Clark chuckled at Lois’s expression at his paraphrasing of one of his mom’s favorite expressions – ‘Beauty may be only skin deep but peroxide kills the brain.’ Martha Kent had never been one to color her hair to hide her age. ‘I earned every one of these. And I am not turning gray. God is turning me blonde one hair at a time,’ she frequently told her husband and son.
Mom and Dad.
They didn’t have a son any more.
Bob was saying something and Clark turned his attention back to Lois and Bob. “Is it true that Nunc person has a record in Virginia?”
“Let’s just say that Leo Nunc bears an uncanny resemblance to one Leon Nunkhammer who was convicted of statutory rape for having a physical relationship with a thirteen year old girl. She claimed it was consensual, the court and her family saw differently. Then she got pregnant and he disappeared,” Lois said.
“Look, I have to turn this in,” Bob said. “If that guy really is who you think he is…”
Clark had looked into Nunc’s past the first time he had run into the sleaze ball. Clark had debated with himself over letting the MPD know what he suspected about the Inquisitor’s top reporter. Obviously Lois had found the same information and kept quiet for the same reasons. But suspicion wasn't the same as proof and having possible hold over Nunc was a little more important at the time that turning an unscrupulous journalist over to the authorities. Plus Clark had considered that there was the remote possibility that Nunc wasn't Nunkhammer.
However the reporter’s reaction to Nunkhammer’s name had made a lie of that notion. And Bob was a retired cop.
Clark nodded. “Take your time. We need to go over some papers before heading over to Central Holding anyway.” He turned to Lois. “We may as well check out the other stuff Jennings gave us before we go.”
“I’ve been afraid to,” Lois admitted. But she followed as he headed back to the table. Luckily Bennie had realized they weren’t finished and hadn’t had the table cleared.
Clark opened the envelope and pulled out the contents – two file folders one marked Martin and the other Alexa. He handed the ‘Martin’ folder to Lois.
“Another one of his lies,” Lois muttered. “He asked me what I wanted to be after the switch, a European countess, South American horsewoman, a Russian poet. The last was a joke I’m sure, but something about poetry, about writing, struck a chord. Now it turns out it was all a joke. He had everything planned out and I had no choice at all.”
Clark sorted through the sheets in Alexa’s file. “‘I’ was a B and C student at Wellesley. Majored in English.” He sorted through more of the sheets. “‘A’ student in high school in Boston and get this, father was Samuel A. Parker, a plastic surgeon. Both parents and younger sister killed in a DUI accident while ‘I’ was in my freshman year at school. Wife, Eleanor, was driving. Sister’s name was ‘Lucinda’.”
“That’s just freaky, but it explains the grades, I guess,” Lois commented. “I assume you graduated.”
“By the skin of my teeth, apparently. This says I met ‘you’ in Europe after graduation while I was frittering away my inheritance on wild parties and such.”
“Luthor wasn't about to give me an even break,” Lois muttered. “Orphaned party girl from Podunk that Lex Junior took pity on?”
“I wouldn’t go that far, but yeah,” Clark said. “Not exactly a stellar academic record and no employment record at all. Alexa would have a hard time getting a job washing dishes. What about Junior?”
“‘A’ student at Harvard Business School. Has his MBA,” Lois read. “Had a promise of employment with LexCorp but then the you-know-what hit the fan so he went traveling for a while and met party girl Barbie.”
“What about his parents?” Clark asked.
“Well, we know what the birth certificate says,” Lois reminded him. “But… he was raised by Julian and Margot Alexander. Julian worked for LexCorp Canada. Julian and Margot died… in a car accident… while Martin was in Europe.”
“So we’re supposed to believe that Lex Luthor’s child by Gretchen Kelley was not only born in British Columbia but given at birth to a LexCorp employee and his wife?” Clark asked.
Lois shrugged. “That’s what this says. This certainly gives the impression that Gretchen had a child and gave it away without telling the father, even though Luthor’s name is on the birth certificate. I guess we’re supposed to assume that Julian and Margot had no idea who the child they had custody of really was.”
