THE LAST TIME I SAW ELVIS    
by CC Malo (Ccmalo@aol.com) & edited by Laurie Farber and Lynda Love

* * * * *

 Metropolis is a city of many cities.  The daytime city swarms with workers 
chasing deadlines, tourists attacking "must see" lists, and cabs racing to 
appointments.  The nighttime city, smelling of fast food and alive with club-
goers, theatre-goers, and movie-goers, pulses with music and staccato energy.  
Night and day, the street city is always open for business, a place where 
rendezvous are kept, deals done, and desperate lives led.  Isolated from all 
this is a remote sky city, inhabited by the wealthy, aloof in their penthouses 
and corner offices high above the ordinary Metropolite.  And there is also a 
subterranean city of people who are lost or trying to escape.  Sometimes these 
cities sprawl into each other and boundaries blur.

 On a Thursday night in January, knife sharp with the cold, two men, one of them 
middle aged and grey and the other younger, bulky and tall, walked west along a 
darkened side street, its pavement dusted with a light cover of new snow.  Both 
men huddled against the wind, the older one managing successfully to light a 
cigarette with the skill of one who has had years of practice outside.  Neither 
spoke as they continued walking along the mostly deserted street.  When they 
reached the intersection, they crossed into the bright lights and traffic of one 
of Metropolis's main streets, its sidewalks lined with not quite fashionable 
restaurants, movie theatres, clubs, and businesses of a more dubious nature.  
Slowing their pace, the two men turned and walked north, beginning a 
conversation in which they were soon absorbed. 

 In the section of town from which these men had just come, the darkness of one 
small part of the subterranean city had just been penetrated by an interloper on 
an errand of mercy, the brightness of the primary colors he wore incongruous in 
this dank, dark setting.  In a blur, he raced towards a far corner in the 
cavernous tunnel where his extraordinary vision had spotted two people who were 
sleeping, huddled into the warmth of their bundled possessions.  If not for his 
awareness of the danger of gas fumes in the area, he would have hesitated to 
disturb them.  Carefully nudging them awake, he encircled each person in one 
arm, and half flew, half ran to the exit of the tunnel and then up to the crisp 
air on the surface.  Gently, as though he were carrying something precious, he 
let each person go.

 "Are you okay?" his soft voice revealed his concern as he looked at them, 
searching for signs of harm.

 The reply was belligerent. "What did ya do that for?  We was asleep."

 "You might not have been for very long."  A young paramedic, the stubble on his 
face an indicator of the long hours he'd put in, approached the trio.  "There's 
been a gas leak and we're evacuating the area until it's fixed.  Superman's 
making sure we haven't missed anyone."  Calmly, he took the arm of one of the 
two people and escorted her to the nearby emergency vehicle.  Her companion 
followed.  "If you don't mind," the paramedic said, "we'll check to make sure 
all traces of fumes are gone from your lungs and then we'll find you a place to 
stay for the night."

 Superman was already searching another part of the tunnel system.

* * *

 Not far from the tunnels that Superman was searching, Martha and Jonathan Kent, 
accompanied by Perry and Alice White, sauntered out onto the sidewalk from "The 
Nostalgia", an old movie theatre specializing in film revivals.  The foursome 
was clearly having a good time, laughing as they talked about the highlights of 
the old movie they had just seen.  The film was "G.I. Blues", part of a 
retrospective screening of the films of Elvis Presley, a much under appreciated 
oeuvre according to Perry White.

 "Oeuvre?" Alice raised her eyebrows at the word.

 "That's right, darlin'. 'Oeuvre.' Been readin' the Arts section of the weekend 
edition."  Perry swaggered a bit as he said this.  "Must get them to do a piece 
on Elvis."

 "Now, why are his films so unappreciated, Perry?" Martha asked, mischief in her 
blue eyes.

 "Ah, well, you see, Elvis is what the South was like for us when we were kids," 
he drawled.  "You know, small dusty towns, not much money, but good friends, 
great cars, all chrome and polish.  And the music!  Ah, the music.  Great balls 
of fire!  Nothin' like it since."

 Martha had started to reply, when Jonathan suddenly pushed against her left 
shoulder as he was jarred by a big, shabbily dressed man, oblivious to his 
surroundings as he argued with his companion.

 "Hey, man, watch where you're walkin'."

  Martha turned to look at the speaker and then her eyes caught the face of his 
companion, the harsh incandescence of street lights highlighting the ascetic 
angularity of his face.  For a moment, their eyes met, puzzled and half aware, 
neither of them hearing the large man.  Martha was speechless and then the two 
men quickly vanished into the crowd of people on the sidewalk.

 Shaken, Martha said, "That's not what I remember about the South."

* * *

 Later, in a small bedroom in a townhouse many blocks north of the movie 
theatre, a sleepy Lois Lane was softly singing the lyrics of an old Stephen 
Foster melody which Perry White would have recognized.  "For my darling, I love 
you and I always will."  She made up some of the lyrics as she sang, her dark 
hair falling forward as she bent over the small bundle contentedly nursing at 
her breast.  For that matter, Lois was contented too, absorbed in the very basic 
and pleasurable task which she was performing, fascinated by every small 
expression that fluttered across her baby's face.  For a while, she babbled to 
her child, soft fragmented bits of nonsense about the wonders of the world, only 
stopping when Laura sputtered, her tiny mouth relaxing its determined grip on 
her mother's breast.  Lois smiled; Laura had fallen asleep.  Slowly rising from 
the old rocking chair in which she had been sitting, Lois carried her daughter 
to the crib and tucked her in for what she hoped would be a solid night's rest.  
Kissing her finger, she bent over the crib to touch Laura's cheek.  "Good night, 
sweetie."

 For a moment, Lois leaned against the doorframe, gazing at her sleeping baby. 
Then, as she reached for the light switch, she felt her husband's arm slip 
around her waist and she turned her head slightly, smiling a greeting.  Neither 
spoke as they stood for a moment in the darkness, watching their child.

 *  *  *  *  *

 The next day, the Kent household was up early, the rhythm of the morning 
determined by Laura's routine and the fact that both her parents would be going 
in to work.  In the upper hall, Clark Kent carried his freshly bathed, diapered, 
clothed, fed, and burped daughter, holding her against his shoulder as she 
gurgled her thoughts about the upcoming day.  Grinning, Clark looked at her.  
"Okay, sweetheart, whatever you say.  Come on.  Let's go say hello to your 
Grandma and Grandpa."       

   Since returning from their travels, Martha and Jonathan Kent had once again, 
along with Ellen Lane, resumed their pattern of caring for Laura on those days 
when both Lois and Clark were at the Planet. Lately, the older couple had been 
at the townhouse more frequently, giving Ellen a chance to travel to Florida 
with three of her friends on a trip which had been planned back in the fall.  
Besides, after the stress of the court case, the very busy time that the 
Superman Foundation had faced over Christmas, and pressure from Sam Lane for a 
reconciliation, Ellen had needed the break.

  Whenever Martha and Jonathan took care of Laura, they came early so that 
Martha could make breakfast.  Give everyone a more relaxed start to the day, 
she'd said. This morning, as Clark walked downstairs, he caught sight of his 
father, looking worried, as he headed into the kitchen.

 "Morning, Dad."

 "Uh, morning, son." Jonathan stopped in the middle of the hall, brightening as 
he looked at his grandchild.  "She sure is a little beauty."

 "Yes, she is Dad," Clark said softly as he bounced Laura gently in his arms.  
Trailing his father into the kitchen, he noticed his mother pulling out all the 
stops to conjure up a regular farm breakfast.  That confirmed it, he thought; 
something was wrong.  His mother had his dad on a sensible, low fat diet which 
meant that the smell of bacon had been absent from the Kent household since the 
older couple had come to help with Laura after Lois's return to work.

 "Morning, Mom," Clark said as he settled Laura into her carry-cot.  Sitting 
down, he helped himself to one of the muffins that Martha had placed in the 
centre of the table and then turned to look at her.  "How was the movie last 
night?"

 "The movie was fun, Clark.  It was what happened after that wasn't much fun."

 Concerned, Clark stopped eating and looked at his mother again.  "What was 
that?"

 "My wallet was stolen," Jonathan replied, still upset by his loss.  "I reached 
into my pocket to pay for the coffee we had after the movie.  Nothing.  I figure 
it happened when we were leaving the movie when a couple of men bumped into us.  
Thought it was an accident at the time.  Pickpockets." Sighing, he added, "Lucky 
your mother had enough cash to pay the bill." Clark nodded, knowing his father 
would never have dreamed of using a credit card to pay for something like 
dessert and coffee.  Sure way to run up debt.

 "It's a real nuisance, Clark.  Your father wasn't carrying much cash, but he's 
lost his driver's licence, his bank cards, his insurance cards. . ." 

 Clark looked at his father in sympathy, feeling a twinge of regret that he 
hadn't been around at the time.  "I'm sorry, Dad."

 "Thanks, son.  It'll take a while to get replacements for the cards, but that's 
not the worst part."  He sounded glum, his despondency reflected in the slump of 
his shoulders.  "I thought I was pretty good at noticing what was going on 
around me."  

 At that moment, Lois, shoeless and jacketless, but otherwise neat in a white 
blouse and charcoal grey slacks, appeared in the doorway.  "What happened?"

 Martha repeated the story and then added.  "So Jonathan's going to spend the 
morning on the phone to banks, insurance companies, and the Kansas Motor Vehicle 
Registry."

 "That's awful, Jonathan.  Did you get a good look at the two men?  Maybe the 
police have their photos on file."

 "No, I wasn't even looking at them when it happened.  We were talking about the 
movie.  All I remember is he was taller than me, big.  I think Martha got a 
better look at them than I did."

 "Did you notice anything else, Mom?" Clark asked.

 Martha hesitated and then answered her son's question.  "I was startled."  
Handing Lois a glass of milk, she changed the subject. "Here, Lois.  How would 
you like your eggs?"

 "Thanks, Martha.  Scrambled, please.  You spoil us, you know."  She gave Martha 
a quick smile.  "But I still think Jonathan should report this to the police."  
Lois was not one to let something go.

 Martha murmured casually as she cooked Lois's breakfast,  "I don't suppose 
there's much point.  We won't see the wallet again."

* * *

  Martha was wrong about that.  Later that morning, some time after her son and 
daughter-in-law had left for work, she opened the front door to retrieve the 
morning mail.  She was surprised to find, along with the usual mail, Jonathan's 
wallet.  Everything was still there, even the cash.

 "I don't get it, Martha," Jonathan sounded confused as he checked the wallet's 
contents.  "Why go to the trouble of stealing my wallet and then returning it?  
And how would he know to bring it here?  It doesn't make sense."

 "I know, Jonathan."  Puzzled, Martha frowned.  "I wish I'd seen who brought 
this.  I wonder if any of the neighbors noticed."  She opened the hall closet to 
get her coat.  "I think I'll just check."

 "You're wasting your time, Martha.  Even if someone did see him, the police 
aren't going to follow this up.  It's small stuff and these guys disappear back 
into the woodwork."

 "It'll satisfy my curiosity," Martha muttered as she opened the front door.

 As she crossed the road, she thought again about what had happened last night.  
Now she was sure whom she had seen and she was shaken by the knowledge.  The 
funny thing was, it was the movie they'd seen that had brought him back to her 
mind.  The last time she'd seen Elvis in a movie, it had been with him, her 
friend of that incredible summer, and it had been the same movie that she, 
Jonathan, Perry, and Alice had gone to last night.  When the movie had first 
been released, her friend had disapproved of it and what it had stood for; but 
Martha had wanted to see Elvis and so the two of them had gone to see it, 
arguing and laughing afterwards about what they'd seen on the screen.  Last 
night, she had remembered all this with a sense of sadness for that passionate 
young man for whom she had cared so much and who she thought was dead, killed in 
a fire that had engulfed a small town sheriff's office in 1962.

 She was shocked that she hadn't recognized him at first.  But people change 
over the years and he was supposed to be dead.  He must have recognized her too, 
at least later, when he'd seen Jonathan's name on the contents of the stolen 
wallet.

 It wasn't until she had tried the fourth neighbor, Mrs. Sarrazin, that Martha 
had some luck.  The elderly lady had been sipping her morning tea at a small 
table in the front bay window when she had noticed a thin, silver haired man 
deposit something in the Kent mailbox.  Always worried about possible burglars, 
she had fretted as she watched the shabbily dressed man approach the Kent front 
door.  However, he left quickly, not stopping at any of the other houses on the 
street, and she had returned to her morning paper.

 For a while, the two women chatted about the Daily Planet and the latest 
article written by Martha's son and daughter-in-law, and then about the well 
being of the newest Kent.  As she took her leave, Martha made up her mind.  She 
was going to find him.  She wanted to know what had happened.  She was angry 
too; she had been deceived.  Something that she had thought was finished, 
wasn't.  But how was she going to find a man who didn't want to be found in a 
city the size of Metropolis?

