The Death and Life of Superman (6 page)

“Here we go,” said Emil, pointing out a series of intersecting lines. “While I’ve been unable to determine the exact cellular mechanism, there is something about your Kryptonian physiology that stores and channels solar energy.”

“We already knew that, Professor. I’m essentially a living solar capacitor. My body’s converted all the energy I’ve absorbed over the years, amplifying my senses, boosting my strength, and so on.”

“Exactly! It’s the sun that made a Superman of you. Your body holds vast energy reserves, but they’re not inexhaustible. See here.” An inverted bell curve appeared on the screen. “This represents the twenty-four-hour period during which you towed a disabled Amtrak train through the Rockies, flew several tons of food and medical supplies into Central Africa, repositioned a falling communications satellite, and thwarted a terrorist bombing in Rome, among other things.”

“I remember. It wasn’t the busiest day I’ve ever had, but I was kept on my toes.”

Hamilton’s safety glasses fell back down onto his nose as he gaped at his friend. “ ‘Kept on your toes?’ Egads, you were shot at and blown up! You endured extremes of temperature, radiation, and hard vacuum! You flew nearly a million miles, often at speeds far faster than that of sound, and I’ve just barely been able to estimate how many ergs you expended!”

Superman shrugged. “I did feel a little weary by the end of that day.”

“Well . . . I . . . I should think so!” Emil removed the safety glasses and tucked them into his shirt pocket. The very act of doing so seemed to calm him. “That’s the point I was making. The public looks upon you as an indestructible champion, and they’re right—up to a point. Certainly, your body is invulnerable to harm from a wide array of weaponry, but there is no such thing as absolute invulnerability. Look at this.”

Emil hit a series of keys, and the graph on the monitor was enlarged. “At the end of that day, the readings I took showed a noticeable energy deficit. By that point, you were drawing heavily on your body’s energy reserves. If you had continued to exert yourself beyond that point, your strength would have continued to ebb, your senses would have dulled—and, of course, use of your heat vision would have accelerated the process. The greater the expenditure, the weaker you would become. Eventually, the bioelectric aura that accounts for much of your body’s invulnerability would begin to break down. That being the case, you could find yourself in mortal danger.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time, Professor. Twice, I’ve survived thermonuclear explosions in the forty-megaton range.”

Emil looked at him thoughtfully. “We must talk more about that.”

“Some other time, Professor?” An oddly plaintive tone came to Superman’s voice. “Neither experience was very pleasant.”

“I’m not surprised. The fact that you lived was miraculous. It must have put a terrible drain on your system.”

“I felt . . . awful afterward.”

“Yes . . .” Emil made some quick calculations. “Such an ordeal would severely affect your invulnerability. Still, the fact that you suffered no lasting effects is testimony to your body’s resiliency.” Emil turned back to the monitor. “Looking back at our testing period . . . by this point”—Emil’s finger traced the upward curve on the screen—“on the following day, you had already recovered nearly a third of the energy you’d expended.”

Superman studied the graph. “Then, according to your readings, within a day and a half I was back to normal? That sounds about right. I remember feeling much more on top of things by the end of that week.”

“Really? That is reassuring. My figures are, unfortunately, still the roughest of approximations. When it comes to measuring the limits of your power, I’m afraid my instruments are woefully inadequate.” A gleam came to Emil’s eyes. “How I’d love to have another opportunity to use the equipment in that wondrous Antarctic Fortress of yours!”

Superman considered that. The Fortress did have a lot to offer. In addition to an array of advanced analysis systems, its vast halls held holographic dioramas commemorating the history of his home planet Krypton, as well as working models of Kryptonian battle suits and robots. The robots, in fact, served to maintain his hideaway. Superman flinched inwardly at the thought of the Fortress as “his.” He rarely went there. Intellectually, he saw it as a memorial to the world of his genetic parents. On an emotional level, the place gave him the willies.
Visiting the Fortress,
he thought,
is like walking through a tomb . . . a cold, sterile tomb.