“Which sounds a little bogus and not something I’d expect from Luthor,” Clark commented. “It certainly doesn’t jive with Martin having been adopted by the Alexanders. There would be two birth certificates then. One with Julian and Margot as the parents and the one we have – the one that would have been sealed by the court at the time of adoption.”
“Maybe the other one was lost,” Lois suggested.
“But that’s the one he’d get his passport with,” Clark said. “Unless Julian and Margot knew about Luthor and Kelley and were acting as their agents.”
“I think we’re putting too much effort into trying to make this jive with reality,” Lois pointed out. “This is all a piece of fiction. It’s more like a reminder of what was put into place for him for when Lex woke up in his new body. Nobody was expected to look at it too closely.”
“At least he gave you a decent educational background,” Clark commented.
Lois shook her head. “He gave himself the background he always wanted,” she reminded him. “Luthor barely made it through Met U’s business program and wouldn’t have gotten through at all if they’d been able to prove he’d been cheating on finals or that he’d had someone alter his grades for him.”
“And how do know you that? It wasn't in any of the unauthorized biographies on him,” Clark said.
“Lois Lane attended Met U, remember?” Lois said. “She took some business courses and one of her professors happened to have had Luthor as a student. Only Luthor wasn't remembered fondly. In fact, said professor claimed that the grade he’d turned in for Mister Luthor wasn’t the grade that ended up on his transcript, but the discrepancy wasn't found out until the professor returned from sabbatical in China, over a year later. By then it was too late to do anything. Luthor had graduated and was well on his way to his first hundred million.”
“And this didn’t clue Lois into realizing Luthor wasn't everything he seemed?”
“The professor she spoke to had memory issues and kept calling her ‘Madeleine’. Not exactly the most reliable of sources. And by that time Luthor was one of the richest men in the world and was giving thousands, if not millions, to Met U. in grants and scholarships,” Lois explained.
“But she never asked Luthor about it,” Clark said.
“Actually, she did,” Lois told him. “Luthor claimed the professor had him confused with another student, and the professor also had issues with students who didn’t blindly agree with his theories. She even asked about the accusations of cheating. Luthor claimed he’d been frequently mistaken for that other student who probably was cheating, but it was also his observation that academics would rather accuse a student of cheating rather than admit that their teaching was both transparent and useless. And based on what Lois had seen in her classes, his explanation made sense, at least at the time. ”
“And now?” Clark asked.
Lois sighed. “This certainly looks like a valid transcript for an MBA from Harvard. And since I know I didn’t attend Harvard… I know he regretted not having the grades to get into an Ivy League school when he was young. But he went to a lot of trouble to give himself a Harvard degree.”
“He could have bought himself an honorary degree,” Clark said.
“He didn’t think it was the same,” Lois said. “He said anyone could buy a degree if he had enough money.”
“But he bought himself one anyway,” Clark noted. “Only he put your name on it.”
“Yeah, now I have a business degree only I haven’t got a clue about any of it,” Lois complained mildly. “I don’t even know what a six sigma is.”
“Well, sigma refers to a statistical standard deviation and a six sigma is six standard deviations from an assumed statistical norm. The premise is that if all your manufacturing processes fall within this range, virtually none of your products should fail to meet specifications. It’s an entire business project quality method developed by Honeywell in the ‘80s.”
“We should change the name on that MBA to Alexa,” Lois said.
“I just read a lot,” Clark said. “And if we can get this gender thing straightened out, it’ll be a moot point.” He looked down at the dish of chocolate mousse and realized it was gone and Lois was licking her spoon.
“Next time I’m getting my own,” he groused mildly.
He noticed Lois giving him an evaluating look. “You remember everything you read?” she asked.
He nodded.
“Is that one of the special things or just a ‘Clark’ thing?”
“I’m not sure,” Clark admitted. He’d never really thought about it before. He had always had a phenomenal memory, could remember everything he read, everything he experienced. It served him well in school and at work, not so well in dealing with tragedy. The other downside was that with so much to process, when he was under pressure he sometimes missed pieces of knowledge that might help in an emergency – like forgetting about Resurrection when Jason Mazik wanted Lois presented to him dead.