* * * 

 Clark felt Lois's eyes on him as he worked at his computer on a follow up to 
the story of last night's gas leak.  He tried to suppress a smile as he decided 
not to give her the satisfaction of knowing that he had picked up her signal, 
wondering how long she would keep her eye on him before speaking.  He checked 
the time on his computer terminal.  Thirty seconds exactly before he heard her 
voice.  Swiveling in his chair, he grinned at her, stretching his hands up 
behind his neck.

 "Yes, Ms. Lane?  Need my help?"

 "Not likely!" was the instant response.

 "Ah," he said and turned back to his computer.

 "Clark."

 "So you do need my help."  Placing his left elbow on his desk, he rested his 
chin between his thumb and index finger and, raising his eyebrows, gave her his 
full attention again.

 "No. Be serious, Clark."

 He sighed, "Okay.  So?"  He sat back in his chair and looked at her.

 "Your mother.  Didn't you think it was strange?"

 "Pardon?"  Now he was mystified.  However, just as he was about to question her 
further, Perry stopped by his desk, half sitting on its edge for a moment.

 "How's Jonathan this morning, Clark?"

 "He's okay, I think.  Still a bit upset."

 "Damned nuisance.  No way to wrap up a great evening." Perry's voice was gruff.

 "Did you get a look at the men who did it, Perry?"  Lois asked.

 "No chance, Lois. Whole thing happened so quickly.  Martha was real startled by 
it all -- seemed to freeze for a moment, there. Nasty experience for your folks.  
Always hate it when people from out of town get mugged."  Perry spoke with gruff 
sympathy, then got up and walked across the huge newsroom to the work station of 
the Planet's top financial reporter.

 "See," Lois hissed across the space that separated their desks.

 "See what?"

 "Your mother.  Something happened last night."

 "Yeah, my dad got mugged."

 "Besides that."

 "And that would be?"  

 "I don't know."

 "Ah," he said, enlightenment suffusing his face. "That explains it."

 "Clark, I think. . ."  Lois didn't get a chance to finish as she noticed a 
familiar look cross his face.

 "Uh, can we continue this later, Lois?"  Clark stood up abruptly, tugging at 
his tie as he walked toward the stairwell.

 Lois rolled her eyes and sighed. 

* * *

 Martha spent the rest of the morning occupied with the mundane tasks of 
domesticity. Over the years she had come to find a type of serenity from the 
repetition of familiar tasks, believing that it was possible to find a sense of 
calm in the simplicity of these actions.  Besides, doing chores had always given 
her time to think about any challenges she was currently facing, plan a new 
sculpture or letters to the editor, or contemplate problems facing her friends 
and family.  Usually, by the time the laundry was done or dinner prepared, she 
had formulated some plan of action.  Sometimes, her plan was to do nothing, but 
that was not the case this morning.

 She made a decision that she would pursue this on her own, without telling 
Jonathan.  This decision troubled her somewhat; she and Jonathan didn't keep 
secrets from each other, at least, not things like this.  But she was worried 
about his health, and this last year he hadn't seemed to handle stress as well 
as he had in the past.  She pushed away the thought that she was rationalizing 
and that maybe, for now, she wanted to keep this from him.  Anyway, after over 
thirty years of marriage, she knew Jonathan pretty well.  Although usually 
supportive, he was also, in a quiet and stubborn way, very protective of his 
family.  Clark was like that, too, she thought.  She smiled.  Maybe that was 
something Clark had learned from Jonathan.  It was a nice thought.  But, right 
now, it was also counterproductive. 
 
 Besides, there was still the discomfort of what had happened all those years 
ago.  She and Jonathan had talked a little about it on their way back to 
Smallville that fall; but, after that, he would never talk about it again.  
Aware of her relationship with Cliff but not really understanding it, Jonathan 
had always regarded that summer as a time when she had rejected him.  After it 
was all over, Jonathan had just taken her home and they had started from there 
to build their life together.  Anyway, she thought, I just want to find out.  
When I do, it's done. 

 Early that afternoon, after Laura had gone to sleep under the watchful eye of 
her doting grandfather, Martha walked to the nearest subway station and caught a 
train going south to the district where the Nostalgia Theatre was located, not 
far from the Annex of the old market district south of Kingston.  It was as good 
as anywhere to start, she thought.

 As the subway car slowed, she noticed, for the first time, the dark narrow 
tunnels that radiated off the main line of the track into darkness.  She 
wondered why they had been constructed and if, perhaps, this was where Clark had 
rescued people last night. Then the car came to a complete halt, its doors 
sliding open to discharge her onto the half empty platform.  Walking quickly to 
the nearest exit, she climbed a flight of stairs, past two people sitting on the 
floor, their possessions bundled in green plastic garbage bags and their eyes 
watching her.  She stopped, and gave them some spare cash.

 The district was shabbier than she had thought last night when they had gone to 
the movie.  Most things look better at night, the darkness rendering reality 
either romantic or mysterious, a time when all things are possible.  In the 
daylight, Martha's first thought was that Metropolis ought to spend more money 
on trash collection and street sweepers.  A few large containers planted with 
trees would help, too.

  She crossed the road to the small movie theatre that they had attended last 
night.  The very young and very orange-haired woman at the ticket booth was not 
busy.  Martha explained what had happened last night and asked the girl a few 
questions.  Not bothering to hide her disdain at the naivete of Martha's 
questions, she let Martha know that pickpockets were a fact of life in the big 
city, that you had to be careful, that the police were no help, and that anyone 
could disappear in Metropolis if they wanted to.  She shrugged her thin, black 
clad shoulders and turned back to the latest copy of the National Whisper.

 Martha's next stop was the small coffee and magazine shop next to the movie 
house.  Business was slow and the man behind the counter was inclined to be 
talkative.  As she sipped her coffee, Martha modified her story, leaving out the 
pickpockets, saying only that she was looking for a lost wallet.   Sympathizing 
with her plight, the man listened, his dark eyes attentive. 

 "Don't think you'll find it now.  A lot of people around here could use the 
cash, ya know?"

 "I guess so."  Martha looked out the window toward the street.  "Times are 
tough here?"

 "Yeah.  We're just outside of the "village" so the money from the rehabs and 
renos in Kingston hasn't drifted this far yet."

 "Maybe it will."  Wanting to encourage him, she continued, "It seemed busy last 
night when I was here with my husband and friends."

 "Yeah.  We do most of our business at night.  But look carefully at the crowd.  
We get a lot of hustlers at night, looking  for cash.  Your husband's wallet is 
probably in a dumpster somewhere, stripped of credit cards and bills.  Easy to 
lift from someone distracted by his friends."

 "So my husband was an easy mark?" she said, her tone light.

 The man grinned briefly as he topped up her coffee.  "Your words, not mine.  
Probably."
 
 "Now that I think of it, maybe you're right.  We were jostled last night as we 
came out of the movie.  Two men.  But I must say, neither of them looked like 
thieves.  One was tall, a big man.  I would think a pickpocket would be slight.  
The other was about my age, with grey hair."  Martha watched him as she spoke 
and was rewarded.  The smooth openness of his pleasant face closed like shutters 
on a window.  His voice was noncommittal as he replied.

 "Lotta people like that around."  He walked towards the end of the counter and 
pulled out a sheaf of menus from a shelf below, then busied himself inserting a 
one page addition into each one.

 Martha was positive her description had rung a bell with him, but she was 
unsure what to do next.  What would Lois or Clark do in this situation, she 
wondered.  It must happen all the time.  "I'm not interested  in going to the 
police about this and I know the money's gone.  But it would make our lives 
easier to get back the personal things in the wallet."

 "Why you?  Why not your husband?  It's his stuff."

 Martha flashed him a smile, part mischievous.  "He thinks it's hopeless."

 He put the menus down on the counter and looked at her.  "You wanna be careful, 
lady.  This isn't smalltown, USA.  Some people out there will do anything for 
their next meal, next drink, next hit.  And they don't care who they do it to."

 "Most people aren't like that.  I don't think these men were like that." 

 He sighed. "Let it go, lady."

 Martha took his comment as a sign.  She paid her bill and walked toward the 
door.  As she did, she noticed for the first time a small poster advertising an 
exhibition of work done by a cooperative of fringe artists, its stark design a 
strong contrast to the collage of small posters and ads clustered by the front 
door of the coffee shop.  That gave Martha her next idea.

* * *

 Late that afternoon, Lois Lane pushed through the massive front door of the 
Planet, her long legs striding energetically toward the elevator.  Checking her 
watch, she thought she'd just have time to finish the article she was writing 
and then head home.  Since returning to work after her maternity leave, she had 
kept a regular schedule on those days she went in to the Planet, taking 
unfinished stories and research home with her, to be worked on after Laura was 
settled for the night.  She missed Laura; it seemed she changed every day and 
Lois was surprised at the small lurch of her heart each time she left her baby 
in the morning.  She did not doubt that returning to work was the right thing 
for a lot of reasons, but still it was hard, harder than she'd ever thought it 
would be.  Did Clark feel this way, she wondered?  If she ever got any time 
alone with him, she'd ask.

 The Daily Planet could not get that on-site day care facility set up fast 
enough for her.  But the plan had got bogged down somewhere between Financial's 
costing report, Personnel's check on the state requirements for preschool 
caregivers, and Legal's investigation of any potential liabilities that the 
Planet might face.  As she entered the elevator, Lois thought she'd better get 
on their collective cases again or Laura would be starting high school before 
that day care centre ever opened.

 "Lois, hold it."  The voice came from a balding man in his late thirties, gym 
fit and health food thin, with the blunt features of a prize fighter.  He 
quickened his step toward the dark panelled elevator in which Lois was standing.
 
 "Hi, Bentley.  Read your critique of the design for the new Bronson Tower."  
Lois pressed the button for the newsroom floor as the heavy elevator door slid 
shut.

 "And?"  Bentley J. Hoolihan, the Daily Planet arts critic, grinned at the woman 
beside him.
 
 "It was good."  Lois's voice was sincere.  She liked his comments on the use of 
urban spaces.  She hadn't thought about that sort of thing in any systematic way 
before and his columns had increased her awareness of the city that she loved so 
passionately and thought she understood so well.  "Bet you got some flack on 
it."

 "Some.  Public relations guy at Bronson thinks I'm a subversive because I wrote 
the building is a bloody hulking battleship sinking the poor and the homeless.  
Nicely written flack though.  Guy must've taken an English course before the 
MBA."

 "The site's not too far from where that gas leak occurred last night, is it?  
You think someone might be trying to sabotage the project?"

 "Someone should, but who knows.  Your friend Superman was there.  What does he 
have to say?"

 "Now, how would I know, Bentley?"

 "I thought Superman told you everything," he kidded.  "Kent must get pissed off 
sometimes." 

 Lois kept her cool.  "It was Clark he talked to about the gas leak last night."

 "Seriously, Lois, you might be on to something about the sabotage.  It wouldn't 
surprise me, although it kind of backfired last night.  I know there's an 
activist group in that area.  But they've been more proactive.  Radical art, 
street theatre, that kind of stuff.  Remember that homeless nativity at City 
Hall just before Christmas?  They organized that.  By the way, I was down in the 
gas leak area this afternoon.  You know, in the Annex, just east of the Bronson 
construction site."  As he said this, the elevator door slid open and he 
followed her as she walked down the few steps into the newsroom.
 
 Lois was interested.  Dumping her purse on her desk, she leaned against its 
edge, her arms folded and her slender legs crossed at the ankles.  "Did you hear 
anything?"

 "No.  Just  concern about the after effects of the gas. Superman got rid of it 
pretty quickly.  How does he do that anyway?"  He looked at her, expecting an 
answer.

 "How should I know, Bentley?"  She shrugged her shoulders. Spotting Clark 
coming towards them from Perry's office, she added, "Maybe Clark knows."

 "Knows what?"  Clark took up a position beside Lois and smiled at her, a brief 
private greeting that, for a moment, excluded Bentley.

 "How Superman got rid of the gas last night," Bentley said.

 "Read my article, Ben, not just the headline."

 "Oops."  Bentley laughed and changed the subject.  "I was telling Lois I was 
down there this afternoon.  Doing a tour of the studios. Interesting stuff, by 
the way.  Raw and powerful.  Oh, yeah," he got back on track.  "I think I saw 
your mom, Clark.  She didn't see me though.  She was looking at a small 
painting."

 "I don't think it could have been her, Ben.  She's home with Laura."  Clark 
slid his hands into his pockets as he spoke.

 "Sure looked a lot like her.  Same hair color, glasses, that energy when she 
walks.  I'm positive it was her.  I tried to catch up with her, but she didn't 
see me and then I got into a discussion with a new sculptor who's joined the 
atelier.  Vigorous stuff, by the way.  You should check it out."

 Lois laughed.  "If we ever get time."

