>>> from the journal of H. G. Wells
I have finally succeeded in contacting my home office, but the news is not good.
The Lois Lane of this world followed a life path similar to the one in my home world up to the time she arrived in the Congo to investigate the gun-runner story which nearly killed her. This Lois, however, was captured by the gun-runners and turned over to a European criminal, who kept her with him day and night for nearly a year while he trained her to assist him in his brutal business. I have been unable to discover exactly what her role was with this man’s organization, but it cannot have been anything Lois Lane, crusader for truth and justice, would fervently embrace. I fear that she may have lost a part of herself during those years, years when her youthful idealism would have been crushed out of her soul by the horror and violence she must have been forced to live with on a daily basis.
And I fear that I may have inadvertently placed someone in deadly danger. I must tell Clark about this – but I am limited in what I might say without creating further temporal difficulties. Yet warn him I must.
I only hope I can warn him sufficiently.
>>>
As they cab pulled away from the medical complex, Lucy patted Lois’s hand and was rewarded with a sneer and a barely suppressed growl. “You’re all done with doctors for a while, Sis. It wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Lois grabbed the cab door’s armrest as they took a corner at high speed. “Not as bad as this!” As the car straightened, she snarled, “Stupid camel-kissin’ raghead!” loudly enough for the driver to hear. His back stiffened and he let out an exasperated sigh, and his dreadlocked head shook under his rainbow cap.
Lucy frowned but didn’t speak. This woman was so very different from the Lois she’d known and loved in the past. Her sister had always been intense, but she’d never exhibited racial or ethnic prejudice. Lois had told Lucy on numerous occasions that people might look different on the outside, but inside they were all the same color.
The Lois Lane sitting next to her was nothing like that. She seemed perpetually angry at someone or at something. She made rude and vile comments about people she saw based on their ethnicity or some other external characteristic. She offered opinions on the sexual habits and abilities of men they passed on the street, the sort of comments Lucy would have expected her mother to make when seriously drunk.
What had happened to Lois to change her so?
The cab screeched to a stop at a traffic light. Lois opened her mouth to yell at the driver again, but Lucy quickly asked, “How does dinner at my place sound?”
Lois’s head snapped around. “What?”
“My place. Dinner. Soup and sandwiches okay with you?”
“I thought you were making lasagna.”
“If you don’t mind waiting, that’s what we’ll have.”
Lois’s expression softened. “Sure, Punky. Lasagna at your place is fine.”
Lucy hesitated, but then pressed on. “You can even spend the night if you want. I have a guest room and no guests at the moment.”
From somewhere in the mists of the past, Lois’ smile slowly emerged. “Yeah. That sounds great. Oh, can we get my luggage from the bus depot?”
“Of course.” Lucy leaned forward and tapped the driver on the shoulder. “Please swing by the bus station, sir. We need to—”
“Non!” he growled back. “I don’ take her dere ‘less I leave her dere!”
Lucy leaned closer to get between Lois and the driver before Lois reached over the seat. “There’s an extra twenty in it for you.”
He ground his teeth for a long moment, then barked out, “Forty!”
Lucy shook her head. “Twenty-five.”
“Thirty-five!”
Lucy’s voice took on a firmer tone. “Thirty even and that’s my last offer.”
He ground his teeth again, but nodded sharply. “Thirty extra it be! You pay me when we stop and de meter keep runnin’!”
Lois grabbed her sister’s arm. “Luce, you don’t have to—”
“Done! You just drive sanely, okay? We’re not racing anyone.”
The man glanced at her in his rear-view mirror. “Maybe you don’ race no one, lady, but I do. More fares I get, de more money I make. Got to pay for all dis fine city livin’ some ways.”
“Just get us there in one piece and I’ll be happy.”
“Huh!” he grunted. “You fren’ not too happy.”
Lois shouted, “That’s because you—”
Lucy elbowed her back and was thankful that she didn’t lash out again. “I’ll worry about her, okay? You just drive.”
The cabbie pulled a toothpick from his shirt pocket and jammed it between his stained teeth. Lois glared at Lucy and flopped back against the seat, then dug in her purse for another cigarette.
“Hey!” he shouted. “You don’ smoke back dere, lady! Read de sign!”
Lois snatched the cigarette from her mouth and leaned forward. “You don’t tell me what to do, you—”
Lucy pulled on Lois’s arm. “Lois, please! Let the man drive, okay?”
Lois turned and glared fiercely at her sister for a long moment, then abruptly flopped back in the seat. “Fine!” Then she crumpled the cigarette in her fingers and threw the remnants on the floor of the cab as if daring the cabbie to say anything to her.
