk, teaching Robbie nursery rhymes, having dinner on the table for Terry when he got home. Even my photography was more of a hobby than a career, but I was doing what I loved, and that's what mattered."
"That sounds like a pretty good life," Jason admitted.
"Something you'd like?" Donna asked.
He grinned. "Yeah. I don't know about the gardening thing, but I can cook." That startled a laugh out of her, and he shrugged. "It's the 21st century, men can be house husbands if they want and if their wives are cool with it. But yeah, I want that—a house and a family."
"Which most of us don't get in the hero business," Donna said. "I think part of the reason I jumped at that chance was … well, I was one of the original Titans. I was saving the world before I could drive. That kind of pressure gets really intense."
"Yeah. Yeah, it does," Jason agreed, nodding. "And if you're part of the leadership, too? Oh man, it's like the whole world is riding on you."
"So I saw a way out, and I bolted, and I had the life I wanted." Donna sighed and looked away. "The life I thought I wanted."
"What went wrong?" Jason asked quietly.
Donna turned to him with a quizzical look. "You don't know?"
He shrugged. "I don't pry into other people's business."
For a long moment, Donna stared out over the fields. Birds sang in the hedgerows, and somewhere in the distance a tractor was running. When Donna spoke again, her voice was quiet and controlled. "Terry … was my college professor. A lot older than me. I liked that about him, though. I liked that he had his life together; I liked that he didn't get all tongue-tied over Wonder Girl. I'd been around so many boys that a real man just swept me off my feet. But what you like about a person when you're thinking about dating them has a way of becoming the very same thing you hate about them when you're married."
Another pause, and she glanced at him. "I don't know why I'm telling you this."
"Because it's about the life you choose and the life that was laid out for you before you were born?" Jason speculated. "Also maybe because I don't know, and I don't judge people. Ever."
Donna nodded slowly. "Yeah, maybe. Anyway. Long story short, it got to the point where the only reason I stayed was Robbie. And then … the accident. From Titan to housewife in one leap, and then from housewife to widow in one horrible night."
Jason didn't know what to say. That kind of tragedy, he just couldn't imagine. Heck, he couldn't imagine how Donna stayed sane. "I know it's not much, but I'm sorry to hear that." The words sounded paltry, and he covered her hand with his, giving it a gentle squeeze.
She smiled wanly, squeezing his fingers once. "Thank you. I'm … better. Healing, at long last, and I never thought I would. My point is, even before the accident, I was starting to think I'd made the wrong choice." Donna laughed a little. "I never talked to anybody about this. Just recently I told Dick, and I always told him everything, but when I was in the middle of it, laying awake at night wondering what the hell I was going to do, I never told him."
Jason kept quiet, thinking, and then said, "The difference is, I didn't choose to lose my powers. This got thrown at me, and maybe … maybe it's meant to be."
Donna arched an eyebrow and gave him a too-knowing look. "Are you so sure?"
…
Morning of their last day in Smallville, and Kala woke with the sun, as always. She snuck outside in her pajamas for a sunbath, soaking up the golden rays, and sighed happily. As much as she loved the farm, she was ready to get back to Metropolis. A three-day weekend was time enough to see family and friends, time enough to enjoy the peace and quiet, time enough to take a mule trail-riding and be thrilled to spot a bobcat crossing the stream. Kala knew from experience that staying too long, say anything over two weeks, would only draw her attention to the things Smallville lacked: twenty-four-hour stores, her favorite brands of makeup and clothing (with the exception of L. Lang jeans), and a good Indian restaurant. And she had always made it a point to never get to that point.
She also missed the anonymity of Metropolis. Back home, Kala could travel six blocks and find herself in a crowd of strangers. She could use super-speed and flight with only a careful check to make sure no one saw her taking off and landing, and no one ever questioned how she'd arrived anywhere. In Smallville, where absolutely everyone knew her, she had to take travel-time into consideration. If she were seen at the general store at eight in the morning, and then at the gas station on the county highway at five minutes after eight, someone would notice and comment.