 Bentley grinned.  "Be careful, Lane.  This domestic role.  I'm just glad I knew 
you when."  He gave a mock sigh.  "Mad Dog Lane.  Awesome."

 Clark put his arm around his wife's shoulder.  "Still is, Ben.  She still is."

 Bentley shrugged his broad shoulders.  "Gotta go.  Column to write."

 Lois was quiet as he left, barely aware of Clark's solicitous "What is it, 
honey?"

 She didn't reply for a moment, but instead walked behind her desk.  Refocusing, 
she glanced at her husband. "I'm glad Martha was able to get out this afternoon, 
Clark.  I've always kind of admired her interest in art."

 "That's not what was on your mind, Lois."  Clark turned to look at her, meeting 
her dark eyes as he called her bluff.  "Don't take Ben seriously.  He was just 
kidding."

 "Yeah," she buried Ben's comment in her mind, right beside her fear that she 
couldn't manage both career and motherhood.  "Maybe Martha bought that 
painting."

 "Lois, I think Ben was mistaken.  Mom never said she was going out today."

 "Oh, so she checks with you and Jonathan whenever she wants out, does she?" 
Lois teased.  "I never knew that."

 Clark grinned.  "We Kent men keep a close eye on our women."

 Lois's eyes lit up.  "Clark, I'm gonna tell Martha you said that."

 "You wouldn't."

 "You think?"  She narrowed her eyes and swept her gaze appraisingly over his 
body, its power not completely hidden by the dark fabric of his trousers and 
cotton shirt.  "Of course, I could be persuaded, for a price, to keep quiet," 
she drawled.

 Clark bent forward, placing his hands on her desk so that he was leaning over 
her, his face close to hers, and said slowly, his voice low,  "Baby, for you, 
I'm prepared to pay any price you name as soon as you want."

 "If we ever get the time, " Lois sighed as she touched the smooth hard knot of 
his tie and then lightly slid her fingers along its silky length.

 Jimmy interrupted them, his excited voice a reminder that they were still, 
after all, at work.  "C.K. I heard there was a bomb threat at the Bronson 
construction site on 23rd and Hamilton. That's not too far from where I live.  
What happened?"

 "Clark?" Lois was surprised.

 "Nothing happened." Clark grimaced in disgust.  "Not much of a story.  It was a 
practical joke.  The emergency crew evacuated the workers and when the 
demolition guy started to defuse the bomb, it exploded, all right."  Clark's 
fingers made quotation marks as he spoke.  "The bomb released a batch of paper 
snakes."

 Jimmy laughed.  "Cool. Wonder who did it."

 "There was a note, a banner actually.  The City Environment Protection League.  
CEPL.  Protesting the construction of the Bronson Tower on land they want to be 
a park."

 "You gotta admit, C.K., it's a cool way to make a point."

 Clark smiled. "Maybe, but the police don't think so.  They take even fake bombs 
pretty seriously. It's not just the waste of their time, but the panic over the 
bomb."

 "They charge anyone?" Lois asked.

 "No, but they're investigating."

 Jimmy's face became more serious.  "I still think whoever did plant the bomb 
has a point, though.  Once it's built, that tower's gonna wreck the whole feel 
of the area.  I hope they win."

 Clark walked behind his desk and sat down.  "I dunno, Jimmy.  After all, the 
court did throw out the case that the Metropolis Urban League brought to stop 
construction.  CEPL doesn't have much chance of stopping it now they've started 
excavating the foundation."

 "Clark, I've never heard of CEPL before. Why don't we do a little digging?  
Could be a story there."  Lois looked interested and moved into command mode.  
"I'll start with Bentley.  Maybe he's heard of these guys.  Jimmy, you do a data 
search and Clark, you. . ." she stopped speaking as she noticed that faraway 
look in his eye.  "I'll see you later, after you've returned that video."

* * *
        
 Martha was preparing dinner on automatic pilot, her mind planning what to do 
next in her search for her old friend.  That afternoon, in a small spartan 
studio-gallery, she had spotted, in a far corner at the back, a painting that 
she knew was his.  It had not been difficult to recognize his work with its 
distinctive mix of soft realism and harsh edged abstraction.  Besides, it 
contained, in the lower right corner, hidden in the darkness of the paint like a 
shadow image, a tiny broken egg, something that he always managed to incorporate 
into his sketches and paintings in the days she had known him.  No signature, 
just the initials: CGM.  He had never signed his full name.  Clifford Gilbert 
Moran.

 Although the gallery manager had been friendly when Martha had entered the 
studio, he turned noncommittal when she asked about the painting, saying only 
that he often exhibited a few works by other artists along with his own.  He'd 
liked this painting and so had agreed to display it.  He wasn't even sure if the 
man who had brought it to him was the artist or a friend of the artist.  As far 
as he knew, no one else in the Annex was showing anything by this artist.  Who 
was he, Martha had asked.  John Marshall.  The gallery owner would not give 
Martha an address or even a phone number, saying that Marshall had left neither. 
End of conversation.

 Martha had looked at the painting again for a few moments, wishing she could 
afford to buy it.  He must need the money more than she did.  Besides, she 
thought it was a good painting.  Lost in thought, she had left the studio.

 Now, standing in the kitchen thinking about all this, Martha decided to return 
to the studio district tomorrow.  Her decision coincided with the buzzer of the 
oven timer, pulling her back to the task of putting the finishing touches on an 
apple crisp.  As she was sliding it into the oven, she heard Lois in the front 
hall.  Martha left the kitchen in time to see Lois's eyes light up as she took 
her baby daughter in her arms, a beaming Jonathan standing beside mother and 
child.  As Martha watched, she gave a silent thank you to whatever force had 
made it possible for her son and this woman to find each other.

 "How's she been today, Jonathan?  Do you think she missed me?" Lois asked, a 
touch of anxiety in her tone.

 "She's been an angel and I know she missed you."

 Lois glanced at him, her eyes flashing with humor.  "And just how do you know 
that, Jonathan?"

 Jonathan smiled at his daughter-in-law indulgently.  "My granddaughter tells me 
everything.  Doesn't she, Martha?"

 Martha laughed, "Of course she does."
  
 As they were standing on the landing, Clark came in, looking a little rushed.  
"Just made it. Not as late as I thought."  He visibly relaxed, smiling a 
greeting at Lois and kissing her cheek as he took Laura from her.  "How's my 
baby girl?  You know, you're even more beautiful than when your mamma and I left 
you this morning."  He bounced her gently as he talked to her, responding to her 
gurgles as though Laura were holding up her end of the conversation.  "So tell 
me what you did today.  Did you tell your grandma and grandpa about your new 
fuzzy toy?"

 Amused, Lois watched for a moment and then teased, "So Clark are you going to 
take off your coat or is this a short visit?"

 Grinning, he gave Laura to her again, took off his coat, and then followed his 
family into the dining room.

 During dinner, Jonathan told Lois and Clark that his wallet had been returned, 
contents intact.  That led into desultory talk of the day's events, including 
Martha's shopping expedition in search of a wedding present for a nephew being 
married next month.  When Lois mentioned that the Planet's art critic thought he 
had seen her in a studio-gallery in the Annex of the old market district south 
of Kingston, Jonathan interrupted, sounding concerned.  Wasn't that area a 
little dangerous?  Reassuring him, Martha only said that she thought Bentley 
must have been mistaken.  She had been at LaFayette's, one of Metropolis's 
oldest and largest department stores.  Then, feeling a twinge of guilt at 
misleading her family, she escaped into the kitchen to retrieve the apple crisp.

   Clark took off just as Martha was serving dessert, flying to the rescue of a 
major derailment of a passenger train caught in a blizzard in central Canada.  
With temperatures of -30 degrees centigrade, "faster than a speeding bullet" 
help was essential.  Thus it was Martha, rather than Clark, who gave Lois a hand 
as she bathed Laura and got her ready for bed.  As she drizzled warm water over 
her daughter's plump shoulders, Lois commented on how much Clark enjoyed being 
part of his child's bedtime routine.  She giggled as Laura squealed in delight, 
splashing her tiny fists in the water.
 
 Lois looked sideways at Martha for a moment and laughed, "You know, if someone 
had told me five years ago that I'd be doing this, and *loving* doing this, I'd 
have thought he was a taco short of a combo."  Laura splattered water happily as 
Lois continued.  "But then I met your son and some kind of primitive programming 
seemed to take over."

 "I think that worked both ways, Lois."

 "Oh yeah, I know that. You know the funny thing is, I always knew that Clark 
would be a good father; he's always been so good with kids.  Not me.  Little 
kids kinda spooked me.  But now. . ."  Her words trailed off as she lifted Laura 
out of the water and wrapped her in a soft towel, rubbing noses with her as she 
did.  "When Dr. Klein said we couldn't have children, and then, when the 
adoption agency rejected us, I felt empty, like part of my soul had been 
destroyed."

 There was a silence in the tiny room for a moment and then Martha spoke with 
the remembered pain of her youth.  "I know, Lois, I know."

 Distressed, Lois looked at the older women.  "Martha, I'm sorry, I forgot."  As 
if trying to console her mother-in-law, she handed the terry wrapped Laura into 
her grandmother's arms.  "It's just that I can't imagine better, more natural 
parents, than you and Jonathan are for Clark.  I know how much he loves you."

 Martha smiled at Laura as she started to walk to her bedroom. "It's okay, 
honey," she said to Lois.  "It was such a long time ago.  And now there's 
Laura."

 "Why didn't you adopt, Martha?  You and Jonathan had been married for a few 
years before Clark came. I mean, they rejected Clark and me because of me."  She 
snickered.  "Clark, Mr. Cornfield Wholesome of the Midwest, got a five star 
rating while I got a negative five."
 
 "I didn't know it was because of you."  Martha's tone registered both 
astonishment and outrage.  "Why would they reject you, Lois?"  

 "Said I was disaster prone, that I sought excitement, that I was prone to 
falling out of buildings.  Not motherhood material.  *Gross* exaggeration.  I 
couldn't believe it.  How do those people get their jobs anyway?"

 Smiling, Martha said, "You know, Lois, Jonathan and I did try to adopt when it 
became clear we weren't going to have a child.  We both had tests done and the 
doctors told us there was no hope.  I think that was the hardest time in our 
marriage.  But we were so sure we would be able to adopt.  Then the Child 
Placement Agency of the State of Kansas," Martha said with some bitterness still 
evident in her tone, "turned us down."

 "What?  I can't believe that Martha.  Why would they do that?"

 "Oh, they approved of Jonathan. He was well thought of by the people of 
Smallville and he had a solid record during his two years of military service.  
I was the one they rejected."

 "Martha, how could that be?  You've been a great mother.  I can't imagine them 
turning you down." 

 "Oh, it was because I'd been arrested and spent a few days in jail," Martha 
said calmly as she finished diapering Laura.  "There you go, sweetheart.  All 
ready for your mommy."

 "What?" Lois's voice was nearly a squeak.  "Arrested?  Martha, what for?"

 "Nothing really very much, dear.  Disturbing the peace, obstruction of justice, 
and assault on a police officer."  She made a face at her granddaughter along 
with a throaty cooing sound and then placed her in Lois's arms.  "She's just so 
gorgeous."

 "Martha, can we focus for a minute, here?"

 "Whatever do you mean, Lois?"

 Lois rolled her eyes.  "Well, for one thing, how could that happen?  For 
another, how come I've never heard about this before?  I mean, Clark's never 
mentioned anything."

 "I was involved in a civil rights demonstration.  You know, I don't think Clark 
knows about it."  Martha's voice was thoughtful.  "He would only be aware that 
his father and I participated in the civil rights movement later, after we were 
married.  By the time we had Clark, what happened in Alabama seemed far in the 
past.  It's not something Jonathan was comfortable discussing, I think because 
that summer was a time when things were not going so well between us. So I never 
talked about it."

 Lois settled in the rocking chair and began to nurse Laura.  "So tell me about 
it, Martha."

 Martha sat in the worn wicker chair opposite Lois.  It was one that Clark had 
rescued from the attic in Smallville, a favorite from his childhood.  Martha sat 
back in the chair and watched Lois for a moment before speaking.  "It really was 
a long time ago.  I was taking an art course at the University of Kansas and got 
involved in civil rights.  I joined the campus branch of SNCC, a radical group, 
and went to Washington that summer to join the Freedom Rides south.  Lois, it 
was the most exhilarating time."  Martha's blue eyes sparkled at the memory.  
"We were so committed to what we were doing and we really felt that we could 
make a difference."

 "And then what happened?"

 "We got a bad reception in one of the towns we stopped in.  We'd entered the 
bus terminal quietly in pairs but we were met by an angry mob.  Lois, I'll never 
forget the hatred in their eyes.  For a moment everyone was dead silent and then 
they started calling us names, spitting at us, and hitting us while the police 
stood by doing nothing.  A friend of mine struck back, and then one of the cops 
hit him with his club.  I stepped on the cop's foot and then I punched him."

 Lois started to laugh. "Martha, I can't believe you did that."