It was the stress, Lucy insisted to herself, and all the newness of being back in Metropolis after years of being away. That was why she was acting so out of character.
Then Lucy thought – and not for the first time – Where is she back from? Why did she come back now? And how long is she staying?
Was the woman next to her in the cab really her sister? Or had something driven out the Lois who had been and replaced her with someone far worse?
*****
James and Dominique didn’t intend to leave Clark out of their dinner conversation, but they did. James told several stories of how he’d started playing the markets using an old Radio Shack computer, a used TV as the monitor, and software he’d written himself, and how he’d tracked market trends for six months before diving in with actual money.
Dominique laughed with him as he told her that he’d actually gone deep into debt within five weeks, but then had turned it around in four days and made enough to get an up-to-date computer and his own office. He hadn’t looked back since then, and without actually bragging told her he was the seventh-richest individual in the world. He seemed disappointed and then embarrassed when she told him she already knew that fact. But then he shared a laugh with her when she reminded him that she was Olsen Industries’ executive secretary and was well-versed on such public knowledge.
Dominique made him smile again as she talked about her junior high school days in Louisiana and the Cajun country where she’d grown up. She told him about her ninth-grade drama and speech teacher who’d recognized her potential and helped her lose her bayou drawl and replace it with the Midwestern tones of a radio news announcer. And how she’d gone to college on a theater scholarship, had supported herself by doing small parts in several movies and a recurring role in a television show for two seasons, but decided to focus on business rather than acting. Actors were paid well when they were working, but whether in film or in television or on Broadway, over ninety percent of all actors needed a second job to make enough money to live on, and only the top three or four percent had anything resembling job security. Even those, she insisted, were just one or two bad career choices or personal problems away from bankruptcy.
James told her that she had complete job security with him, that his office had run like a Swiss watch from the day she’d started. She smiled openly and sincerely, then thanked him in a soft voice that hinted to Clark just how much she appreciated the praise.
Clark sat back and smiled. He was glad his friends seemed to be hitting it off. He even hoped they’d eventually take the relationship to another level, assuming they both wanted to.
And that thought led him to drift away, thinking about Lois Lane.
Which Lois should he think about? The one from the other universe whom he’d met for a few days and then seen only once more, the one who’d made such a tremendous impact on his heart and his life? Or the Lois from this universe about whom he’d learned from Lucy and her parents and Perry White and the other people at the Daily Planet? Or the ill-tempered she-cat who’d burst into their lives earlier that day?
He’d expected to feel something upon meeting her, some twinge of connection, some empathy with her or at least a spark of recognition. The only feeling Clark had gotten was a kind of wariness of her, as if she might jump in an unexpected direction without warning. She resembled a detonator set on a hair-trigger, ready to explode at the slightest touch.
Just as if she actually were a feral cat returning to human company after a lengthy absence.
He forced the thought away. He should enjoy the time with his friends. For a change, no autograph hounds had approached him, although he’d felt a number of stares boring into his back. There was little chance for him to appear in public without being disturbed, but fortunately this was one of those rare times.
He came back to the conversation just as Dominique repeated his name. “Clark?”
“I’m sorry, I was wool-gathering.”
She smiled mischievously. “I had just asked James if he’d heard of Thibodeaux and LeBlanc.”
Clark quirked an eyebrow. “I don’t think I’ve heard of them. Why don’t you tell both of us?”
She fell into a sing-song Cajun accent. “Well, as it happen one day, Thibodeaux, he drivin’ along past where his frien’ LeBlanc live and he see a sign nail on the tree what say, ‘Boat For Sale.’ An’ that be the firs’ time he ever hear about his friend LeBlanc got a boat, let alone a boat for sale. LeBlanc got a pirogue – ever’body on the bayou got a pirogue, that be like a flat-bottom canoe – but mos’ don’t got no real boat.
“Well, he turn his pick-em-up truck around so fast he almost lose his dogs right out de back o’ the truck. He pull up in the driveway in front of the double-wide and he jump out his truck almost before it stop.”
She was really getting into the story, thought Clark. Her eyes were wide and her accent thickened. “Thibodeaux, he run up them steps and then he whap-whap-whap on de door wit his hand. LeBlanc, he open de door and say, ‘Thibodeaux, ma good fren’, what de matter be?’
“’LeBlanc,’ say Thibodeaux, ‘how long we be friends?’
“’Why, ‘bout near all our lives,’ say LeBlanc.
“’Then how come,’ say Thibodeaux, ‘I got to find out you own a boat jus’ when you gonna sell it?’
“LeBlanc, he get all funny-lookin’ on his face and say, ‘Thibodeaux, I ain’t got no boat! If I got a boat, I done tole you ‘bout it already!’