Clark’s musings were interrupted by the server handing Lois the check and Bob coming to stand by their table.
“We need to leave pretty soon if you’re to get to Central Holding in time for your appointment,” Bob said quietly.
“And what’s the news on Nunc?” Lois asked.
Bob shrugged. “I reported the incident and the possibility he was using an alias. The rest is up to the investigating officers and the DA’s office. But I doubt he’ll be bothering you much after this.”
“No, the Inquisitor will just assign some other scumbag to follow us,” Lois complained.
“Well, they’ll stop if we turn out to be really boring,” Clark told her.
“We haven’t managed that so far,” Lois reminded him. “But there’s always hope.”
Clark was afraid she was right – they hadn’t managed to be very boring so far and it was unlikely they’d learn any time soon. Even as Lois Lane and Clark Kent they hadn’t been all that boring and the events of the past week, coupled with Lois’s previous relationship with Luthor, had made them both fodder for the sleaze mill. Luthor’s son was at least as interesting as Luthor’s ex-fiancée.
The drive to the New Troy Detention Complex was uneventful. The NTDC was a large Romanesque granite monstrosity dating from well before the turn of the century. It covered several city blocks and resembled nothing so much as a huge decrepit mausoleum. It was nicknamed ‘the Swamp’ from the fact that the original buildings had been erected on a mosquito infested bog that had never been properly filled in.
Henderson was waiting for them when Lois and Clark walked into the main entrance to the complex.
“Asabi claims there’s someone after him,” Henderson began.
“Any idea who?” Lois asked.
Henderson shook his head. “Only that he claims they have the ability to get past any security we have and we’d never know it. He’s requested to be kept away from the other prisoners and demands even the guards not touch him. But he wants to see you two. In fact he was quite insistent”
“Well, we want to talk to him, too,” Lois said.
Henderson led the way past the guards to an interrogation room. Asabi was waiting inside. Clark realized he’d only seen Asabi in photographs or at a distance. Then he’d given the impression of an urbane man, always been dressed in an immaculate white suit with Nehru jacket and Sikh style turban. The man sitting at the battered table didn’t look so impressive or urbane. He was dressed in an orange jail jumpsuit. His hair was graying and tied in a ponytail.
Clark saw Asabi’s eyes widen as they walked into the small room. The man’s heart rate jumped then settled down – at least a few powers had started appearing, super-hearing among them. The powers were sporadic and the way they were coming back reminded Clark of recovering from kryptonite exposure.
“Ah, you came,” Asabi said. He rose from his seat slightly and gave a tiny bow, keeping his hands flat on the table surface. He studied them for a moment then smiled. “Miss Lane and… Mister Kent?”
“You know who we are?” Lois asked.
“Your auras are unmistakable,” Asabi said.
“Then you know there was a mistake,” Clark said. “We’re in the wrong bodies.”
“Your original bodies were no longer viable. You chose to move to the nearest empty vessels to complete your mission,” Asabi said blandly.
“But you put us in the wrong ones,” Lois said.
“I did not,” Asabi said. His heart rate didn’t change at all. Either he was a consummate liar or he was telling the truth. “This was your choice.”
“How?” Clark demanded. “There was no time to choose.”
“The soul exists in a place outside of time, outside of space,” Asabi explained. “There was time to decide, even to discuss the matter between you.”
“Well, this isn’t going to work so how do we change it?” Clark asked.
“Or can we?” Lois added.
Asabi stared at his hands on the table and for a moment Clark was afraid he wouldn’t answer.
“I was a member of an ancient sect that had uncovered the secrets of the soul, the consciousness,” Asabi finally said. “The greatest adepts could exchange their souls with others. They could live forever, moving from one vessel to another. Those less adept could do so as well, using instrumentality, a sacred stone imbued with the magic of the masters.”
“And you’re afraid your old masters will find you?” Henderson asked.
“My old masters know where I am,” Asabi said. “They have known all along. I was seduced by Sahib Luthor’s fascination with my beliefs and knowledge. I convinced myself that I could bring him and his wealth back to my masters and I would be well rewarded for my efforts on their behalf.”