When she heard sounds of movement in the house as someone else got up, Kala dragged her mind away from those thoughts and went back indoors for a quick shower in the hall bathroom. She came back to her bedroom to pick out her clothes for the day, letting the steam disperse and the mirror un-fog so she could do her makeup.
Dustin had stayed over last night—something to which Grandpa Ben turned a blind eye—and for once he wasn't out of bed at the same time she was. Of all the mornings for him to be a lazy bum. Kala frowned, and nudged him. "Hey, sleepyhead, wake up. It's Sunday."
He only made a fuzzy noise and buried his face more deeply in the pillow. Kala poked his shoulder. "Dustin. Honey, getting up is kinda a priority. We have a plane to catch. C'mon."
"Fi' minu's," he mumbled, which Kala knew from years of living with Jason meant he wanted five more minutes. She shook her head and sighed, heading back into the bathroom. It would've been nice to use super-speed, but eyeshadow tended to get powdery when applied that fast, and eyeliner would smear, so Kala took her time, amusing herself with the notion that at least Dad never had to worry about this.
It was more like ten minutes when she returned to the bedroom to find Dustin still hugging his pillow in a death-grip. "Seriously, I love you, but we have to get moving. Wade's gonna be here to pick us both up in an hour. We've got to get dressed and finish packing and have breakfast."
His reply was unintelligible even to her. Kala leaned down and kissed his hair, then his ear, murmuring, "Oh, stop grumbling. Don't you want to go home?"
"I am home," Dustin mumbled in a sleep-thick voice.
That simple, sincere phrase shouldn't have scored so deeply, and yet it did. Kala froze while the words processed. Oh God. Her heart crashed right out of her chest, straight through the pine floor beneath her feet, dropped through the living room below, and ended up somewhere in the root cellar among the cobwebs and the smell of stored potatoes. For a long moment she just stood there, looking at Dustin with her tongue glued to the roof of her mouth and her eyes starting to sting. The worst part about it was that she had known. Somewhere deep down, she had known it was only a matter of time.
There was no way he would ever say those words to her while awake, but … that didn't make them any less true. To deny it to herself would be blatant foolishness. Smallville was home for Dustin in a way it never would be for Kala. Hadn't she just been thinking about how she couldn't stay here for more than two weeks without the homey closeness starting to chafe?
Kala sat down on the edge of the bed, feeling lost and alone and bereft while mere inches from the best guy she'd ever dated. Dustin loved her like crazy, and she loved him the same way. But she couldn't make him live in Metropolis for the rest of his life; he might do it for her, but it would be cruel. And while their time on the road had been fun, even then she had known he was longing for home. It didn't matter that she'd gotten him to try vegetable biryani and he'd liked it, Smallville would always call out to him as home. The sound of a whippoorwill calling at dusk, the long straight miles of empty road, the fields green with corn or golden with wheat, the impossibly broad blue sky overhead, all of it was his world.
Just the same way that the hustle and bustle of Metropolis, or any major city really, called out to Kala. The traffic, the sounds, the skyscrapers, the neon lights, the funky little shops tucked away in corners, the neighborhoods alive with personality, the constant mix and flow and blend of dozens of personalities and backgrounds and ethnicities all rubbing elbows in the arteries of the great city. A world where she could have the best bagels in town for breakfast, stop at a falafel cart for lunch, and then swing by a taco truck for dinner, all within a mile of each other, all delicious and fresh. A world where people actually organized gallery crawls and museum crawls, the arts and culture scene was so hot. A world where a Goth girl with purple streaks in her hair and silver eyeliner was ordinary. To Dustin it was all a whirl of constant interruption and diversion, but Kala loved the novelty and the fast pace.
What was she going to do? She loved Dustin. It hadn't been like this with Nick, as nuts as she'd been about him. It certainly hadn't been like this with Alan, also known as The Great Mistake. Hell, it hadn't even been like this the first time around with Dustin, when they'd been starry-eyed and ridiculous.
