Another heavy wave of nausea rolled over him like a tempest tossed sea.
Tempus?
That name sounded familiar, as well as the ugly emotions that roiled to the surface like a hive of enraged fire ants. He seemed to scrape the very bottom of his reservoir of strength to lift his hand and bring it to his face. The appendage seemed faint, almost like a translucent membrane. Carefully, he walked over to the mirror and what he saw tore a ragged scream from his lips. His clothes were in solid stark contrast to his body, he was literally fading away. A thought, half-formed galloped through his mind. Is this a late blooming manifestation of his alien powers?
Abruptly a sharp knock on the door split through his shock and terror. <Who could it be? Maybe it’s Lois checking up on me? I can’t see anyone now!> The knocking started again, this time more insistent. Then a voice with a distinct British accent came through. “Mr. Kent! Mr. Kent! I know who you are and what’s happening to you. Please let me in.”
Clark stumbled up the short flight of stairs and managed to walk to the door, something about the voice was achingly familiar, and this was someone he could trust. He reached over to unlock the door when he noticed that his right hand had simply melted away. A strangled, frightened cry escaped his throat.
“Mr. Kent … Clark, you must remain calm, I can help you! Please do try to open the door.” Clark looked down and saw that his left hand was still strong and solid. With super speed he flung open the door. Standing before him was an older gentleman wearing a black frock coat and a black bowler hat. He looked like someone who had just stepped off the stage of an Edwardian play. Slung over his shoulder was a satchel made of dull metallic fabric which contrasted oddly with the man’s costume. He bounced jauntily on his toes and said, “H.G. Wells at your service! It is a pleasure to ah, ‘see’ you again Mr. Kent.”
I was wondering when Herb would show up....
“True, taking you out of that timeline changed many things. I am sorry about the broken engagement with Miss Lang, but it seems that the two of you were never meant to be husband and wife. Miss Lane on the other hand, is alive and doing what she does best; investigating and exposing corruption, such as this fellow who owns DMG. The only way to put an end to this villain’s deeds is to work together as an investigative journalist team.”
“But how do I keep Tempus from destroying my life now? Surely he knows who I am? Unless…” his voice trailed off, “Lois and Clark from the other universe! I was … Superman to help him?” Clark said the name, testing the word.
“Correct! When Tempus tried to destroy Clark Jerome’s identity you were there to prove him wrong – as Superman. But remember so many events here have changed. Miss Lang is now married to Gregory Daae. Perry White did not run for office, so James Olsen won’t be arranging a debate between him and Tempus. You won’t have to face Templar at a television station. But eventually there will be a confrontation with him. He is a man of means in Metropolis, albeit he is not as well-known as either Mr. Daae or Lex Luthor, but he is a shadowy manipulator in the corporate arena.”
“Lana?” Clark asked, despite everything, he still could not dismiss her as she had done to him.
The expression on Herb’s face was blank when he said, “Mrs. Daae has chosen her path. There really is nothing further to be done in that regard. Whatever difficulties she and her spouse face in the aftermath of the media exploitation investigations cannot be a barrier to yours and Miss Lane’s investigation … or your future happiness together. My chief concern in this matter is Superman and Utopia.”
“Superman, that’s my secret from the dream I had. It is … my secret identity?” He asked.
A little harsh aren't you Herb?
