>>> from the journal of H. G. Wells
I have succeeded in moving my machine. I cannot traverse forward or backward in time, but I am able to move laterally within a moment, which means that I have finally departed from Brussels and returned to Metropolis without attracting excessive attention. I am glad that the storage room I rented last week is still empty, since the safeguards on my machine prevent it from materializing within a solid object or onto an unsafe or non-level surface seem to be disabled.
I have learned nothing more about Lois Lane and her activities. And I am still unable to peer into the future of this world, nor am I able to contact my headquarters to call for assistance or even guidance. I am not even certain that taking the time to write in my journal is warranted, given the precarious circumstances in which I find myself, but I have trained myself to record my thoughts and actions on missions so that I may study them for insight at a later date.
I also record my thoughts and actions in order to inform my compatriots of my final failure, should such be my own fate. Hopefully, that event is still far in my own personal future.
But one should be prepared for any outcome, including the least desirable ones.
>>>
Dana Banquo told herself not to get involved. She was alone and off duty. She’d just finished a filling meal. She wasn’t in uniform, had no radio with her, no way to call for backup, this wasn’t her precinct, she only one extra magazine for her service weapon, and her backup weapon was locked away in her gun safe at home. She had no business moving toward the sound of the disturbance near the Daily Planet truck dock.
But rookie or not, off-duty or not, under-gunned or not, she was MPD. The crowd was getting rowdy, and she could see the half-dozen uniformed officers inside the semi-circle of protesters were cut off from their squad cars. If she were in that situation, she’d want someone to come help her.
She didn’t recognize any of the officers who were in danger, and so far no one was throwing anything but insults at them. So she sauntered toward one of the three police cars parked nearby and reached out for the door handle.
A man put his hand on her wrist and said, “Wait up, sister. That’s phase two, remember? Just stick with the plan.”
Dana made a snap decision. She planted her foot and drove her fist into the man’s midsection, then pushed his collapsing body away from her and yanked the door open. She lunged inside, then slammed and locked the doors to keep anyone from stopping her.
No keys. Not in the ignition, not behind the sun visor, nothing. She couldn’t move the car, but she could call for backup. She found the unit number and turned on the radio.
“Detective Dana Banquo calling from Unit Eleven-One-Seven at the Daily Planet loading dock. Uniformed officers are cut off from their cars and surrounded. There is no violence yet, repeat, no violence, but the situation is volatile. Requesting backup immediately.”
The speaker crackled to life. “This is dispatch. Repeat your ID, Detective.”
“Detective Dana Banquo, shield number Tango-Delta-three-three-one-seven-Able, requesting backup at Daily Planet loading dock. I don’t know the street address.”
After a moment, the radio came alive again. “Confirmed, Detective Banquo. Please remain where you are and—”
A bottle of something flammable smashed against the windshield and fire splashed across the glass. Dana dropped the microphone and jammed her hand down in front of the seat, then caught the Lex-Tec semi-automatic shotgun as it slipped out of its rack. She only hoped the 20-round magazine was full.
She risked spending an extra second in the car by lurching across the front seat and slamming out the passenger door. As she’d hoped, the bulk of the group assaulting her was on the driver’s side. She lifted the shotgun and fired into the air twice, then moved toward the encircled officers with the weapon at her shoulder.
The result was as good as she could have hoped. The men and women surrounding the trapped police were startled at the twin booms from her shotgun, and when they saw her coming they scattered. She ran through the hole in the formation and took cover behind a dumpster beside a grizzled older man.
He leaned over to her, holding his service weapon in a two-handed target grip. “You a cop or a concerned citizen?”
The noise from the mob, which had abated somewhat at her appearance with the shotgun, rose once again. “Detective Dana Banquo. Just passing through and thought you shouldn’t have all the fun by yourself.”
“Very funny, Detective. Where’d you get the shotgun?”
She glanced at the stripes on his sleeve. “From the patrol car that’s on fire now. I called dispatch for backup. I think they got the message.”
“I sure hope so.” The sergeant let out a long sigh. “I don’t know what set them off. None of my guys had guns out. We were even trading jokes with some of them. All of a sudden it’s like we’re all Frankenstein’s monsters and they’re the villagers come to kill us.”
“I don’t think this is spontaneous, Sergeant.” She told him about her encounter with the man just before she opened the patrol car door.
“Great,” he growled. “If this is phase two, I hope they don’t have a phase three.”
“I wouldn’t count on it.”
“Huh?”
“Nothing, Sarge.”
But it was something, and Dana knew it. There was a connection between the union creep she and Miguel had seen talking with Lois Lane a few nights before. Dana didn’t know what the connection was, but she was certain that it was real and that the Lane woman was involved somehow.