God, now she knew how Mom had felt the first time that ugly word divorce had been brought up. Kala leaned her head in her hands and tried to puzzle out some kind of solution, already suspecting there wasn't a good one.
Just then, her phone rang, and she grabbed it as much to keep the mariachi ring tone from waking Dustin as to distract her from her thoughts. "Hey, Gomez, what's up?"
"Are you sitting down, mamacita?" Sebast asked.
Oh hell, he sounded serious, and he hadn't called her Morticia in response to the Addams Family joke that Jason had unwittingly started. Kala felt her stomach do a slow roll. What now? She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "Yeah. Dígame."
On the other end of the line, she heard Sebast taking a deep breath too. "So that one shady-looking guy at the last gig? The one asking all the questions? He called back. Kala, he's an agent. He wants to sign us. We have an actual offer from an actual recording label."
That news left Kala vapor-locked. She wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry; signing with a label was a huge deal, pretty much the first real step toward her dreams, and it should've been the best new Kala had heard in weeks. But right now it just sounded like one more bell tolling for the end of her relationship with Dustin.
…
Kal-El didn't know what to expect from this meeting with Zatanna. She wouldn't tell him anything about Jason's situation over the phone, which did make sense—phone calls could be intercepted and recorded, after all. But he couldn't help feeling unsettled by the lack of even a hint.
So he was already tense when he arrived at the designated meeting spot, a theatre at which Zatanna would be showcasing her sleight-of-hand and other stage-magic skills later on. Her stage manager, Mikey, was setting up when Kal-El got there, but the woman knew about her boss' secret identity. "C'mon backstage," Zee said with a tip of her head.
Behind the plush black curtain was a whole other world of props and catwalks and rigging, which Zatanna navigated smoothly and Kal-El just tried to follow without bumping into anything. Zee finally made a turn into a dressing room and closed the door behind Kal-El. "I can see that you're worried, so I'll get right to the point," Zatanna said. "I've done literally everything I can think of to find the root of this problem. Scrying, tarot, a minute examination of both the opponent and the gauntlets he was wearing, everything. And I've seen Jason himself several times, including at Smallville—nice little town you have there, by the way."
Kal-El knew a summation when he heard one. "I understand, and thanks. So what's your conclusion?"
She sighed and tugged at the gloves she was wearing. "Honestly? From what I can find, this never should've happened in the first place. And from what I can sense, it actually didn't, in a way."
Frowning, he asked, "What do you mean, it didn't happen?"
"There's nothing wrong with Jason. Nothing. He has zero background magic operating on him at any given time—and other than some ley lines and Native American burial sites, Smallville is pretty neutral ground, magic-wise, so I'd be able to sense even something very minor."
That took a moment to process, Kal-El just blinked as Zatanna looked up at him intently. "There's nothing wrong…?"
"There is no magical influence blocking his powers. There might have been in the beginning, right after he was struck; it's within the capability of the enchantment on those gauntlets to short-circuit a super-powered being. But that's a very temporary phenomenon."
"It's been almost two weeks," Kal-El pleaded.
"Yes, and his powers should have recharged normally by now, but they haven't. Jason told me that even the main computer at your place up north told him there's nothing wrong." Zee adjusted the gloves again, which Kal-El realized was a nervous tic for her, similar to Lois and running her hands through her hair.
Slowly, he nodded. "His kryptonelles—the microcellular structures that fuel our powers—are intact but dormant. That's what the results of that scan were."
"Right. So the cause of his continued lack of power isn't magical. It can't be. And magic can't fix it, either, because believe me, I've tried." Zatanna gave a self-deprecating little chuckle, and added, "I've tried to the point where I'd better not screw up a trick tonight, because I don't have the reserves to back up stage magic with the real thing."
"Zatanna," Kal-El began, worried, and she held up a hand to halt him.
"Don't start, you know I don't run myself completely powerless unless the world's at stake, but I'm definitely going to be driving instead of teleporting for a while. It's worth it. He's your son, and he's a good kid, too. Only guy who's ever asked me if I could put on some pants." She smirked at that, clearly amused.