To be sure, Superman was the last son of Krypton, the sole survivor of that dead world. Had Krypton not exploded, his predetermined birth name would have been Kal-El. But he had not been born on Krypton. He had been born in a Kansas field, when Martha Kent had lifted him from the birthing matrix that had carried him to Earth. It was only in his eighteenth year that the Kents told him they weren’t his natural parents. He was over thirty before he knew of his Kryptonian heritage. Since then he had learned much about Krypton—its entire history was locked in his subconscious; however, he still thought of himself—first and foremost—as an Earthman and an American.

To Superman that Fortress of Solitude was like an unwanted inheritance from a distant relative, something to keep buried in the basement. It had been constructed beneath the ice of Antarctica, without his knowledge, by an ancient artifact called the Eradicator.

The Eradicator had been created millennia ago by one of his Kryptonian ancestors. It had been passed on to Superman by a dying alien cleric, who’d recognized him as Krypton’s last son. Its possession had been an endless nightmare for the Man of Steel. The Eradicator had proven to possess an artificial intelligence, programmed to preserve all things Kryptonian. To that end, it had manipulated Superman’s mind, submerging his emotions to remake him in the image of what its programming had come to consider the perfect Kryptonian. Superman had finally overcome the Eradicator’s influence, smashing the infernal device and hurling it into the sun.

But that had been a mistake.

Although the Eradicator’s physical substance was destroyed by the intense solar heat, its intelligence had somehow managed to survive. Slowly, this independent “mind” had managed to tap into the thermo-nucleai reactions of the sun’s core, using that immense energy source to re-create itself as a humanoid entity. This new Eradicator, possessing incredible solar energies, had returned to Earth, determined to transform the planet into a second Krypton. When Superman had tried to stop the Eradicator, it had nearly killed him. Superman had just barely managed to survive, pulling himself together enough to confront the Eradicator deep within the Antarctic Fortress. There, with the aid of Professor Hamilton, the entity had finally been defeated, its intelligence dissipated and its energies dispersed.

Superman looked at Professor Hamilton. The Eradicator had put Emil through hell while he was in the Fortress, but he’d come through all that without any lasting trauma. Typically, what was foremost in the scientist’s mind was the vivid memory of the Fortress’s Kryptonian technology.

“The things I could learn down there . . .” Emil’s voice trailed off dreamily.

Superman suppressed a smile. “Maybe we can arrange that, Professor.”

“Emil? Where are you?” A new voice echoed off the brick walls.

“Over here, Mildred. We’re just past the lathe! Watch your step—!”

The last warning came too late. Mildred Fillmore stepped onto an errant ball bearing, and her feet flew out from under her. Like a shot, Superman was across the room, catching the woman and sparing her a painful landing.

Mildred gaped at her rescuer as he set her back down on firmer footing. “Th-thank you.” She’d heard the professor mention working with Superman once or twice—and she’d of course seen the Man of Steel flying over the city—but she’d never expected to see him in person.
I didn’t realize he was so . . . tall.

“Mildred! Mildred, are you all right?” Emil came dashing forward, almost tripping over his own feet in the process.

“Fine . . . I’m fine, Emil. Just a bit startled, that’s all.” She straightened her waitress’s cap and tried to compose herself. “When you didn’t show up at the diner at your usual time, I figured you were working on something, so I brought you some breakfast.”

“Really?” Emil rummaged through the bag she offered. “Coffee black . . . large grapefruit juice . . . head cheese and liverwurst on pumpernickel with mustard and extra onions . . . and a giant kosher dill! Mildred, you shouldn’t have!”

“I know. Still, you always seem to survive.”

“Survive?!” Emil looked mildly offended. “A man can thrive on such a repast!”