Now all she needed to do was get through this incident and report her suspicions to her boss. The mob seemed to be building themselves up to something. They were shouting louder and the few words she could make out held more and more vitriol. Their faces looked harder and a little crazier to Dana, and they began to shuffle around in a kind of Brownian motion that brought them closer to the officers with each passing moment.
A brick arched up from the middle of the mob’s formation as if thrown by a catapult. Surprise froze her, and it appeared to Dana as if she was about to get clobbered by phase three if she didn’t move.
And she would have been clobbered had the brick not been snatched out of the air by a pair of super-hands. Nothing like a last-instant rescue, she thought.
Superman dropped to the ground hard enough to crack the concrete beneath him. He walked toward the mob, held the brick aloft between his raised hands, and crushed it into powder.
The crowd noise diminished appreciably. Superman brushed his hands together and took two long steps forward. His eyes, narrowed and angry, scanned the crowd.
Then he spoke and his voice rattled windows all along the street.
“I don’t care if you want a raise in pay or better hours or improved working conditions. Those are all legitimate subjects for you to discuss with the management of the Daily Planet. You have the right to go on strike to leverage James Olsen to accede to your demands. I will never interfere with those rights.”
He balled his fists and seemed to grow bigger. “But I will NOT allow any of you to harm police officers who are only doing their duty! These men and women did not threaten you. They did not attempt to stop you from exercising your legal rights. They did not interfere with your demonstration as long as it was peaceful.”
Superman then did something Dana didn’t know he could do.
He rose up and hovered about six feet off the surface of the parking lot, then clapped his hands together between each word of his next sentence.
“I! WILL! NOT! ALLOW! THIS! VIOLENCE! IN! MY! CITY!”
The claps and Superman’s words echoed from building to building. Windows rattled again, harder this time, and Dana saw a couple of dogs running down an alley with their tails tucked under. Several nearby car alarms went off, and nearly everyone listening – Dana included – ducked their heads and covered their ears. The mob’s momentum was broken and they were no longer a threat.
The Man of Steel hung in mid-air for a moment longer, then lowered himself to the pavement and crossed his arms. Staring at the protesters until they left the area, he remained there as a sentinel of safety for the officers.
Dana turned her head and looked at the sergeant. She could see his mouth moving but couldn’t understand his words, so she looked where he was pointing and saw the patrol car which had been fire-bombed while she’d been in it.
It was encased in a sheath of ice.
Of course, she thought. Superman froze the car to put out the fire and keep it from blowing up before he caught that brick. That was a good idea, and she planned to thank him for his foresight.
Just as soon as the blacksmiths in her ears quit beating on their anvils.
*****
Lucy sat on the edge of the chair and gnawed at her knuckle as she listened to the TV commentator report on Superman’s actions in breaking up the near-riot at the Daily Planet. She was thankful that Clark had been there, and she was glad that no one had been seriously injured, aside from one near-incoherent man claiming police brutality and several protesters who claimed to have suffered hearing damage from the level of noise Clark had produced. The only property damage was to the police car which had been fire-bombed and then frozen.
The TV talking head read a statement from the truckers’ union denying any responsibility for instigating the conflict, then a statement from James Olsen about suspending the contract negotiations until things and people calmed down. Oddly, the commentator also mentioned that Lex Luthor had been asked for a comment. The next clip showed Luthor replying that he was sorry the negotiations had spiraled down into violence, and that if the union or its membership had instigated it they were totally in the wrong. He called on the union leaders to bargain in good faith as long as James Olsen doing so, and if the talks broke off at this point it wouldn’t be the fault of his good friend James. The police commissioner added that there would be extra security in and around that part of the city for the foreseeable future.
Lucy clicked off the TV and sat gripping the remote. She was scared. It was almost as if the days before Superman had gone public had returned, with people firing weapons in the air at the slightest provocation and everyone either averting their eyes from all strangers or staring at each other in open challenge. She’d witnessed two shootings back in those days resulting from nothing more than people who refused to allow others to pass them on the sidewalk. And those hadn’t been the only ones she’d seen.
She heard Lois pad softly into the room and was surprised when her big sister put one hand on her shoulder. “He’s okay, Luce,” whispered Lois. “He’s big strong Super-guy, remember?”
Lucy blinked the sudden tear from her eye and shook her head. “It’s not him I’m worried about.”
Lois’ hand tightened on her shoulder. “Maybe not all, but it’s a big part of it.”
Lucy’s head ducked and she sniffed once. “Before he showed up, the murder rate in Metropolis was over a dozen per day. Mayor White did his best to get people to stop carrying weapons in public, but almost no one listened. The biggest line item in the annual police budget was new weapons and ammunition and the training for the cops to use them. In one day – one very bad day – the police killed fifty-eight people in gunfights on the street and lost twenty-three of their own.”