“Thibodeaux, he turn and point at the tree an’ he say, ‘Den how come you got a sign out dere what say Boat For Sale?’
“LeBlanc, he laugh and say, ‘Oh, Thibodeaux, I ain’t sell no boat!’
“Thibodeaux, he cross all two of his arm and say, ‘Den you gots to ‘splain dat sign!’
“LeBlanc, he smile and point to a nineteen-and-seventy-one Ford half-ton pick-em-up truck at one end of the double-wide and say, ‘Thibodeaux, you see dat truck?’
“’Yah, I see dat truck.’
“LeBlanc, he turn and point to a nineteen-and-sixty-eight Chevrolet three-quarter ton pick-em-up truck on de other side of the Ford and say, ‘You see dat dere truck, too?’
“Thibodeaux, he frown at his fren’ and say, ‘Course I see dat truck too!’
“LeBlanc, he raise his hands and say, ‘Well, dey boat for sale!’”
Clark hesitated a moment, then groaned and leaned to one side as he got the punch line. James spluttered and almost spat out the drink of water he’d just taken. Dominique wore a cat-who-ate-the-canary grin as she speared another bite of vegetables.
James turned to Clark. “Maybe I should pay more attention to what she says when she’s taking my calls.”
Clark laughed out loud. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lex Luthor’s dinner companion aim a toxic glare in his direction from across the dining room.
He ignored her. “That might not be a bad idea after all, James. After all, she is the first person your visitors speak to.”
A distinguished whisper reached his ears. “Clark?” it said. “Clark Kent? Might I have a word with you? I assure you that is most urgent.”
Clark lifted his gaze and saw a short man in Victorian dress, complete with a small derby and a long bumbershoot, peering intently in his direction. The headwaiter apparently wouldn’t let him into the dining room, and they were beginning to pull in different directions.
It took a moment for Clark to place the man, but then he realized that he was looking at H. G. Wells. Maybe Mr. Wells had some information about Lois Lane. At any rate, if Clark didn’t move quickly, the man might be gone.
He put his napkin next to his plate. “Excuse me, please,” he said as he stood. “I need to see a man about a horse.”
James looked puzzled, but Dominique smiled brightly. “Of course,” she purred. “Make sure you check the molars for excessive wear.”
Clark smiled and stepped towards the man who might have some important answers for him.
*****
Wells was most apprehensive. He didn’t recall any point in his life when he might have made a mistake of this magnitude. There were any number of permutations, branches, and possibilities, and most of them were not conducive to the formation of Utopia on this world.
And now he had to confess to Superman what he’d done. To say that he was reluctant to engage in this conversation, much less begin it at all, would be an understatement of the highest degree. However, having offered the invitation meant that he had no choice but to go through with his planned confession.
“Hello, Mr. Wells,” Clark said. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
Wells winced. “No pleasure, I’m afraid, Mr. Kent,” he replied. “Is there a room with a degree of privacy where we may converse?”
“I don’t know.” Clark turned to the headwaiter and asked, “Can we use a private room for a few minutes? We won’t be there long.”
The headwaiter assumed an expression which made Wells think the man was suffering from a chronic digestive complaint. “I will escort you, gentlemen. But I must insist that you depart from the room within ten minutes.”
Wells sighed. “That would be splendid, sir, and more than a sufficient amount of time. Thank you.”
His lips still pursed tightly, the headwaiter turned and headed down a wide hallway.
He stopped the parade in front of a redwood door with the label “Davis Room” on it. “Here we are, gentlemen,” he forced out. “There is a business engagement scheduled for nine o’clock tonight, and we must begin preparing the room in – “ he glanced at his watch “ – nine minutes or less.” He unlocked the door and opened it for them. “The door will be locked to prevent outside entry, but you may depart by simply turning the doorknob. Please close the door firmly when you exit, as it will engage the lock and prevent unauthorized entry.”
Wells almost bowed to the man. “You are most kind, sir. Thank you very much.” Then he scurried into the room and held the door until Clark followed him.
Clark stopped for a moment and turned to look at the huge room. Wells joined him appreciating the immense space, though he thought it looked like a library from one of the nineteenth-century robber barons. The floor area had to be close to two thousand square feet, the ceiling was over twenty feet high, the furniture appeared to be authentic early American, and the walls were covered with full bookshelves and oil portraits of stern men in formal dress.
Clark shook his head and faced the smaller man with little patience in his voice. “Okay, Mr. Wells, what’s going on?”
Wells pulled a kerchief from his vest pocket and wiped his forehead. “I fear, Mr. Kent, that I have committed a grave error.”