 "Well, I did.  The judge sentenced me to two weeks in jail and then I went 
home."

 "Where was Jonathan through all this?"

  As Lois was asking this question, they could hear Jonathan's heavy footsteps 
coming down the hall toward the nursery and then his big cheerful voice.  "Did I 
just hear my name?"

 Martha turned to smile with affection at her husband.  "Yes, you did, Jonathan.  
We were just talking about the past."

 "Well, here's some news from the present.  CNN just made a brief mention of the 
train derailment.  Said that Superman is on the scene.  No pictures yet, they 
haven't been able to get a camera crew there."

 "How serious is it, Jonathan?  Did they say?" Lois asked.

 "Pretty bad," Jonathan's voice was grim.  "One passenger dead and a lot of 
people trapped in the wreckage.  The blizzard is still so strong that the 
Canadian Search and Rescue guys haven't reached them yet."

 "I guess Clark won't be home for awhile,"  Lois sighed.

* * * 

 Lois was right. Clark didn't get home until shortly after two in the morning.  
Silently, he slipped into his daughter's bedroom and stood in the darkness 
watching her as she slept.  There was a time when he had given up all hope that 
he would be able to have a family and he had despaired that it would be his fate 
to live his adult life in isolation, without love.  Tonight had been hard.  He 
had been too late to save the life of one woman and several other people had 
been badly hurt.  Now, as he looked at his daughter, he renewed his vow to 
always protect her.  Nothing would ever threaten her.  Then he gently kissed her 
forehead and left the room, drifting slightly above the creaky wooden floor in 
the hall so as not to awaken his sleeping child.

 When he got to the room at the end of the hallway, he stood at the foot of the 
bed for a moment.  This time, it was his sleeping wife whom he watched and, as 
he did, he felt the pain of this night's carnage begin to heal.  He slipped into 
bed, and slid his arm across her waist.  Lois, still asleep, drowsily murmured 
his name and curled her body into his.  It wasn't long before he too fell into a 
deep sleep.

* * *

 "Lois, I've got some info for you on CEPL."  Jimmy dodged around the clutter of 
the newsroom, waving a sheet of paper which he handed to her as soon as he 
reached her desk.

 Lois skimmed it quickly and smiled at him.  "Great, Jimmy!  Good background 
material.  I wonder if they're planning something as a follow up to yesterday."

 "They just might be, Lois."  Bentley J. Hoolihan joined the two reporters.  "I 
heard some talk last night when I was at the Fringe theatre.  CEPL's planning a 
street demonstration at the Bronson construction site today."

 "You're kidding!"  Lois's voice was excited.  "When?"

 "About noon."

 Reaching for her bag, Lois stood up quickly and then headed for the elevator, 
pausing to grab the last chocolate donut by the coffee machine.  Resuming her 
path, she called out, "Grab your camera, Jimmy. We'll need shots."

 Following her into the elevator, Jimmy asked, "Where's C.K. this morning?"

 "Um, not sure.  Didn't get a chance to talk to him before I left."  Lois took 
another mouthful of chocolate junk food.

 "He leave early on a story?"

 Lois laughed.  "The reverse.  He worked late last night.  Last I saw him, he 
was fast asleep."  She ate her donut in silence for a moment.  "Mmmm.  This is 
sooo good.  Do you know how long it's been since I've had chocolate?"  Bemused, 
Jimmy looked at her as she explained, her mouth full.  "Fattening and the 
caffeine, too.  Not good for Laura.  Of course, I gave it up.  Well, mostly gave 
it up.  But you can't live without chocolate.  Did you know that, Jimmy?"  
Trying to suppress a grin, Jimmy nodded solemnly at her as the elevator opened 
onto the main lobby of the Planet just as Lois was taking another bite of donut.  
Completely absorbed in the semi-orgasmic taste of chocolate, she collided with a 
broad chest as she walked out of the elevator.

 "Good morning, Lois." Clark's eyes were laughing, taking in the traces of junk 
food on her upper lip.  "You look good in chocolate."  He bent forward and 
lightly kissed her cheek.
 
 "Morning."  Lois wiped the traces of chocolate from her face, searching his as 
she did.  "You okay?"

 "Yeah.  Looks like I'll see you later, though."

 "Uh huh.  CEPL is planning a demonstration at that Bronson tower construction 
site.  Jimmy and I are going over there now.  See you later."

 Clark watched her go, the smile vanishing from his face.  Lois, he thought, 
we've got to stop meeting like this.  It'd been a while since they had any real 
time alone together.  He missed her.  Maybe tonight would be different.

* * *

 Martha picked up the plain brown envelope from the front porch of the 
brownstone shortly after Clark left for work.  As she was clearing up in the 
kitchen, she'd heard the doorbell but by the time she opened the door, no one 
was there.  The envelope had her name on it.  Once inside the townhouse, she 
opened it and let out a gasp when she saw its contents.  On a blank piece of 
paper was printed a simple message: <STOP SEARCHING >.

 The second sheet was good quality cartridge paper bearing a sensuously sketched 
pastel portrait of a nude woman, beautiful, young, with long strawberry blonde 
hair.  The initials CGM were in the corner.  The model was Martha Clark.  
Shaken, Martha quickly stuffed both message and sketch back into the envelope.  
There was no way she was going to let Jonathan see this.

 The last time he'd come across a nude portrait of her, they'd had a huge fight 
and he'd leapt to all the wrong conclusions.  Besides, she hadn't really been 
nude in that painting he'd found in the barn a few years ago.  A sheet had been 
artfully draped across the more interesting parts of her body.  Nevertheless, it 
had been enough to send Jonathan off to seek refuge with Clark in Metropolis.  
In the old sketch in her hand, however, the more interesting parts of her body 
were fully, and not too badly, Martha thought, on display.

 Jonathan came out of the kitchen, carrying Laura.  "What was it, Martha?"

 "Nothing, Jonathan.  Just junk mail."  She started to climb the stairs.  "I'll 
go get an extra blanket for Laura.  It's chilly this morning."

* * *

 Lois and Jimmy spent the rest of the morning taking pictures and interviewing 
or semi-interviewing people who lived in the old market Annex, just east of the 
construction site, towards Hobbs Bay.  The site manager had let slip that he had 
heard that the developer of the Bronson Tower complex also had plans to 
redevelop the east side as soon as he could get his hands on the real estate.  
Lois thought that development would be a godsend for this area until he told her 
that Bronson's plan was for massive office towers and an expensive condominium 
but no plan for any other type of facility, let alone green space.

  As she and Jimmy talked to the locals, Lois realized that there was another 
problem if redevelopment went ahead.  Where would these people go?  They lacked 
the money to pay even an average Metropolis rent.  A surprising number appeared 
to be homeless. Some were squatters, living in derelict warehouses and abandoned 
apartment buildings, banding together to survive as best they could.  Their 
living arrangements were illegal, in violation of trespassing laws and numerous 
city bylaws governing heat and electricity, not to mention fire regulations.  
But nobody cared and they were surviving: a motley crew of half well indigents 
released by health care institutions too soon, adolescents fleeing the horrors 
of family abuse, petty criminals, and drug users.  The only help out there came 
from two volunteer shelters run by church groups.

 CEPL's demonstration started shortly after twelve and attracted many of the 
residents of the east side as well as a large number of passersby on their lunch 
hour.  The day was milder than usual for January, damp with the promise of an 
evening snowfall.  The demonstrators were shabby, dressed in jeans and thick 
jackets, mostly black or dark khaki in color.  They looked like an army that had 
come out of the bowels of the earth.  They wore large, oversized masks, 
fashioned to resemble mythological creatures, jesters, and jokers, their 
features twisted grotesquely so that the images were both surreal and bizarre 
and in some inner primal sense, disturbing.  They chanted their slogans like a 
Greek chorus of doom, their voices accompanied by the staccato beating of a 
drum, its frenzy increasing as the voices got louder with anger, ending with the 
chanted, "We declare war on the developers, destroyers of the city!"

 When they finished, several of them dramatically lit grenades and then flung 
them in unison toward the building.  The grenades were dummies, releasing dry 
ice for dramatic effect, but it was too late.  Several of the construction 
workers charged the demonstrators and the whole scene deteriorated into what 
looked like a barroom brawl.  Like ants, people seeped out of adjacent buildings 
and swarmed around the fighters, shouting encouragement to both sides.

 As Lois was watching this, her eyes swept the crowd and then stopped.  Over at 
the opposite end of the melee she saw Martha Kent in the middle of what looked 
like an intense discussion with a tall, slender, grey-haired man.  Both gestured 
dramatically and Lois could tell, even from this distance, that Martha was 
deeply involved in the argument.  Assuming her mother-in-law was in trouble, 
Lois forced her way through the shouting crowd, not an easy thing to do when it 
was focused on events in the opposite direction.

 "Lady, watch who you're pushin'. Get outta here."

 "You're in my way.  Move!"

 Lois dodged to the man's left and wove around him, adroitly charging into the 
next empty patch of pavement on her trek through the crowd.  By the time she got 
to the spot where Martha had been, her mother-in-law had vanished.  Lois looked 
around and couldn't see her anywhere.  All she saw was Martha's opponent, 
striding quickly away from the tangled crowd. Worried, Lois jogged over to a 
small coffee shop, hoping that Martha would be there.  She wasn't.  Quickly 
scanning the area, Lois noticed a subway stop about half a block away.  Maybe 
Martha had headed home.  Sprinting the short distance, she paid her fare and 
then raced down the steps to the subway platform just in time to see Martha 
getting into the car at the far end seconds before its doors closed.  Then the 
track was empty. 

 Lois took a deep breath and walked back up the subway steps to the street.

* * *

 "Clark, we have to talk."  Lois, still in her coat, stood in front of Clark's 
desk.

 Surprised by the firmness of her tone, Clark stopped what he was doing.  One 
more unidentified body had shown up and he was trying to link it to the unsolved 
murders that had occurred over the last couple of months.  It bothered him that 
Superman had not been able to prevent these random killings.  Now he turned away 
from a map plotting the sites of the bodies to give his full attention to his 
partner.  "Okay.  What's up?"

 "Not here."  Turning to look in the direction of the empty conference room, she 
nodded towards it.  "The conference room," she said as she stalked towards it.

 Clark followed her, closing the door behind them after he entered the room.  He 
grinned at her, distracted by the way her dark hair curved along the line of her 
cheek.  "You know, this is the first time we've been alone together and *both* 
awake at the same time in two days."  He pushed the wayward strand of dark hair 
that had fallen across her forehead back into its proper place, a gentle 
involuntary touch.

 Lois's eyes softened and she touched his hand.  "I guess it is.  Maybe this 
weekend will be different."  Her voice was wistful but then she came back to her 
original purpose in getting him alone.  "But first we have to find out what's 
going on with Martha."

 "What?"  He looked confused.  "What are you talking about, Lois?"

 "There's something she's not telling us, Clark.  I know it. I just saw her in 
the crowd at the CEPL protest arguing with a man I think was a participant in 
it."

 "Are you sure, Lois?  Before I left for work, Mom told me she was going out 
today to look for that wedding present.  No mention of anything else.  Besides, 
why would she want to go to that part of town?"

 "I don't know, Clark, but she was in the Annex yesterday, and something 
happened after the movie on Thursday, and she's not telling us about it."  Lois 
was emphatic.

 Clark's body language betrayed his skepticism, his right hand gesturing as he 
spoke. "Come on, Lois.  This is my Mom we're talking about here.  She wouldn't 
hide anything from us."

 Lois narrowed her eyes.  "She's an open book, is she?"

 "Well, yeah.  She would have told us if she were going to that demonstration.  
It was probably someone who looked like her."

 Lois rolled her eyes.  "Okay.  We'll ask her tonight."

* * *

 Lois did.  She waited until they had finished dinner and were drinking tea to 
ask Martha the question.  At least, she worked up to asking her the question.  
"Any luck in finding a wedding present today, Martha?"

 "Yes. I found just the thing.  And they were willing to ship it to Kansas."

 "Do anything else?"

 "No, shopping for the perfect gift takes time."

 "What did you get, Mom?"

 "Silver candlesticks."

 Lois thought, like that takes time, and forged ahead.  "You know, I saw someone 
who looked a lot like you at the CEPL protest I was covering today.  I could 
have sworn it was you."  

 "I don't think so, dear.  Must have been someone who looks like me.  More tea, 
Jonathan?"

 "Thanks, Martha."

 Lois let the issue go but resolved to talk again to Clark.  She was sure she'd 
seen Martha and she was worried.  She spoke to him later as they were bathing 
Laura but Clark, absorbed in his child, continued to shrug off her concern.  For 
him, it was simple.  Martha was his mom and she wouldn't lie.  Clark picked up 
his daughter and began to gently dry her as he spoke.  "Come on, Lois, you're 
imagining things.  Why would Mom be there?"  He picked Laura up, planted a big, 
noisy kiss on her cheek, and grinned when she squealed back at him.