That did win her a chuckle. "I'm not surprised. His mom is Lois Lane." Kal-El had long ago stopped paying attention to the uniform choices of his female colleagues, but even he knew that Zatanna's stage outfit turned heads everywhere. Jason was more used to form-fitting spandex than fishnets all the way up to hipbones, so of course he'd been embarrassed and uncomfortable. Which was a good thing, from a fatherly perspective. Better than the leering some people thought was an appropriate response, and which Zatanna tended to handle with some very subtle magic.
"Now, I've got a couple of theories," Zatanna said. "One is … well, you know I lost my powers once, right?"
"I remember hearing about that," Kal-El said.
"I thought my magic was … dying, essentially." That candidly-spoken sentence hid a wealth of dread, and Kal-El nodded in acknowledgement of it. He did know a few things about the loss of powers that had always been there, even if in his case it was completely voluntary.
Zatanna continued, "As it turned out, I'd made some mistakes, and each one cost me self-confidence, and as John Constantine would tell you, magic is all confidence. In his case, usually in the sense of a con game, but then he never was one to waste magic when psychology would do." She smiled wryly as she spoke his name.
"Right, that makes sense. Your powers are essentially mental, and confidence plays a large part in that. But ours are physical."
"How do you know that?" Zatanna countered. "Yes, there's a physical component in the form of these kryptonelles, but that's only part of the equation. We don't know the exact mechanism for any of your powers, Kal. What if those kryptonelles are generating … something, some form of energy, that you're manipulating by an act of will?"
"Most of my powers work without me having to think about them," Kal-El replied. Thinking of it that way was odd, to say the least.
"All right, but what about flight? You don't just float off like a balloon whenever you stop thinking about staying grounded," Zatanna pointed out.
He had a quick answer for that. "I have taken flight unintentionally. One of the first times was while I was asleep."
Zatanna responded, "And probably dreaming about flying, like a lot of people do. The thing is, Kal, there's no physical or magical cause for Jason not to have powers right now. So it has to be mental."
Kal-El paused, thinking deeply. It all made sense, but he'd never given it any thought before. Zatanna folded her arms and looked at him seriously. "It makes me wonder, when you have two children whose power sets show almost no overlap in intensity. There's no power, except invulnerability, where the two of them are close to the same level. Jason's strongest powers match his personality, and Kala's match hers, from what I hear. Most telling, she can fly, and he can't."
"Why is that telling?" Kal-El had to ask.
"Because according to Jason, his sister has always wanted to fly, always been zooming off in search of something new and fascinating, even before she knew you were her father. And he never wanted it. He's the most grounded person I've met, in all senses of the word. So maybe they didn't inherit a genetic predisposition for certain powers. Maybe what they both inherited was the ability to express powers, and developed the ones that were in sync with their personalities."
His jaw actually dropped a little. That could be the case. Kala certainly had the gifts she found most useful: hearing and speed and flight, with just enough of the others to get by. And Jason had the powers most suited to his own way of being. "So, if the expression of our powers is mental, you think Jason's suffering from a lack of confidence?" That part of the equation still didn't make sense; Jason was one of the most quietly confident young men Kal-El had ever met, even factoring in fatherly pride.
Zatanna shook her head. "No, I don't think confidence is exactly his problem. I'm not sure what is, to be perfectly honest. But I do have an idea as to how we can get his powers to kick back in."
"You do?" The hopeful news brightened Kal-El's day considerably.
"Yes, but it's going to take some staging, and you won't like it," Zee said.
It turned out she was right on both counts.
…
Dr. Chisholm had been right: the internship was pure grunt work, mainly data entry, but Elise was floored by the facility itself, as well as the research being conducted there. Everything was top-of-line and state-of-the-art, and not just the high-tech equipment. All the chairs were ergonomically designed, each workstation was adjustable to exactly the right height and angle for each individual's comfort, and even the coffeemakers in the break room were high-end models designed to brew a single perfect cup in seconds. Elise wanted to work in an environment like this, where no expense had been spared in creating an efficient and comfortable lab.