“Oh?” Clark crossed his arms.
It was most intimidating. Wells felt like a tiny Capuchin monkey about to be eaten by a ravenous leopard. “W-well,” he stammered, “you see, I should not have – rather, I believe my timing was a bit – oh, I am so sorry!”
Clark held his pose and waited for a long moment, then said, “Do you mind telling me why you’re so sorry?”
“It’s Lois Lane!” Wells turned and began pacing from the middle of the room to one wall and back again. “I failed to perform due diligence when investigating the timeline here. It appears that Lois Lane in this dimension is not who she is in nearly every other dimension I have visited.”
Clark frowned as if in thought. “I know that she’s been through a lot more hardship in her life than the other Lois I met.”
“Oh, it’s much more than that, my boy!” Wells halted under a painting of a long-dead banker. “I cannot tell if this was forced upon her due to her unfortunate circumstances or because of some fundamental flaw in her character, but this Lois Lane is not who she appears to be.”
“In what way?”
Wells pulled out the kerchief again and mopped his face. “Does it seem warm in here to you? I feel warm.”
“Mr. Wells!” Clark barked out. “Tell me what you mean!”
Wells hesitated. If he told Clark too much, it would befoul the timeline even further. It was possible that he’d already said too much. But if he told Clark too little, the young man might not be as wary as he needed to be. And the future was closed to Wells at the moment, possibly because he himself was involved in setting it on its new course.
“My boy,” he finally said, “I must warn you that the Lois Lane you met some years ago bears very little resemblance to the woman I brought back from Africa. She—”
Clark’s arms dropped to his side and he appeared stunned. “Is that where you found her? In the Congo? After I searched under every rock and giraffe on the veldt?”
“No, no! I first located her in Johannesburg. South Africa. And I first made contact with her in Brussels. Belgium, that is.”
“That’s not anywhere near Africa.”
“No, it is not, but that is where she was.”
Clark stopped and seemed to draw into himself. Wells was relieved for a moment, but then he realized that Clark was thinking. And the conclusions he drew were sure to puzzle him.
So Wells decided to forestall him. “My boy, you must ask Lois the questions you now wish to ask me. I cannot interfere any further without endangering the future.”
“Really? You said you’d already endangered the future.”
Wells sighed. “I did say that, and I have done that. But I fear that giving you more information would do irreparable damage and endanger the Utopian society you are intended to establish.”
“I’m not nearly as concerned with the future as I’m concerned about the present! Now give me whatever you can and do it now! I’ve got friends waiting for me out there.”
“Harrumph! Yes, of course, young man.” Wells closed his eyes for a moment and made a decision. “When you next speak with Lois Lane, ask her questions about the time she was missing and listen to her responses. Watch her facial expressions and her posture as she answers you. It is possible that she might attempt to mislead you concerning her activities for the last seven years.”
Clark blinked. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got?”
“I fear so, yes.”
Clark frowned at him. “I’d already decided to do that, Mr. Wells. I don’t need you to be Captain Obvious with me.”
Wells started to ask with which branch of service Captain Obvious had served, but Clark overrode him. “I already knew she wasn’t being honest. Most of those injuries didn’t happen in a car wreck or a plane crash. They were inflicted during several different fights over a period of several years.”
Wells didn’t answer. He knew of many of the conflicts in which Lois had been engaged, though he was not privy to all the details. And he didn’t dare hint about her children to Clark. Heaven only knew what Superman might do upon learning that information.
“You’re not going to tell me anything else, are you?”
Clark’s flat declaration brought Wells out of his reverie. “No, I fear that I cannot. I am not even certain that I should have shared with you that which I already have shared.”
Clark lifted his hands to the sides in apparent exasperation and let them fall. “Then why in the name of leftover pizza did you even show up tonight?”
Leftover pizza. It was quite typical of Clark to use such an expression.
Wells pushed aside his amusement. “Because I am responsible for the developing dangers. Had I not acted rashly, these things might have taken the path they were intended to take. Your life would surely be different without my meddling. You might never have met your Lois and you very likely would have—”
Shut up! he told himself. Do not say any more! You dolt, you have said too much already!
Clark eyed him with speculation but didn’t pursue the thoughts at which Wells had hinted. “Okay, Mr. Wells, I’ll be careful around Lois. Anything else you have to not tell me?”
Wells sighed yet again. “I apologize for my lack of clarity, my boy. I only wish I could point you in the proper direction.”
Clark moved past him and opened the door. “How about we settle for you not getting in the way anymore?”
Wells nodded and left the room, then continued down the hallway and out the front door.