“Luthor said you were a Thuggee,” Lois said.
“He believed what he wished to,” Asabi said. “That did not make it the truth. The Thuggee were criminals, bandits, conmen, little more than common thugs.”
“I thought they worshiped Kali,” Henderson said.
Asabi chuckled. “That is much the same as saying that the Cosa Nostra worshiped the Virgin Mary, therefore all of her followers are criminals. Kali is the goddess of death and change and death is the mother of us all.”
“Can you help us?” Clark asked. “Will you help us?”
“You chose these vessels,” Asabi said. “Your souls are imprinted on them now. The price for changing will be high.”
“Luthor left us with what was left of his assets,” Lois told him. “I doubt money is a problem.”
“You misunderstand me,” Asabi replied with a sad smile. “The price is not money. A transfer of the sort you say you want is only temporary. Even the master of my order would be unable to simply switch you permanently.”
“Why not?” Henderson asked. Clark was surprised Henderson was even buying in to what Asabi was telling them.
“If the vessel the soul is imprinted on still breathes, the spirit will try to return to it,” Asabi explained. “There is no spell, no amulet, no power, capable of preventing it. To make a transfer of that nature permanent, the old vessel must be destroyed.”
“He means that one of you would end up dead,” Henderson said. “It also means that every time one of his masters changed out their old body for a young one, they destroyed their old body so they could keep the young one.”
“That’s horrible,” Lois said.
Asabi shrugged. “Unless the other soul was ensnared to keep it from transmigrating, it was free to find a new vessel to inhabit.”
“So, no harm no foul?” Henderson asked. He didn’t seem amused by Asabi’s apparently cavalier attitude.
“Every culture has its own definition of what constitutes murder,” Asabi said. “In some, disposing of an unwanted girl child is simply logical and reasonable. In others, a childless woman who outlives her husband is an intolerable burden on his village. In yet others, those who rape and kill are themselves killed, yet few call that murder.”
“Well in this state and city, those are all classified as unlawful deaths warranting the full weight of the law coming down on the perpetrator,” Henderson said. “You’re sure you don’t want your lawyer here?”
“That charlatan can do nothing for me,” Asabi said. “I have only one request. Should a stone with markings painted or carved into it be found with my body, make sure it is destroyed, crushed to dust.”
“I’ll make sure of it,” Henderson promised.
“You think someone, probably one of your old masters, not only wants you dead, but wants to trap your soul, too,” Clark realized.
Asabi sat very still. “My old masters do not care,” he said softly. “My indiscretions mean little to them. No, the one who would wish my soul rendered speechless is Luthor’s - his eldest child, to be precise.”
“He told people that his one child was dead along with the child’s mother,” Lois said.
“He lied,” Asabi stated. “The mother died, yes. The child survived, though terribly scarred. That was one of the reasons Luthor sought out my knowledge. He wanted his son to be perfect and hoped my talents would enable that. But like his father, Alexander wanted the easy way, the simple way, the cheater’s way. He refused my teaching and refused the possibility of change because it did not fit in with his materialistic bent. It also required work and like his father, he believed that work was for lesser beings.”
“And now he’s after you?” Clark asked.
Asabi nodded once. “There are fools willing to risk damaging their souls by playing with the dark arts. I know that Alexander has been contact with them. I have no doubt that one of them will try to best me at my art. And like a supposedly tame predator, he has tasted fresh blood. He will not hesitate to kill again.”
“Who has he killed?” Henderson asked.
“The female clone and your Officer Morris,” Asabi said. He looked straight at Lois and Clark and it almost seemed as though he really could read their souls. “He will come after you.”
“He can have the money,” Lois said.
Asabi shook his head. “Money is the only thing he has. He will come after you to avenge himself on his father for choosing you over him.”
“But Luthor’s dead,” Clark reminded him.
“And that is why he wishes to punish me,” Asabi said. “You are alive and Luthor is not. And although it was his own fault for not examining his assumptions and for demanding the process be done his way instead of the correct way, his son blames me for his father’s short-sightedness, self-delusion, and lack of prudence.”