And then the research … if the setting whetted her appetite, the research was making her salivate. No details, of course, since she was just a prospective intern, but she caught snatches of conversation and glimpses of work in progress. New synthetic polymers based on the silk of certain spiders, which promised a strength greater than steel cable in a slender, flexible strand. A chemical compound that bound to specific receptors in the brain, which rendered the recipient immune to a large variety of mind-altering substances for several hours. And a liquid substance, the origin and composition of which Elise didn't learn anything about, but in her brief glimpse she saw it transform from an unassuming puddle to a three-dimensional rigid structure, based on the application of sound waves, of all things.
Never before had she understood the saying about selling one's soul for something. At that moment, she did. This was her field, this was right on the cutting edge, and she hungered to be involved in it somehow.
Luckily there was no Faustian contract to sign, just a ten-page non-disclosure agreement with many aggressive clauses and dire warnings. Elise read it thoroughly, but nothing there diminished her desire to jump on any chance of an in with this company, so she signed with a flourish and was officially an intern of Wayne Enterprises.
…
The call came in late on Lois' third night at the Whites' penthouse. She was still dodging Kal-El, who was playing along now. Last night's phone call, well after Kristin was asleep, had been so full of double-entendre that Lois privately thought they'd invented triple- and possibly quadruple-entendre. At this rate they'd end up sexting like a couple of randy twenty-somethings.
So when her cell phone rang that late, Lois reached for it with a grin that lasted only until the realization that it wasn't his ring tone. Instead it was Lana's, and Lois took a deep breath. "Hey, Red."
"Lois," she said quietly. "Sylvia had another stroke an hour ago. It … well, it wasn't good."
"How bad?" Lois asked.
"She's in a coma. They don't think she'll come out of it, but Richard and Theo want to wait and see. Miracles do happen, you know." Somehow the lack of tears in her voice made it worse. That calm, sorrowful acceptance put a spike of pain in Lois' heart.
"Lana, honey, I'm sorry." Lois leaned her forehead into her hand. Dammit. Sylvia, why couldn't you have gone to the doctor? Hell, why didn't Theo make you? Why didn't Richard or Theo or somebody nag you into it?
Lois knew the answer, though. It was the very same reason she was overdue for a doctor's visit herself. All of the dire warnings in the world seemed ridiculous when you felt good. Not just good for your age, but good. Those things happened to other people, not you. It was easy to believe in your own immortality, because the alternative was scary as hell.
"It is what it is," Lana said. "I just wanted you to know. And, um, when you talk to Kristin, just tell her that Grandma Sylvia is very sick and might not get better. I trust you to have that conversation with her."
That thought was a punch in the gut. Kristin had gone to Martha's funeral months ago, and she was old enough to understand the finality of death, but young enough to feel its unfairness keenly. "Sure, Red. Whatever you need. Besides I still owe you for all the 'your mom isn't a total bitch' conversations you had with Kala."
"Oh, Lois, you know you never do anything by halves," Lana teased gently.
Lois chuckled. "Is that your way of telling me I am a total bitch?"
"I'd never say such a thing. Besides, you just want everyone to think you are, and I won't give you the satisfaction of being fooled."
A little too close to the truth there, but Lana and Kal-El had that in common: they spoke the truth no matter how hard it was. "You're a pain, cheerleader," Lois sighed.
"I know I'm on the right track when you call me 'cheerleader'. Listen, Lois, if there's any further news, I'll call back, all right?"
"Sure. I'll keep my fingers crossed." With that and some farewells, they both hung up, and Lois massaged her temples wearily. If anyone up there is listening, I've had my fill of funerals for the next five years. Just saying.
What Lois really wanted right then was a cigarette, but she didn't have any with her. She pulled on a robe and wandered out onto the balcony anyway, hoping the breeze would clear her head.