 Later, after Laura had settled down to sleep, and Lois, Clark, and Jonathan 
were in the living room, Martha came downstairs, distress evident in her face.  
"Jonathan, did you happen to find that envelope that came this morning?"

 "What?  Oh, yes.  I put it in the recycle box."

 "You didn't happen to look in it before you did?"

 "No, not much interested in junk mail, Martha."

 "It had some coupons inside.  I'll fish it out."  She walked to the kitchen and 
soon returned with the envelope in her hand.  "I'll take it back to the 
apartment with us." 

 Lois turned to Clark and raised one eyebrow.  Coupons, she thought, don't come 
in plain brown envelopes.

* * *

 A bomb exploded early the next morning in the excavation for the foundation of 
the Bronson building.  The magnesium flash of the explosion seared the dark sky, 
alerting Superman as he was returning to the city.  He streaked downwards but 
wasn't in time to save the night watchman whose bloodied body lay just outside 
the blast area.  The girders and scaffolding that had been erected earlier in 
the week now had collapsed inward like scattered match sticks.  Using his x-ray 
vision, Clark scanned the debris to make sure that there were no other victims 
and no one was trapped.  Then, bowing his head, he knelt down on one knee beside 
the body of the guard and was silent.  He couldn't be everywhere at once; he 
knew that; but still he mourned whenever he did not make it in time.

* * *

 By the time the Kent household was up Sunday morning, LNN was broadcasting 
coverage of the explosion.  The police had ascertained that a bomb had caused it 
and that the victim was a retired police officer working part time in security.  
Interviews with his former colleagues and neighbors all confirmed that he was a 
decent man, a good friend, and devoted to his family.  A spokesperson for 
Bronson said that the corporation would continue with the project; they would 
not bow to terrorism.   The police, who were still searching for evidence and 
interviewing people in the area, were noncommittal in attributing blame for the 
explosion.
 
 Watching the small T.V. in the kitchen, Lois thought that told her nothing.  
Then, just as she was walking over to the kitchen counter, LNN interrupted its 
regular broadcast with news that it had just received a note from CEPL claiming 
responsibility for the act.

 Lois turned to Clark, his hair still damp from his morning shower.  "What do 
you think?" she asked as she handed him a cup of coffee.

 He looked thoughtful. "I don't know.  I located what evidence I could last 
night so the police should be able to start their analysis this morning.  I 
didn't see anyone around the area of the explosion.  What do you think, Lois?  
You know more about CEPL than I do."

 "It doesn't seem consistent with what our research has shown.  They're 
anarchists, but I would also have said they were pacifists."  Her voice was 
thoughtful.  "Still, the final act of their street drama yesterday seemed like a 
threat of violence to me.  I guess I don't know either."  She shrugged her 
shoulders, took a sip of her coffee, and then looked across at him.  "Clark, why 
don't we go down there this morning and see what we can dig up?"

 He shook his head.  "We both can't go and right now it could be dangerous down 
there, Lois."

 She smiled and patted him on the chest.  "That's all right.  I can take care of 
myself."

 "Not always, Lois."  His voice was soft as he folded his arms across his chest 
and tilted his head slightly to one side.

 Lois was silent for a moment; then she spoke, her voice indignant.  "Oh, so I 
need my big, strong husband to protect me whenever I go out?"

 "That's not fair.  You know that's not what I meant."

 "Then what did you mean?" A tornado warning flashed in her dark eyes.

 Clark ignored the weather watch and blundered on, driven by that one dark fear 
inside his gut and the immediacy of the security guard's death.  "It's not just 
me, it's Laura too. You're a mother now, Lois.  We've been through such a lot.  
You take too many risks.  You. . ."

 The tornado swirled down, sucking up the rest of his argument.  "I'm still Lois 
Lane, Clark Kent.  I'm still the Planet's best investigative reporter.  And I do 
*not* take risks.  And I'm a good mother to Laura, too.  I can do this."

 Oh, Clark thought, there's more here than just this story.  He took her hands 
in his, absently noticing how small they seemed in his much larger ones.  "I 
know that, Lois.  Believe me, honey, I know that.  But you have to understand 
me, too.  You and Laura are everything I've ever wanted, more than I ever 
thought I'd have.  If anything ever happened. . ."  He couldn't finish as the 
fear that sometimes awakened him in the night resurfaced.  "I want to protect 
you both, to take care of you.  I need to do that."  Raising one hand, he 
touched the side of her cheek as he looked into her dark eyes, watching for the 
tornado to downgrade.

 Lois let out a sigh, but her tone was disgruntled.  "Okay, I know that."  The 
trace of a crooked smile crossed her face, as though she were aware of how 
contradictory her emotions were.  "And I love that, Clark.  And I need to 
protect you and Laura, too, but it's not so easy.  What if I can't do it all?  
What if I lose my edge?"  Her eyes were honest as she looked at him, letting him 
know how torn she felt.

 "Don't you think I worry about these things, too?  My reputation as a reporter 
is just as important, maybe more important to me than my reputation as Superman.  
And our daughter and our marriage are more important than either of those two."  
He stopped for a moment, searching for the words to tell her how fragile he 
sometimes feared their happiness was and then he shook his head.  "But lately, 
it seems that our marriage is the last thing that gets any time." He smiled 
ruefully at her.  "Lois, this is the first time we've been alone together in 
three days.  Laura's sleeping, Mom and Dad are at their place, and *you* want to 
go check out some story."  His right hand slid under the yoke of her flannel 
shirt, touching the smooth skin of her shoulder, his thumb slowly tracing the 
ridge of her collar bone. "Mom and Dad will be here after lunch and then Lane 
and Kent can go look for the bad guys."  Lowering his head, he kissed her, a 
lingering, soft kiss, an invitation.  "Come back to bed with me, Lois."

 Lois softened, stepping more closely to him.  Sliding her arms around his neck, 
her mouth close to his, she whispered, "Deal, partner."

 His arms went around as he felt her lips cover his. "Lois," his voice was a 
husky sigh from the back of his throat.  Picking her up in one smooth action, he 
carried her upstairs, laughing as she bit lightly at his ear, whispering, 
teasing him with her words, her hands, her mouth.

 Yes, he thought, things are definitely looking up.

* * *

 The mood was tense around the roped off Bronson construction site that 
afternoon.  CEPL was out in force, dressed in dark earth tones, many of them 
wearing masks from yesterday's drama.  Marching defiantly in the falling snow, 
their pickets denounced not just the construction but also what the group 
claimed was corporate America's attempt to destroy free speech.  Their signs 
were large and colorful, the slogans ideologically diverse:
  CEPL INNOCENT OF BOMB BLAST, 
  SCAPEGOATS for BRONSON,
  FASCIST AMERIKA SUCKS, 
  THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE. 
An LNN camera crew was filming the whole thing.

 Looking at the protesters, Lois said,  "Let's talk to the guy with the 
"innocent" sign.  She charged ahead of Clark toward the person carrying the sign 
to find that the bearer was a woman, more accurately, a girl, her red hair 
hacked short in a near buzz cut and small zodiac earrings dangling from each 
ear.  Her thin face was partially obscured by a dark scarf which she had wound 
around her neck and chin against the cold.  Clark noticed that she was shorter 
than Lois and in spite of the bulk of her oversized padded coat, she seemed 
frail.  Her anger was obvious as she answered their questions.

 "Bronson is trying to destroy this city. They're building a concrete fortress.  
They've got the police on their side.  They're trying to blame us but we didn't 
do it.  It's not right.  Can't you see that?"

 Keeping her voice low-key, Lois asked the girl for her name so they could 
attribute their quote in the article.  Her dark eyes widened and her voice 
turned shrill.

 "You're setting me up.  You want to arrest me."

 "No, no. We just want to get the truth out.  We're from the Daily Planet."  
Lois tried to calm her.

 "You've been sent by them, I know it, I know it."  She was panicking, fear in 
her voice.

 Clark spoke to her, his voice soothing, at least he hoped it was.  "It's O.K.  
We don't need your name."  Smiling at her, he said, "We'll call you a reliable 
source."

 The girl's agitation dissipated.  "Reliable source.  I like that."  She picked 
up her sign and continued her walk.

 Clark could hear her muttering, "Reliable source", like a mantra, and he 
thought, with a pang of sadness, that the real story here was more than a 
bombing and more than the construction site.

 A short, stocky man in a long dark winter coat, followed by two police 
officers, approached the picketers, scanning their numbers for a moment,  
hesitating, as though he were uncertain what to do next.  Then, pulling a piece 
of paper from his breast pocket, he spoke loudly and with surprising firmness.  
"That's it, folks.  Break it up.  The Bronson corporation and the City of 
Metropolis have secured an injunction prohibiting picketing within a hundred 
yards of any evidence from this morning's explosion.  Time to go home."  Behind 
him, the two cops had adopted the military "at ease" stance, their bodies alert, 
their hands behind their backs and their faces impassive.

 "No!"  A defiant, prolonged yell came from one of the picketers.  Others picked 
up the "no", their shouts growing hot with anger, as some of the protesters 
marched toward the city official.  Clark watched and listened, noticing that one 
of the cops was pulling out his radio as the two of them split up and moved to 
either end of the demonstrators.  He felt he could touch the tension in the 
atmosphere.  Still, he hesitated to bring Superman into the situation.  Much 
better if the people here could resolve the situation. 

 At that moment, a tall thin man emerged from the crowd.  His face and hair were 
covered by a mask, made from an old navy bandanna tied at the back of his head.  
Reaching out his hand, he took the injunction and skimmed it while the crowd 
behind him waited in silence.  Then he raised his head and spoke, his voice 
deep, with a smooth resonance that was almost hypnotic.

  "CEPL would like to make a statement to LNN."  He paused as two LNN crew 
members approached, one with a camcorder.  "CEPL is not responsible for the 
Bronson bombing.  CEPL  has always used peaceful methods to achieve its goals 
and will continue to fight Bronson's destruction of  the city.  We seek a more 
creative use of the city for the benefit of all its citizens.  This injunction 
is an attack on the freedom and the rights of the people.  Bronson has declared 
war on the people."   As he spoke, his cadence reminded Clark of some of the 
speeches he'd read from the 1960's when he was in college.

 Lois started to jog over to the CEPL spokesman as he turned away from the LNN 
news crew.  Calling over her shoulder, she shouted, "Clark, we have to find out 
who he is.  We can't let LNN get this story." 

 She was restrained by a strong grip just above her elbow.  "Wait, Lois.  
There's something wrong.  I hear something."  His face focused in concentration, 
Clark shifted his eyes toward the derelict building next to the construction 
site.  Putting his hands on her shoulders, he said,  "*You* stay here," and ran 
into an alley behind them.  A moment later, Superman shot into the sky and 
landed in front of the building.  He raced into its front lobby toward the 
ticking noise that he heard in the corner farthest from him.   He got to the 
bomb just as it was about to detonate.  No time to defuse it, let alone time to 
figure out the mechanism.  He blasted upwards through one of the broken windows 
and then hurled the bomb towards the clouds.  Seconds later it exploded with a 
sharp crack and a flash of light against the dullness of the grey sky above the 
protesters.

 When Clark got back to the spot where he had left Lois, she wasn't there.  
Maybe if I told her to do the most reckless thing she could imagine, that might 
work, he thought.  He spotted her on the far side of the protesters and to his 
amazement, she was standing still.  Then she turned and walked toward him.  He 
looked at her with raised eyebrows, his face a silent question.

 "What?"  Without waiting for his answer, Lois continued, "Clark, I lost him.  
He must know this area like the back of his hand."  Without pausing, she added, 
"Where did you find the bomb?"

 "Over there.  In that abandoned apartment building."  He raised his hand toward 
the dark brown brick structure to the right of them. 

  By this time, there were murmurs throughout the crowd.  Some of them had seen 
Superman and it didn't require much imagination to figure out what the fireworks 
display had been.  The two police officers were running across to the old  
building, followed by a few of the crowd and, of course, the LNN crew.  The 
protesters had scattered.

* * *

 Just before dinner, the Kent family, (with the exception of Lois who, 
astonishingly, was in the kitchen), sat in the living room as they watched the 
evening news.  The program did not give much time to the CEPL story; compared to 
big national and international stories, this one was minor.  However, LNN had 
pieced together a brief clip of that afternoon's events, followed by a quick 
montage of the threat made during Saturday's demonstration, a shot of the damage 
done by the first bomb blast, and a picture of the security guard who had been 
its victim.  The clip concluded with the CEPL spokesman's statement following 
the announcement of the injunction.  The implication in the way LNN constructed 
the story was that CEPL was a group of dangerous radicals responsible for both 
bombs.  LNN concluded by saying that the police were looking for the spokesman, 
whom they were calling the masked leader, for questioning.