She lifted her head. “Then Clark began talking about people disarming voluntarily. He said that he recognized that people had the right to defend themselves, but it had gone way beyond that. Innocent people were dying in shootings. Homes and businesses were getting shot up or becoming armored forts. School busses had pairs of officers guarding the kids with automatic weapons, and the kids were wearing bullet-proof vests in their own front yards.” She looked at Lois. “Almost all of that is gone now. Clark – or Superman, I guess – is a symbol for peace and safety. We still have murder, rape, assault, home invasions, robbery, but the rates are less than a fifth of what they used to be. He’s stopped so much of that mindless violence, just by being himself.”
Lucy stood and faced her sister. “And now – well, this feels almost like the old days, Sis. I’m scared of what people may do, even with Superman around. I’m scared of what it might do to him if he has to stop a mob that won’t back down. And I’m scared of what might happen to us if he ever decided he couldn’t help.”
Lois slowly nodded. “And all that is why you reacted the way you did when that delivery came yesterday.”
“Yes.” Lucy pressed her hands together and started pacing the living room. “Being disarmed is still new and uncomfortable to a lot of people. There’s a guy running for the state senate, Anson something or something Anson, who closes all of his speeches by saying that an armed society is a polite society. It’s a crock. People who have bad intentions are going to use weapons to do bad things, and so many people just can’t see it.”
She stopped and turned to face Lois. “I don’t want to go back to that. I don’t want to have to carry my Mini-14 over my shoulder when I go to work or out shopping or out to eat. I don’t want to feel like I have to pull my revolver out of my purse when I get on an elevator so I’ll have a chance if someone tries to rape me. Clark likes to say that laws guide honest people, and that an honest society doesn’t need tons of laws about everything under the sun. But making something illegal won’t stop criminals from doing bad things. We, as a society, have to decide to be honest and do good things.”
Lois smirked and shook her head. “Sounds to me like he’s living in a fantasy world.”
Lucy smiled for the first time. “Maybe he is. But it’s a good fantasy, and we’re so much closer to that fantasy being a reality than we were seven years ago. Most of that is because of Clark, and I want to help him any way I can.”
Lois’ expression changed and her head tilted to one side as if looking at things from a new perspective. Lucy thought she’d continue their dialogue, but she didn’t.
“Hey, Punky, have you heard from Mom and Dad? I’m beginning to think we should all get together for dinner or something.”
Lucy hid her surprise, both at the sudden change of subject and the new topic. “I got a long email from them this morning. It seems that they’re touring northern Africa with a U. N. medical mission and won’t be back for a couple of weeks.”
Another surprise came when Lois looked almost alarmed at the news. “North Africa?” she all but demanded. “Why there?”
Lucy took a moment before answering to make sure she didn’t anger her sister. “I don’t know what you have or haven’t heard about the region, but it’s pretty volatile right now. Since the Columbian and Mexican drug cartels just about wiped each other out, others have popped up to take their place in Morocco and Tunisia and even Southern Sudan. There are thousands of children being forced to maintain and harvest the crops the cartels are growing, and a lot of them get sick or hurt and die due to lack of good medical care. Dad wants to set up mobile hospitals to treat the diseases they come down with and the malnutrition they end up with. Mom went along to train the local nurses to provide better first aid and long-term care.”
Lucy thought her answer would satisfy Lois, but all it did was make her sister act more agitated. Now it was Lois’ turn to pace the room for a long moment.
She did two laps before she stopped in front of her sister. “Doesn’t Daddy know how dangerous that area is?”
“Yes. But you know Daddy. He thinks because he’s a doctor who only wants to help people, no one will bother him.”
“Yeah, right. Do you have any idea how scary violent those people are? They shoot their own people just for talking out of turn in the public square.”
“I do know about that,” Lucy said. “But they wanted to go. Oh, Lois, I wish you could see them! For the last three years or so, they’ve been spending most of their time together and most of their money doing things like this. Daddy doesn’t chase the high salaries or his nurses anymore and Mom doesn’t hide in a bottle. When they talk about what they’ve done or what they’re planning to do, their eyes light up and they look fifteen years younger. Both of them really love each other and really love working together.” She chuckled. “They told me last year that I’d better have a good retirement plan, because they probably won’t have much to leave me when they pass on.”
Lois stopped and stared at the blank TV screen. “You think they’ll be all right?”
“Clark promised to check on them every few days. And the cartels know him. They know he won’t interfere with what they’re doing, no matter how much he wants to, unless they start hurting innocent people.”