Metropolis sprawled around her, a sea of lights and sound. Even at this hour traffic moved regularly along the streets below, and Lois felt like the city was a heart, its driving beat pushing people along like blood through arteries. Here she was, above it all, looking down and wondering.
Lois gradually became aware that she wasn't alone, and turned to look. Kal-El hovered in mid-air, watching her, and he smiled when she turned toward him. "Good evening, Ms. Lane."
Yes. Here was the perfect distraction, the perfect reminder that even though time marched on relentlessly, they could grab a few moments to savor along the way. Moments that made everything else worthwhile.
She could give him the news later. Lois smirked at her husband, and replied, "Well good evening, Superman. Fancy meeting you here." With the arch of her brow and the bright gleam in his eyes, Lois figured the witty banter wouldn't last more than five minutes. There was an exceedingly comfy guest bedroom right behind her and Kristin slept like a brick….
…
"Shouldn't he be separated from the bitch?" Luthor asked. He and Mercy were looking into the large enclosure that currently housed Project Uplift and its mother, a female German Shepherd. She had no official code name, referred to as 'the dam' on all paperwork, but Lex had heard some of the staff call her Lady.
"I don't recommend it," Mercy replied. Project Uplift, also known as Krypto, was a fast-growing puppy, currently racing around the outdoor section of the dogs' enclosure. His white coat shone in the sun, and he periodically tried to engage his mother in a game, but she was lying in the shade and kept her eyes closed even when he tugged on her ears.
"Why not?" Lex asked.
He could almost hear Mercy switching into scientific-reporting mode. "Right now she serves as a modulator of his behavior. She is gentle and tractable, and he follows her example. If he won't come inside, we can get him in by calling her. He's already learned that if he doesn't follow her promptly, we'll separate them, and he doesn't like that."
"Doesn't like it?" Lex narrowed his eyes at that phrasing. "He's a dog."
"When we separate them, he whines and claws at the barrier," Mercy replied. "Which is why the door between kennel A and kennel B was replaced with reinforced steel. He never broke through the wooden barrier, but he managed to score it deeply. In any case, we need controls on him that don't rely on physical manipulation or restraint. The day will come when we can no longer handle him safely."
Lex scoffs. "If he's smart enough to learn that we'll separate him from his mother if he doesn't follow her inside when we call him, he's smart enough to learn that we'll kryptonite him if he tries to attack."
"That's the problem. He's too smart." Mercy nodded toward the dog, who was looking at them with his ears pricked. His blue eyes were focused on Lex, and there seemed to be a glimmer of intelligence there beyond the mere power of suggestion. "He's shown that he understands at least thirty words based on his reactions to what the handlers say around him. He certainly understands tone."
Mercy half-turned away from the puppy and lowered her voice. "Lex, we don't know how much the gene splicing boosted his intelligence. I wouldn't put it past him to deliberately plan an attack, and when he's fully grown he could do a lot of damage before we stopped him."
It was the way she spoke as much as the words that convinced him. Mercy was not superstitious in the least. If she behaved as if the pup were almost as intelligent as a human, well … she'd seen more of the data than Lex had, and she'd observed Project Uplift more often, too. "All right. I'll leave you in charge of developing those protocols, then."
"I already have some ideas—" Mercy began, and then her phone beeped a single loud tone. That was the emergency security alert, and she answered it immediately with the speakerphone function. "What is it?"
"Ma'am, Project Scion is out of his designated zone," said one of the guards.
She and Lex shared a look of mingled surprise and unease. So far Scion had been extremely docile, and showed no signs of the powers he should have had. But the possibility was there, and they both knew it. "Where is he?" Mercy asked.
"Unknown, ma'am. He was discovered missing at mealtime."
"Scan for him, then. Do not engage. I'll handle this myself," Mercy said. She broke into a trot, heading for the wing where Scion was housed. Lex kept pace with her. Scion responded well to both of them, and he was curious to see what this particular project was up to.