 Martha watched it all in silence.  As soon as she had heard the masked leader 
speak, she had recognized him.  She would recognize his voice anywhere; it had 
been a kind of joke among their group all those years ago:
Cliff's sexy voice, soft and deeply rich in tone, a magician's voice.  She had 
nearly fallen under its spell again yesterday when she had accidently spotted 
him on the fringes of the crowd in front of the Bronson construction site.  She 
had been waiting for the bus that would take her from the subway to the Annex 
where she planned to revisit the gallery with Cliff's painting, when her 
curiosity had pulled her across the street toward the demonstration.  After a 
few moments, her eyes had drifted over the faces of the people in the crowd and 
she had spotted him about twenty feet away from her, standing on the fringe of 
the crowd.

 Without hesitating, she had circled briskly around the backs of the spectators 
to stand beside him, her thoughts a jumble of relief, excitement, and hostility.  
At first, she'd thought he'd been happy to see her, but he soon turned guarded, 
warning her away.  Her resentment had flared up and she'd given him a piece of 
her mind.  They hadn't been talking for more than ten minutes before they were 
arguing, angry words slicing the cold air between them.    

 Still, she believed Cliff couldn't possibly be responsible for the construction 
site bombing.  When they were young, he had been so idealistic and he had always 
opposed the use of violence.  But, a small voice reminded her, he hadn't been 
opposed to illegal action; all those years ago, he had been involved in that 
bank robbery and a man had died in that robbery.

 Jonathan was the first to speak, pulling her mind back to the reality of the 
living room.  His voice was strong in its condemnation of CEPL.  "I hope they 
find that guy.  As long as he and that group are out there, who knows what can 
happen?  Why don't they work within the system, if they want change?"

 "Jonathan, have you forgotten?  Sometimes the system won't change when it 
should.  You have to get its attention."   Martha wasn't sure why she felt so 
defensive.

 "They're just kids, Martha, by the look of most of them.  What are they doing 
on the streets like that?"

 "I don't know, Jonathan.  But I do know you can't give up your ideals.  Maybe 
those kids have no choice."

 "Martha, there's always a choice.  When we marched for civil rights, we were 
peaceful.  It looks like this group is prepared to use violence.  Actions like 
that endanger everyone.  Remember what happened to you in that riot in Alabama?"  
Jonathan's face betrayed his disapproval and some tension that Clark did not 
understand. 

 "Jonathan, we didn't start the violence.  Are you saying I did the wrong thing 
that summer?"  Martha was angry now, her voice challenging him.

 Clark watched, amazed at the sudden flare up between his parents.  He had no 
idea what they were fighting about.  He had few memories of his parents 
fighting.  They had always been so close.  And what was the Alabama comment all 
about?

 "No. No, Martha.  But what you did back then was impulsive."  Jonathan was 
tight-lipped as he spoke, his usual easy going demeanor nowhere in evidence.

 "What are you guys talking about?"  Clark's question interrupted them.

 Martha suddenly seemed conscious of where she was and she took a deep breath.  
"Oh, nothing, Clark.  It all happened before you were born.  We ought to forget 
about it."  She shot her husband a warning glance as she said this.

 Jonathan calmed down a little.  "I'd like to Martha, but what am I supposed to 
think about that sketch?"  

 Martha's eyes widened.  "Jonathan, you opened that envelope.  How could you?"

 "It was an accident," he said, tight-lipped.  "This morning, I was looking for 
the medical receipts for the treatment for that rash you developed on our trip 
so I could submit them to the insurance company.  You were out so I couldn't ask 
you where they were.  I checked the top drawer of your dresser and saw the 
envelope.  I thought maybe it had the receipts so I opened it."  He took a deep 
breath.  As Jonathan spoke, Clark was surprised by the hurt he saw in his 
father's eyes.  "You never told me, Martha.  I thought, when you came back with 
me that fall, it was what you wanted."

 Stricken, Martha stepped closer and touched her husband's hand.  "Oh, Jonathan, 
it was.  It was.  When I came back to Smallville with you, it was because I knew 
that we belonged together."

 At that moment, Lois entered the living room and stood there quietly, 
responding to the distress she saw in all three faces in the room.  Since no one 
was speaking, she did.  "Supper, it's uh, ready."

 The first part of dinner was carried out in uncomfortable silence as neither 
Martha nor Jonathan seemed to want to talk.  Clark was nonplussed, unsure of 
what to say.  Lois, having learned a lesson or two from her mother-in-law over 
the last few years about how to deal with awkward situations, opened the 
conversation by asking Clark what he thought of how she had cooked the roast.

 Clark, who'd never been asked a question like that by Lois before, looked at 
her like she was one of the Stepford wives.  "Swell, honey."

 "Good, good.  It's a new recipe.  I found it in a book Alice gave me when we 
got engaged.  The Journalist's Cookbook.  This is Walter Cronkite's recipe."

 Through the rest of the meal, the conversation was limited to recipes, what 
Laura had done that day, and the weather.  Jonathan said little, glumly 
attacking his food while Clark tried to figure what there was about the news 
item that had triggered all this, what had happened in Alabama, and what the 
sketch showed.  This was between his parents, he thought.  It would not be right 
to interfere.  Then he thought, Mom interferes when Lois and I get into trouble.  
He remembered back to the time when he'd broken up with Lois, fearing for her 
safety.  Both his parents had lost little time letting him know that he'd made a 
big mistake, which, he admitted, he had.  The memory pleased him.  It gave him 
the right to run interference now.  So he did.

 "What sketch?"  He thought that was the most harmless item on his list to start 
with.

 Saying nothing, Jonathan pushed away from the table and, with a grim look on 
his face, walked over to the hall closet, returning with the envelope.  Avoiding 
the surprised look on Martha's face, he gave the envelope to Lois.  "I brought 
it with me."

 Lois pulled out the sketch and smiled.  "Martha, this is you, isn't it?  It's 
lovely."

 "Thank you, Lois.  It was done the summer before Jonathan and I were married.  
I was taking an art course at the University of Kansas."

 "It looks like you *were* the art course."  Jonathan was not happy.

 Clark asked, "Do I get to see it?"

 "Your mother is not wearing any clothes, son."

 Lois handed the sketch to Clark who looked away. "Uh, thanks.  I don't think I 
need to see it."

 "Clark, there's nothing wrong with it," Lois said.

 Shrugging his shoulders, Clark laughed self-consciously, aware of how 
ridiculous he was being.  "I know that and I *still* don't want to see it.  So 
what else happened that summer?"

 Martha told him then about the art course she had taken.  "I needed to get away 
from Smallville."  She darted a quick glance across the table at her husband 
after she said that but his stolid face remained unreadable. "Everything was 
happening so fast between Jonathan and me and I felt like I was losing control 
of my life.  I needed time to think about things.  I was only twenty years old, 
Clark.  But, it wasn't just the art course.  When I got to the campus, I got 
involved in a student civil rights organization and we joined the Freedom Rides 
going south from Washington."

 "What?  How come I never knew that?"  Surprised, Clark looked at his mother.  
She had always been passionate about causes that she believed important and he 
knew that his passion for justice was as much learned from her as an innate 
reaction to the wrongs he saw around him.

 Martha made light of it, not sure how much she wanted to reveal about what had 
happened that spring and summer.  Not until she'd talked to Jonathan first.  She 
figured it was safe to talk about her political involvement, so she did, 
finishing with her arrest.  "Lois didn't tell you?  We talked about it the other 
night."

 "No, Martha.  I figured it was your story and you should tell Clark."

 "So, Mom, who did the sketch?"  Clark grinned at his mother.

 "Oh, a classmate.  We all posed for the life drawing classes.  It saved model 
fees.  I ran into him the other day and he sent this sketch.  He thought I'd 
like to have it." 

 Clark was aware of the disapproval on his father's face.

* * *

 "O.K., Lois, you were right.  There *was* something going on with my Mom."  
Clark looked at his wife, lounging on her side in bed, her head propped up on 
her hand, a small smile on her face.  He let his gaze travel over the silk 
covered curve of her waist and hip, remembering their morning lovemaking.  
Amazing how her body curved like that, he thought.
  
 "So you admit that you were taking her for granted."

 "What?"  Clark pulled his mind back from where it had been wandering.  "No."  
His voice was firm but then he shrugged his shoulders. "O.K., so there were some 
things I didn't know."  She stared at him pointedly.  "Important things," he 
added.  "Cool, though."  He smiled.

 "There's still a couple things she isn't telling us, Clark."

 His face was skeptical.  "For instance?"

 "Who was she arguing with yesterday?"

 "Lois, you were mistaken about seeing her there."

 Lois let that go.  "And why didn't she tell you about her involvement in the 
Freedom Rides?  Don't you think that's a little odd, Mr. Award Winning 
Investigative Reporter?"

 "Not so odd, Lois.  Dad's uncomfortable with that, so I can see her not 
bringing it up."

 "Uh huh," Lois matched his skepticism.  "Pretty hard to imagine that Martha had 
a life before she became your mother."

 He grinned.  "All right, so there're a couple of gaps. But, you know, I can see 
why Dad would be upset with the sketch."

 Lois's eyes widened.  "Why, Clark? It's beautiful."

 "Maybe the idea of his wife posing nude, for a start."

 "But they weren't married at the time.  Anyway, it wasn't sexual.  It was part 
of an art class."

 "Hah!"

 Lois laughed delightedly, "Clark, you're a prude!"

 "Not true, Lois."  His eyes glinted and a wicked smile flashed across his face.  
Very gently, controlling his power, he blew the thin shoulder strap of her 
nightgown down across her arm.  Slipping into bed, he stretched his body out 
beside her and lightly kissed her bare shoulder, his hand sliding over the 
silken contour of her hip.  "Guess I'll have to prove you're wrong, Ms. Lane."  
His voice had lowered to a husky softness.

 "Guess you'll have to.  But you should know," she said as her fingers traced 
the strong muscle of his arm,  "I require a *lot* of evidence."

 "I think you'll find that I have a lot of evidence to give you," he murmured as 
he slowly kissed the side of her neck, smiling as he felt her hand slide along 
his chest and then shift lower.

 "Ummm, impressive, Kent."

 He loved her giggle.  He loved her.

* * *

 Monday was the last day of Lois and Clark's weekend.  For them, at least for 
one of them since Lois's return to work, Saturday was part of the work week, the 
day the paper pulled together the massive, nationally read Sunday edition of the 
Daily Planet.  This particular Monday, they stayed home, spending a rare morning 
absorbed in the routine of caring for their child, minor household tasks, 
talking, reading, and enjoying a few moments of lust and tenderness.  Whenever 
he thought Lois was busy elsewhere, Clark worked on his special project, which 
was to teach Laura to say "Daddy".  This was to be his daughter's first spoken 
word.  All in all, it was a lazy, luxurious day.

 Part of the reason why they had decided to spend the day at home was so that 
Martha and Jonathan could spend the day by themselves.  Both Lois and Clark were 
hoping that, whatever was bothering the older couple, they would confide in each 
other.  Thus, the big event, (well, the second big event), of the day for Lois 
and Clark was a trip to the local bar and grill for dinner.  The snow had 
stopped, leaving a crisp, clear evening that made their walk to Charlie's a 
pleasant stroll.

 Charlie's, in operation since the 1920's when it had operated as a speakeasy, 
was small by the standards of the knock off franchise equivalents.  Its walls 
were half panelled in dark wood above which was plaster streaked by a few cracks 
and in need of painting.  The room was dimly lit, its old brass light fixtures 
reflected in the mirror behind the bar, making its long polished oak counter the 
centre of the room.  The only visible concession to modern times was a small 
television located at one end of the bar.  Tuned eighty percent of the time to 
the sports channel, it was religiously switched to the news at six and eleven.  
According to the bartender, it was everyone's civic duty to be well informed.

 As Lois slid into her chair at their regular table and Clark unbundled Laura, 
they half listened to the evening news which was just wrapping up its local 
coverage.  Just as they were picking up their menus, the news anchor shifted to 
a story connected to the demonstration.

 "Late this afternoon, CEPL, citing squatters' rights, occupied the old Daly 
apartment building from which Superman removed a bomb yesterday.  The building, 
abandoned for the last ten years, lacks electricity, heat, and water.  Outside 
the building, the group has erected barricades in an attempt to reinforce their 
claim.  Slated for demolition next week, Daly Apartments is part of the Bronson 
Renewal Plan.  A spokesman for the company said they are consulting their 
lawyers.  Meanwhile, the police are continuing to search for the group's leader, 
who they advise is considered dangerous."

 The story was accompanied by shots of the Daly facade, a brief, vaguely 
incoherent interview with one of its very young occupants who was bundled 
against the cold in a dull, shapeless jacket and a large black scarf; a second 
interview with a well dressed, articulate spokeswoman for Bronson; and a final 
dramatic shot of CEPL's masked leader denouncing the system.

 "Of course, they select the one thing he said that makes it sound like he would 
blow up the building," Lois said as she averted her attention from the screen to 
look at her husband.