Mildred smiled gently as Emil eagerly took a big bite of the sandwich. She gave Superman a wry look and shook her head. “I don’t know how he can stand that stuff, especially at this hour of the morning!”

“And I thought
I
had a cast-iron stomach.” Superman chuckled. He glanced at a clock on the wall.
Eight-oh-five . . . it’s getting late!
“Well, Professor, I have to be moving on.”

“Mmmph . . . oh, yes,” mumbled Emil. He swallowed his mouthful with a contented sigh. “Could you excuse us just a moment, Mildred?”

“Of course.”

Emil casually switched off the computer screen and accompanied Superman back across the lab. The big windows opened automatically at their approach. The Man of Steel grinned appreciatively as he clapped Hamilton on the shoulder.

“Thanks for all your time and effort, Professor.”

“My pleasure, Superman. I am so indebted to you. If not for your support, I would no doubt still be behind bars. I am honored by the confidence you have in me.”

“You’ve returned the favor a hundredfold. I know I can trust you to keep your findings secret.”

Emil made a zippering motion across his lips. “Mum’s the word!” With a nod and a wink, Superman leapt out into the skies. As the windows ratcheted shut behind him, he could hear the professor turn and walk back across the lab to his visitor.

“Sorry for the interruption, Mildred. What do I owe you for breakfast?”

“Consider it on the house, Emil.”

“That’s very kind, but . . . are you certain I can’t give you anything in return?”

“Well . . . you could take me dancing again.”

Superman immediately focused his senses in a different direction.
Better watch that eavesdropping, Kent.
He did his best to respect other people’s privacy, but it wasn’t always easy for someone who could see and hear as well as he.

Superman was glad to see that Mildred had taken an interest in Emil. And if he knew anything at all about human nature, the professor was interested in her, in his own way.
Well, good. Everyone needs a little love in their life.
Superman banked sharply to the west, picking up speed.
And if I don’t step on it, I’ll miss meeting the love of MY life!

3

“US Air 793,
service from Ottawa, has arrived at gate twenty-three.”

Lois Lane walked up the jetway, carry-on bag in hand. It sometimes seemed to her that she spent most of her life in airports.
That’s what happens when you’re born into the military,
she thought ruefully. Her father had been transferred to base after base on the road to promotion, and the family had dutifully followed. Before she was twelve, Lois had lived on three different continents. Captain Sam Lane had clearly enjoyed the constant change of scenery during the years when his daughters were growing up; the family had adapted as best they could. To this day, Lois’s mother, Ella, had boxes that she had never unpacked. Lois’s sister, Lucy, seemed unable to stay in any one place for long and had found work as an airline flight attendant. And Lois herself had become a reporter, her job often taking her across the country or out of it.

It wasn’t until the girls were grown and out on their own that Sam surprised everyone by opting for early retirement and settling in Metropolis.
For Mom’s sake, I’m glad he did,
Lois reflected.
Things are finally a little easier for her. But it figures that the Captain would turn into a homebody after teaching his daughters to be vagabonds.

That wasn’t all he’d taught them. Complications with Lucy’s birth had prevented Ella from having any more children, and Sam had never bothered to hide his disappointment.

“All my life I’ve wanted a boy . . . a son to carry on my name. Your mother has let me down twice, but I’ll make do.”

The memory of her father’s words still slung Lois.
You “made do” all right, Dad.
The Captain had drilled her and Lucy in hand-to-hand combat, and even put them through a course in survival training.
You were determined to make us as tough as any boy.
Lois grinned wryly.
The problem was, you did too good a job.
During her last year of high school, Lois had stood up to her father, told him off, and moved out. It was years before they even spoke to each other again.

“Pardon me, ma’am . . .” Lois was suddenly aware of a tall figure behind her. “. . . but ‘would you believe in a love at first sight’?”

She turned and smiled at a square-jawed man in a double-breasted suit. “ ‘Yes I’m certain that it happens all the time.’ Lennon and McCartney, 1967.”