Later on, footage from the security cameras would reconstruct the sequence of events. Project Scion had walked calmly up one of the corridors, stopping at a door marked 'Laboratory 3'. He reached up for the door handle, but it was locked. At that same moment, a guard turned the corner and saw him. "Beat it, kid," the man said. Not every guard on the premises was familiar with every project, and this one probably mistook Scion for an employee's child—a practice Lex frowned on, but in this remote location there were a couple of children who could not yet be separated from their parents, and some talent was worth making sacrifices.
Project Scion turned toward him for a moment, then ignored him, trying the door again. The guard approached. "Didn't you hear me? That's off limits. Now scram." When Scion didn't react, the man grabbed his shoulder and turned him roughly around. "I said get lost, kid."
That was the moment when Lex and Mercy both turned the corner. Scion looked at the man's hand on his shoulder, then up at him, tilting his head in a manner more puzzled than threatened. Before Mercy could call a warning, before the guard saw his immediate supervisor and his ultimate boss arriving, the guard shoved the boy. "What's the matter with you? Move it!"
Scion took a staggering step back, caught himself, and then reached out. He grabbed the guard's belt at the buckle in one hand, and with a casual movement flung the man ten feet down the hallway.
Lex stopped where he was. Part-human, part-Kryptonian, created with Kryptonian cloning technology and grown in a birthing matrix, Scion was unlike anything else walking the planet, a complete cipher in some ways. One that had just demonstrated super-strength. How long had he had it? Was it brought on by a sense of threat, perhaps triggered by a spike in the boy's adrenaline? And what other powers were brewing in the exotic mix of Scion's DNA?
While Lex hesitated, Mercy approached, asking, "Are you hurt?" Not the guard, though. The boy, and she spoke in Kryptonese.
He turned toward them then, his gaze puzzled. Scion's black hair fell into a familiar curly forelock, but he was still too young to tell which of his forebears his features would resemble. "I am not," he replied to Mercy. His voice was level and calm; he rarely showed any temper, despite his youth. "Why did that man push me?"
"Because there are chemicals in that room which can be harmful," Lex supplied, moving forward. "It is his duty to prevent entrance by those who are not experienced in working with such chemicals. However, he was overzealous in that duty."
Mercy turned toward the stunned guard, who had gotten up carefully. Switching to English, she said, "That was unnecessary. Report to your shift lead for a replacement; you're on suspension without pay for three days."
Lex was watching Scion, and thought he saw a glimmer of comprehension on the boy's face. He shouldn't have been able to understand English, but as with the dog, it wouldn't do to underestimate him. Scion had been brought up speaking strictly Kryptonese, mostly through the teaching crystals Lex had copied from Superman's Fortress so long ago. His version of the Jor-El AI was incomplete, not really a true AI as much as a series of recordings—about as intelligent as a voice-activated telephone system, really. But it sufficed to give the boy the proper accent, and that was all Lex needed. Well, nearly all.
There were a couple of sounds in the Kryptonian language that humans found difficult to reproduce, and as Lex had learned several years ago in Nevada, a non-native speaker of the language could not access the most crucial information in the crystals without extensive preparation. Only a blood-relative of the El family, and one who spoke Kryptonese as fluently as a native—what would take decades of study for anyone brought up speaking a human tongue—could unlock the data on the deadliest and most subtle weapons of twenty-eight galaxies.
Luthor thirsted for that knowledge as he had few other things in life. What he'd learned so far had increased his fortunes and given him dozens of avenues of research to pursue, any one of which could have put him in his rightful place in the world. But the fact that some knowledge was still hidden burned in his mind, like an itch he couldn't scratch. Maddening.
And Scion would get all of that secret wisdom for him. Lex came out of his reverie as Mercy was telling the boy that if he was bored, she would show him around the areas of the facility that were safe. At Scion's assent, Lex fell in with them both, favoring the boy with a rare smile. Luthor was his maker, not his father, but he couldn't help feeling a touch of almost-paternal pride now and then.