 "Maybe he would, Lois.  Somebody's responsible for those bombs and CEPL has 
been the most vocal opponent of the project.  So there's motive."

 "That's conjecture, Clark.  It just seems out of character with what the group 
has done before and the type of people they are.  There's a core of committed 
people, mostly young and mostly on the fringes of the art and theatre world.  
They're anarchists but it's their craft they use as a means of trying to get 
change."

 "This guy's older though, Lois.  He could have a different agenda.  Maybe once 
the construction started, he decided to up the ante and some of the kids in the 
squats followed.  This is a dangerous thing they've done, moving into the old 
Daly Apartments."

 "I know.  Nobody much cared when they moved into those derelict textile 
warehouses in the Market Annex.  But this move challenges Bronson.  We have to 
find this guy, Clark."

* * *

 Late the next afternoon, Lois got word from a friend at the Metropolis Court 
House that Bronson had just been granted an injunction against the occupiers, 
giving the corporation the power to evict them.  Grabbing her coat, she was in 
the elevator with a speed that would have put her husband to shame.  If he had 
been there.  He had disappeared about thirty minutes before, with a quickly 
murmured and imaginative, "uh, Lois, um" followed by that look that she knew 
meant there was a good chance there might be leftovers that night.

 She got to the site just as a dark blue Chrysler sedan purred up to the curb 
and disgorged three passengers in overcoats matching the color of the car.  They 
were followed by an MPD vehicle, riding shotgun.  Lois provided the official 
reception committee as she stepped into the path of the first Bronson 
representative.

 "Lois Lane, Daily Planet.  Is it true that Bronson plans to evict the 
squatters?"

 "These people are in a state of illegal trespass, Ms. Lane.  The building poses 
a safety hazard.  Bronson feels it's in their best interest to be elsewhere."

 "Where might that be?"

 "Surely they have homes that are more comfortable than this."  His disdain was 
evident in the tone of his voice and the dismissive gesture of his hand.

 "Most of these people are homeless.  Where do you think they should sleep 
tonight?"

 "Ms. Lane, the corporation is not heartless, but these people have no right to 
be here."  He stepped around her, followed by his two associates, with the cops 
a discrete but ominous presence several feet behind them.

 Lois watched as they approached the flimsy wooden barricades that surrounded 
the perimeter of the site.  Outside the building, small groups of people were 
standing with their hands outstretched over the warmth provided by fires burning 
in large metal drums, makeshift hearths in the snow.  They watched the small 
procession as it came closer, but no one moved to meet it.  Stony faced, the 
kids listened as they were informed of the injunction.  No one spoke for a 
moment and then one of them shouted, "We're not leaving." And then swore.

 By this time, a few more reporters had arrived, among them an LNN camera crew.  
Just as the woman with the camcorder came closer, one of the protesters hurled a 
snowball at the Bronson trio, catching the tallest one in the left shoulder.  He 
was not amused.  Red faced, he turned to the two cops.  "Do something."  That 
triggered a barrage of snowballs and Lois started to laugh.  Clearly, the kids 
were armed and dangerous.  The blue-jeaned woman with the camera equipment 
caught her eye and grinned as she
moved closer to the kids. She was now facing the two cops and the Bronson reps, 
giving her a perfect angle from which to catch their reactions.  Lois walked 
over to the three men, curious to see what they would do next.

 What they did was have a short meeting, apparently convened by one of the cops.  
"Look, you got the court order, but it looks like we'll have to get rough to 
enforce it.  There's just another hour of daylight."  He gestured toward the LNN 
crew.  "It's not gonna look great to have us bust up a bunch of kids and send 
them back to the streets right now.  It's your call, but I'd sleep on it 
tonight."

 Lois was impressed.  Cop training had improved, she thought, as she watched 
them all beat a dignified retreat to the warmth of their cars.

 Lois phoned the Planet to let them know she would LAN the story in time for the 
morning edition.  As she rode the subway home, she wondered what Laura had done 
today, what she had missed.

* * *

 While Lois was riding the subway, Superman was searching the Atlantic Ocean for 
survivors of a freighter which had run into a storm off New England.  Registered 
under a foreign flag, and hence less seaworthy than it should have been, the 
freighter had taken on more water than its pumps could remove as it tossed like 
a fragile ornament on the remorseless waves of the icy grey Atlantic.  The 
ship's distress signals had been received by the American Coast Guard but the 
weather conditions had been too rough to send rescue ships.  Clark had picked 
this information up from CNN, its broadcast always a part of the background buzz 
in the newsroom of the Planet.

 As Superman reached the approximate area where the ship should be, he willed 
his hearing to pick up the higher frequencies of its radio, using his eardrums 
like radar. He located the vessel, just as it was about to go under. Hovering in 
the air immediately above, he scanned the deck, looking for signs of life, then 
checked the surrounding water for any lifeboats.  It looked like none had been 
launched; the sea was too rough for there to be any hope that a life boat would 
survive the hundred foot swells of the Atlantic.  Landing quickly on the deck so 
that his presence was clearly visible, Superman raced to the captain's bridge.

 "Alert your crew.  I'll go beneath the ship and raise it enough to take it to 
safety."

 He dove into the ocean, a red speck against the white foam of crashing waves, a 
torpedo seeking its target.  Positioning himself below the center of gravity of 
the ship's massive hull and balancing his gigantic load with care, his powerful 
arms pushed the freighter up so that it skimmed the top of the waves.  As the 
ship rose above the sea, salt water poured from its rusting hull.  Aware that 
flying the dilapidated freighter at supersonic speeds would do the crew no good, 
Superman took care not to go much faster than the normal speed of the ship.  As 
he flew with his cargo, Clark was awestruck by the fearful majesty of the ocean 
in full turmoil.

* * *

 While Lois was upstairs nursing Laura, Martha was pulling the dry ingredients 
for muffins from the kitchen shelves, hoping that activity would be a cure for 
the restlessness that charged her body like a cat's before a storm.  Jonathan 
was not the issue.  Yesterday, they'd talked about the past and Martha had 
reassured her husband that she and Cliff had never been lovers, that Jonathan 
had not been her second choice but always and forever her first. Of course, he 
knew that.  His usual good sense had returned and they had spent a wonderful day 
together, exploring parts of Metropolis like kids on an unexpected holiday.  She 
sighed with pleasure at the memory as she measured flour into a large glass 
mixing bowl. 

 In a way, though, Jonathan was still the problem, or perhaps she was.  Although 
she had mentioned that she had seen Cliff the other day, she hadn't told 
Jonathan the whole story because she was afraid he would urge her to go to the 
police and she wasn't sure that she wanted to do that. Jonathan had always dug 
in his heels when it came to anything which he thought threatened his family.  
In the past this attitude had either amused her or given her the strength she, 
too, had often needed.  Now, it might prevent her from doing what was right. 
That was her dilemma; should she go to the police?  What she did know was that 
she could not betray a friend, particularly one with whom she had experienced so 
much, even if those experiences had receded in time.  Some things stay with you 
forever; some people stay with you forever.

 Cliff had made it pretty clear the other day when they had argued.  He didn't 
want to be found.  It was too dangerous for him.  In that beautiful voice that 
hardened into steel, he had insulted her, accusing her of selling out.  She 
remembered his biting words.  "Go back to your farmer, Martha.  To your cozy 
kitchen, to your 2.4 kids, and your apple pies."

 She should turn him in for that alone, she thought.  Well, she had exploded 
when he'd said that, shouting at him that it was easy to retreat into his little 
revolution, that he knew nothing about real responsibility, about the strength 
and compassion of Jonathan Kent. They'd parted in anger.

 Maybe she should talk it over with Clark and Lois.  Maybe.  If she did, wasn't 
she admitting that she would follow their advice?  Clark would worry about her 
safety, get all protective the way his father did. Lately, it seemed to her that 
Clark was getting more like that.  He would advise her to go to the police, 
unless she began by saying she would not go to the police, but if that were the 
case why would she talk to him about this in the first place?  I'm beginning to 
sound like Lois, she thought.

 Her mind made up, she threw the muffins together with a speed that came from 
years of experience, and climbed the stairs to the nursery.  "Got a minute, 
honey?  I'd like to talk something over with you."

 "Sure, Martha."  Lois looked down at her nursing child and smiled.  "I think 
I've got several minutes."

 Martha's face was serious.  "First, I want you to promise, Lois, that you won't 
tell Clark or Jonathan what I'm about to tell you.  It may be that I will tell 
them, but that's my decision.  You also have to know that it may involve 
something illegal."

 Lois recognized the flint in her mother-in-law's tone and nodded her head.  "I 
promise, Martha."

 Martha sighed and sat in the old wicker chair across from Lois, unsure where to 
begin.

 Lois made it easier.  "It was you who Bentley saw and who I saw the next day 
wasn't it, Martha?  Who was the man you were arguing with?  Did he do your 
portrait?"

 "Yes.  I met him that spring.  His name is Cliff.  Clifford  Moran.  Oh my, it 
was 1961."  Martha sounded astonished. "Jonathan wanted to marry me.   Lois, I 
was so young.  Jonathan was three years older than me.  You know, he was the 
first man I ever kissed."  She smiled at the memory.  "That was before he went 
into the army.  I'd just met him a month before he left for Asia as part of his 
two years of military service.  When he came back he was ready to settle down 
but I wasn't so sure.  Anyway, he first proposed that autumn and then in late 
winter, and again in early spring."

 "In between plowing fields."  Lois remembered Martha's comment three years 
earlier.

 Martha laughed.  "Yes.  I was beginning to feel so much pressure.  My folks 
thought he was terrific.  And of course he was, he is.  That made it even worse.  
I thought I was in love with him but. . . but I kept thinking there was more to 
the world than Smallville and I wanted to find out.  When I saw the description 
of the art curriculum at Kansas State, I knew I had to go.  I loved it!  Losing 
yourself in what you are trying to create!  And the discussions and arguments we 
had!"

 "Did you fall in love with Cliff?" Lois's voice was gentle as she asked the 
question, her eyes sympathetic as she listened to Martha talk about her youth.

 "In a way.  I think I was in love with everything.  I went out with Cliff a few 
times, but mostly we all hung out together."

 "Was he the friend you attacked the cop over?"

 "Yes."  Martha laughed again at the memory.  "Cliff was very idealistic, not 
prepared to compromise with the system.  I admired that.  He was pretty intense 
about what he thought was right.  And persuasive.  He grew more radical over the 
five months I knew him, the more he got involved in the movement."

 "What about you?"

 "Oh, my idealism is pretty pragmatic."  Martha laughed and then her eyes 
flashed for a moment.  "And to tell you the truth, I really missed Jonathan, 
although it was a little undignified having him meet me at that jailhouse.  I 
wrote him not to come, but that had no effect."

 "Martha, I wish I could have seen that."

 "Honey, I'm glad you didn't."

 "So what became of Cliff?"

 "He died.  In a fire in a sheriff's office in Alabama after he'd been charged 
with murder in the shooting of a police officer while escaping after a bank 
robbery."

 "Oh, no."  Lois was shocked.  "Martha!"

 "I thought he was dead, Lois, until last Thursday night.  You know, it was 
either him or the man he was with who stole Jonathan's wallet.  At first, I 
didn't recognize him.  He's so much older and his hair is grey.  Well, I'm a 
little older, too.  Anyway, it was he who returned it.  I checked with the 
neighbors.  Mrs. Sarrazin saw him."

 "And so you decided to track him down.  Good for you, Martha."

 "Thank you, dear.  Cliff didn't want to be found though.  The sketch was 
accompanied by a note to stop my search."

 "But you couldn't do that."

 "Of course I couldn't.  When you saw us the next day, he told me that he had to 
stay underground.  He has no intention of facing a murder charge.  By the way, 
he did not shoot that police officer, Lois."

 "He's the man the police are looking for in connection with the bombing, isn't 
he Martha?"

 "Yes."  She looked at Lois, and waited.

 "Why don't you want to go to the police?"

 "I think he's innocent, Lois.  And because I want to talk to him again to make 
sure I'm absolutely right about that."

 "So that means we have to find him.  And we have to find who did plant those 
two bombs."  Lois was decisive.

 Pleased, Martha offered a suggestion.  "There's an old work of his for sale in 
a gallery in the Annex.  I couldn't get anything out of the owner but it's worth 
another try."

 "And the people occupying the old Daly Apartment building.  First thing 
tomorrow."  Lois looked down at Laura who had fallen asleep in her mother's 
arms.  "But right now, it's time to put you to bed, sweetheart."

* * *

 Superman hovered high above the row of townhouses on Hyperion surveying the 
ground below, looking for signs of anyone who might be able to spot an 
extraterrestial landing in the narrow backyard belonging to Lois and Clark Kent.  
The coast was clear so he slipped to earth, drifting downward in the dark night 
between the tall evergreens bordering the fence between the townhouses and then 
opened the back patio door to step into the coziness of his kitchen.