His time machine was hidden in his rented cargo van. He hoped that the clerk would not be in too much trouble when he discovered that Herbert George did not live at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, Gotham City. Perhaps it would help if he left the van in the rental parking lot.
Or perhaps he’d ruined the lad’s life. He seemed to be doing such things with ease lately.
At any rate, he had a few errands to run, beginning with discovering Lois Lane’s real reason for being in Belgium in the first place. And perhaps he could discover why she was so reluctant to divulge her whereabouts during the previous few years.
*****
Clark was well versed in wearing outward disguises. He could easily seem to be aloof, stern, firm and unyielding, or utterly confident while wearing his flashy suit. Or he could appear to be gentle, kind, open and friendly, or the perfect confidant in his business clothes.
But he had learned repeatedly that he had trouble fooling the people who knew him well. Which, of course, meant that he was not a good liar. And that, he decided, was not a bad thing to be.
Except sometimes.
James called him on it almost as soon as he sat down. “How was your horse – hey, what’s wrong?”
“What? Oh, nothing.”
Dominique narrowed her eyes at him. “Honey, that horse o’ yours ain’t winnin’ no races any time soon, is it?”
He sighed. “No, it’s not. And I’m not sure what to do with it.”
James tilted his head. “I assume fixing the race is out of the question.”
Clark recognized the attempted joke, but the statement was too close to reality for him to think it was funny. “No. I think the worst thing I could do right now would be to try to fix the race.”
Dominique tapped his wrist and smiled. “Then let’s enjoy our meal and the company. My mother loved to tell me not to borrow trouble from tomorrow, and I’ve tried to live by that piece of wisdom for years.” She lifted her tea in salute. “To our friendship.”
James and Clark both tapped their glasses against hers and they all drank together. But Clark noted that he dropped out of James’ and Dominique’s mutual line of vision almost right away.
If these two can find something with each other, mused Clark, maybe there’s hope for me yet.
His attention drifted, and he inadvertently tuned in on part of the conversation between Lex Luthor and his dinner partner. “—don’t think the Belgians want anything to do with you or your company, Lex! They keep putting you off and delaying any decision to let you start exporting!”
He shouldn’t be listening in. Doing so was unethical.
But it was also getting quite interesting, especially the part about the Belgians, Belgium being the place Lois had been when Wells had located her.
Like any good investigator, Clark hated coincidences.
“Arianna, my dear, perhaps we should not discuss this in a public place.”
“Pfft! No one can hear us, unless it’s that superhero over there, and he’s supposed to be too ethical to listen in on private conversations like this one.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Clark watched Luthor shoot a quick glance his way before saying, “Arianna, you must allow me to make this decision. If my Belgian partners require a personal visit from the head of LexData in order to close this deal, then I shall have to go there. After all, if the mountain will not come to Mohammed—”
The mention of LexData – the main competitor of Wayne Information Services, where Lucy worked – was enough for Clark to decide to keep listening.
“I still don’t like it,” Arianna grumbled. “Georges is being unreasonable, and he’s not an unreasonable man. There’s something else going on in the background, something we’re not seeing.”
Luthor let out a sign which sounded to Clark like exasperation. “You are behaving in an almost paranoid fashion, my dear Arianna. This is a business deal, nothing more, nothing less. Both of our companies stand to make a great deal of money, and Georges simply doesn’t want to be cut out of the profits.”
“And you’re too trusting, my dear Alexander,” she purred back. “You think you’re immune to coercion or scandal or even assassination because you’re so rich and powerful. You’re not. In fact, there could be two or three people right here in this room thinking about where to ditch your body.”
Clark wasn’t sure of that statement, but he admitted to himself that he could imagine that there were several people who wouldn’t mind Dr. Carlin’s absence being made permanent.
Lex answered her with some aspersion. “Arianna, we are husband and wife. We are not mere business partners. I will listen to your advice and to your counsel on such matters, but I will not be ruled by your words. I do not try to guide you in treating those of your patients with mental issues because you are far more qualified than I to perform that function. And while you are far from a novice, I will thank you not to assume that you understand the world of business and high finance more thoroughly than I do.” Luthor picked up his menu and scanned it. “I suggest the baked grouper. It’s fresh tonight.”
Clark forced himself away from the conversation and focused on his friends again. After seeing what might be developing between James and Dominique, any parallels between them and the pair he’d been listening to were disturbing. He reminded himself that one couple’s troubles didn’t necessarily presage trouble for another couple.
But he also made a mental note to look closer into Lex Luthor’s business dealings to see if he could find something that didn’t look kosher. After all, as Mr. Wells had hinted, it pays to be cautious.