Lois snorted. “I thought the kids were innocent people.”
“They are, but Clark can’t touch them for that. The cartels all have deals with the local governments to let them work those kids, and the parents are all too scared to put up a fuss. Besides, Clark would have to move there and monitor every one of those locations all day every day to stop them, and not even he can do that. As long as they maintain the fiction of just being businessmen, he doesn’t have many options.”
“Okay,” Lois finally said, “I guess that makes a twisted kind of sense. So we’ll see Mom and Daddy when they get back. You said a couple of weeks?”
Lucy nodded. “Yes, unless something else comes up. As soon as their travel plans are finalized, they’ll let me know when their plane is supposed to land.”
“Okay. Have you – did you tell them I’m back?”
“Not yet. I thought it would be better if we dropped that bomb on them in person. Besides, I don’t want to interfere with this mission. It’s important to both of them. And to the people they’re helping, of course.”
“Yeah, okay. Good.” Lois seemed to force herself to relax. “That’s good. Hey, why aren’t you at work today?”
“I called my supervisor over the weekend and told him that some family I hadn’t seen for a long time blew into town and I needed to take some of my vacation time. He made noises about how I was messing up his life and making more work for him and I should spend as much time with my family as I could.”
A tiny smile appeared on Lois’ face. “And what did you say to that?”
“That I guessed I could do it if I had to, and if someone had to do the dirty work it might as well be me.”
A real smile – the biggest one Lucy had seen on her sister’s face since her return – blossomed, and she reached out to give Lucy a Dutch rub. “Hey, Punky, if it’s that hard to do, maybe I should go.”
Instead of fighting back or returning the kidding as she had so often when they were kids, Lucy grabbed Lois and squeezed her for all she was worth. “No way! I’ve got you back and you’re staying right here with me! I’m not letting you go now!”
Lois froze for a moment, then melted into the embrace. And when they finally separated, Lucy couldn’t tell which of them had more tears on her cheeks.
*****
Lois had finally persuaded Lucy to let them both go to bed. She hoped Lucy had gone to sleep.
She knew she wouldn’t.
Africa.
Her parents were in Africa.
Lois shuddered. She desperately hoped that no one in the cartels would connect them with her. She’d never used her real name on any assignment, but there was a good bit of family resemblance between herself and her mother when it came to their faces, not to mention their body shape, mannerisms, and speech habits. Lois hoped no one suspected they were related, or she might have a personal revenge mission after this one was finished.
And the criminals in Libya had good reason to hate and fear her. No one who’d known who she was and gotten a good look at her face was still alive, but there were three shallow, unmarked graves in the Libyan desert just southeast of Tripoli to mark her handiwork. The Libyan cartel calling itself The Scourge of Allah had put a reward of one million dollars on her head – or, at least, on Lola Dane’s head – dead or alive. And all the cartel leaders really wanted was her head, preferably in a cardboard box. Yeah, she’d pretty much worn out her welcome there.
Lois would never forgive herself if her parents were hurt because of her.
What was she thinking? After seventeen contract murders, seven kidnappings for ransom, the robbery of an entire cruise ship in the Mediterranean, not to mention the collateral damage of her other activities and the casual brutality she’d learned to deal out, forgiveness was not an option for her.
She rolled over in the bed and faced the wall. She wished she could convince herself that it was all for her children, that she kept doing what she was doing to keep them alive and safe. They were the two biggest reasons now, that was true, but it hadn’t been true at the beginning. She’d killed to stay alive and there was no way to rationalize away that reality.
She lay in the bed almost paralyzed as the memory of her training graduation washed over her again like the overflow from a clogged sewer.
It was the first time she’d killed anyone.
There were times when Lois could remember Carla’s build, the sound of her voice, the details of the combat knife she’d thrown at the feet of a smiling Rodolfo, but Carla’s face wouldn’t come into focus. All she had to do, though, was to remember the moment before she’d pulled the trigger those last three times. Then Carla’s face would appear, clear as a photograph, just before Lois’ bullets ripped it to shreds.
It was only the first of many kills. Lois didn’t want to remember all the faces. But they wouldn’t go away. They haunted her in the cold hours of the morning after it was too late to go back to sleep. And she’d begun seeing them on the streets she walked, whether in Libya or Jordan or France or Germany or Nigeria or any other country she’d been sent to ply her lethal trade. Even on the missions where she wasn’t given a human target, their faces pursued her around the clock.
Death was her constant companion and he refused to leave her alone.
This was no way to live. This wasn’t even any way to survive. She had to figure out a way to escape Rodolfo with her children.
She had to.
And if she had to choose between the lives of her children and someone else’s life, she would make the choice and learn to live with it.