 A quick spin and he was in the dark blue suit that he had started the day in.  
But not for long.  The jacket and tie were off in a flash, tossed over a kitchen 
chair, as he headed for the living room where he saw his dad sitting alone, 
reading a book, the T.V. on in the background.

 "You and Mom O.K., Dad?"  Clark paused at the foot of the stairs for a moment.

 "Sure, son, we had a great day yesterday.  Talked about a few things.  I know 
whatever happened between her and Cliff wasn't serious."  He smiled at his son.  
"Crazy isn't?  We've been married for over thirty years and I know how your 
mother feels.  But I still can't think of him without that feeling I had that 
summer coming back."

 "Not so crazy, Dad.  Every once in awhile I run into Dan Scardino."  Clark's 
expression was rueful.  "Don't like the guy."

    Jonathan chuckled, then his expression grew pensive.  "Your Mom's still 
holding something back, though."

 "Doesn't that upset you?"  Clark knew his concern was childish, but there was a 
part of him that felt unsettled when things were off balance between his 
parents.

 "Some, because I know she's worried.  But she'll tell me when she's ready."

 Clark grinned at his dad.  "You got her figured out have you?"

 "Nearly.  She can still surprise me sometimes."

* * *

 Shortly after one o'clock Wednesday morning, the Daly apartment building caught 
fire, venomous flames flicking out through broken windows, illuminating the 
moonless night.  The building burned quickly, orange whips of fire arching 
across rotting floorboards to the cracked timber of joists and supports and into 
the exposed lathe of old plaster walls.  Worse was the smoke coiling and hissing 
along corridors and slithering under doors.  The building's residents grabbed 
their few possessions and fled into the freezing cold.

  They stood huddled together, checking their numbers, afraid that someone might 
still be in the building.  The fire department seemed to be slow in arriving and 
a few of them wondered if the MFD didn't respond to fires in derelict buildings.  
They were wrong.  It did, although Superman arrived first, his billowing red 
cape blending into the flames as he ran into the building to rescue two people 
who had been trapped behind the debris of a collapsed wall.  How did he know 
where to find them?  His voice was so calm as he asked them if anyone else might 
still be in the building.  Yeah, maybe.  Hadn't old Mick joined them tonight, 
half drunk and lost in an old injustice.  Superman shot back into the building 
and then they saw him again, carrying the old man to the ambulance that had 
accompanied the fire trucks.

 Then Superman was gone, leaving the MFD to do its job.

* * * 

 Clark told Lois about the fire the next morning as they were getting dressed 
for work.

 "Oh, no, Clark.  Is everyone all right?"

 "I hope so.  Everyone got out of the burning building safely but who knows 
where they spent the rest of the night."

 "Maybe we should find out this morning.  Any idea what caused the fire?"

 "No and that concerns me.  There've been a couple of unexplained fires in that 
area.  That one at Christmas, during the Planet's Christmas party, still has me 
baffled.  I know the MFD called it "accidental", but something about it seemed 
odd to me."  He gave her a brief puzzled look as he spoke.  "Anyway, I couldn't 
find anything obvious to explain last night's fire and so I left as soon as I 
was sure everyone was O.K."  He stopped buttoning his shirt and glanced her way.  
"All I wanted to do was crawl back into bed."

 "I don't even remember you coming back."

 "I know." He laughed.  "The first time I got back last night, my daughter's 
asleep.  The second time, my wife's asleep."

 Lois patted his chest.  "But we did have a great weekend."

 He leaned over to kiss her.  "Yeah.  I guess the memory will have to hold 'til 
next weekend."

* * *

 Lois phoned Inspector Henderson at the MPD as soon as they got to work. "Any 
further info on the Bronson bombing?"

 "Isn't that story a little old for you, Lane?"

 "Guess that means you've run into a dead end."

 "We'll bring him in.  Just a matter of time."

 "Following any other leads on who the bomber might be?"

 "No reason to.  Why, you got something?"

 "No, just figured with so little evidence you wouldn't be chasing just one 
suspect.  You know, keep an open mind."  Her tone sounded both innocent and 
helpful.

 Henderson's voice was sardonic.  "Thanks for the help, Lane.  We always value 
the objectivity of the press.  Now, if you're finished, I'd like to get back to 
my paperwork.  Check the grammar and punctuation before I hand it in."

 Lois grinned at his sarcasm as she put down the receiver.  She loved Henderson.  
Looking across to Clark, she asked "Got anything on the fire?"

 "Not much. The MFD is still checking but the bet is it was accidental.  Those 
open oil drum fires and the old building.  It was a matter of time."

 "Lucky Superman was passing by."

 "Lucky."  Standing up, he said, "Come on, Ms. Lane.  Let's go do some checking.  
I'm not convinced that it was accidental.  It's just a little too convenient."

 A short time later, they stood looking at the charred brick ruin that had been 
the Daly Apartments.  The water used to extinguish the fire had draped the 
building with large jagged icicles that posed a safety hazard for anyone walking 
beneath.  A few employees of the MFD were systematically combing the site in a 
search for evidence that would pinpoint the cause of the  fire; however, a quick 
interview with them ascertained that they hadn't found much and didn't expect 
to.  This fire appeared pretty routine.

 The next step was to track down a few of the people who had been there last 
night.  It took some time to do this; they had scattered, seeking warmth 
wherever they could find it.  No one was very interested in talking to 
reporters.  Lois and Clark picked up that chilly sense of distrust from several 
of the people they talked to.  A few just seemed disoriented, unsure about any 
of the events connected to the fire.  One person fervently argued that an alien 
voice from outer space had warned them that danger was near.   For some reason, 
he kept saluting Clark.  A few of the kids they talked to were scared.  They 
shut down, their faces turning blank as both reporters tried to get information 
from them.

 "Well, this has been productive," Clark said with a touch of sarcasm.

 "I know, and I'm cold." Lois stamped her feet in attempt to get them warm.

  Lifting his glasses, Clark shot a quick ray of red warmth at her boots.  
"Better?"

 "Thanks."  She smiled and tucked her arm around his.  "Let's head back to the 
Planet, spaceman."

* * *

 Clifford Moran was frightened, not for himself, but the others.  The newspapers 
had called the fire an accident, to be expected given the squalid circumstances 
in which the squatters were living.  He knew this wasn't true; they had been 
careful. Having grown up camping in the winter with his brother and father, he 
knew a lot about outdoor survival.  He also knew a lot about camping in 
abandoned buildings.

  He understood only too well that some of the people in the group were unstable 
psychiatric patients released too early from state institutions forced to cut 
spending.  He knew who those people were and he had set things up so that they 
would be with others who were both experienced and who would care for them, and 
so that everyone could contribute something to the group.  Although he had done 
this often in the last thirty years, he still felt satisfaction seeing the pride 
his friends could take in learning to create a shelter.  There was no way that 
carelessness had caused that fire.  Whoever had planted the bombs must also have 
been responsible for the fire.  Whoever they were, they would strike again.  And 
he was convinced that the homeless were the target.

 Cliff decided he needed help but he couldn't go to the police.  There was no 
statute of limitations on a murder charge and now they were looking for him in 
connection with the bombings.  There was no way he could afford a lawyer.  He 
would be processed through the court system slowly and then found guilty, to 
spend the rest of his life in a prison system riddled with drugs, HIV, and 
hepatitis C.  So he decided to take a long shot.

 He phoned Martha Kent.  When he had discovered that the wallet he and Billy had 
lifted belonged to Jonathan Kent it had meant nothing until he went through the 
contents, which had included a small snapshot taken on the owner's wedding day.  
Cliff had recognized Martha Clark immediately, confirming that flash of 
awareness at the movie theatre.  The next of kin card identified Martha and a 
son, Clark, living here in Metropolis.  That too had struck a chord.  Clark Kent 
was a reporter for the Daily Planet.  An avid reader of newspapers, Cliff had 
concluded some time ago that Clark Kent and his partner, Lois Lane, were pretty 
solid.  Under his own byline, Kent had recently written a couple of articles on 
street kids that Cliff had liked.  Maybe Kent could be trusted.  Cliff put a 
call through to Martha and asked her to arrange a meeting with her son.

 Martha was surprised when her caller identified himself as Clifford Moran.  
Telephone calls could be so absurd sometimes, she thought as he began by asking 
her how she was.  "What do you want, Cliff?"

 "I need help, Martha, and I trust you.  I'm hoping that I can trust your son, 
too, and that he and that partner of his might be interested in this.  Can you 
set up a meeting with him?"

 "Yes.  When and where?"

 "At the Fringe Gallery.  In an hour."

 "That might not be possible.  They could be out on a story."

 "You can leave a message for me at the gallery.  I'll be there whenever they 
can make it."

 When Lois and Clark got back to the Planet after an inconclusive morning 
tracking an elusive story, Lois accessed her voice mail to find that the story 
had come to them.  She listened to Martha's calm voice.  "Lois, an old friend of 
mine has called.  He's an admirer of yours and Clark's work and was wondering if 
he could meet you, maybe for lunch?"

 Lois's eyes widened as she listened to Martha's brief message.  Immediately, 
she punched in her home phone number and got Martha.  Too excited to identify 
herself she said,  "Do you mean who I think you mean?"

 "Yes.  He called about two hours ago.  Can you make it?"

 "Of course.  Would you like to be there too?"

 "Are you kidding, honey?  I wouldn't miss it.  I decided to tell Jonathan 
everything and he says he'll be fine with Laura.  Good thing he's had all that 
experience changing diapers."  Lois smiled as she heard her mother-in-law 
chuckle.  Then Martha continued.  "But he's not too happy that I'm going 
although he does understand.  And he feels better knowing that you and Clark 
will be there."

  "Where shall we meet?"  Martha gave her the details.

  "Clark," Lois hissed across the small space that separated their desks.  
"We're going out."

 "We are?"  By this time she was over at the lounge area, pulling on her 
overcoat.

 "I'll tell you about it on the way."

 Lois did.  "I can't believe this, Lois.  What's my mom doing hanging around 
with an anarchist bomber?"  They were walking out of the main lobby of the 
Planet.

 "Clark, that's a gross exaggeration."

 "You've been a bad influence on her, you know?"

 "I wasn't even born in 1961, Kent.  Try again."

 "We'd better get down there quick, before Mom does.  How about we uh, " he made 
a quick flying motion with his hand.

 Lois rolled her eyes.  "I don't think Martha's in any danger, Clark."

 "Fine.  You take a cab, and I'll fly."  He walked briskly into a side alley, 
reappeared in the suit, swooped over to where Lois was standing, scooped her 
into his arms, gave her a look that telegraphed, 'I'm in charge here', and 
landed a few seconds later in a grubby alley dotted with trash cans.  "O.K., 
let's go check this guy out before Mom gets there."

 Lois kicked a rusty tin can out of her path and followed him into the sunshine.  
Clark paused for a moment, looking up and down the length of the street.  He 
took her hand, "This way.  Preston Street is three blocks down, on the other 
side."

 "Overshot it a bit, did you?" Lois teased. 

 He flashed her a smile.  "A good dark alley is hard to find."

 They walked quickly along Hobbs Street, unimpeded by other pedestrians.  At 
this time of day, the street was quiet.  Some of the businesses that they passed 
were boarded up, victims of a declining neighborhood and of a retailing 
revolution that stressed massive suburban warehouse marketing.  Dingy facades 
faced onto a wide street where traffic was mostly going somewhere else.

 Preston Street was different.  Narrower, with a few winter bare trees standing 
like sentinels on either side, the street seemed less empty, although few people 
were outside.  Those who were, hurried, their shoulders hunched against the cold 
wind.  The two reporters passed a couple of places being renovated -- carpenters 
and painters visible through the large windows.  The shops, restaurants, and 
businesses that lined the street were interspersed with a few studio-galleries, 
one of which was the Fringe Gallery.

 Clark opened the old, half-windowed door, triggering a bell that announced 
their presence.  The gallery was plain, its dark stained wooden floor 
contrasting the stark white walls hung with boldly colored paintings.  Randomly 
placed metal sculptures broke the tunnel of the room.  Towards the back, two 
young men and a woman, barely out of their teens, were looking at a twisted 
metal sculpture with an intensity that their peers might reserve for Baywatch.  
No one emerged who appeared to be a manager or owner of the gallery.

 Lois looked along the east wall of the gallery. "Martha told me Cliff's 
painting is near the back of this wall."  She paused for a second and then 
touched Clark's sleeve. "I think that's it." 

 Together, they walked back to look at the painting that had been created by 
Clifford Moran decades ago.  Clark furrowed his brows and narrowed his eyes as 
he tried to make sense of its abstract shapes while Lois said, "Interesting use 
of symbolism."

 Clark turned a sceptical eye her way.  "Care to explain it to me, Ms. Lane," he 
challenged.

 "It's obvious, Clark."

 What was obvious about it was not going to be revealed at that moment.  A 
comfortably rumpled middle aged man with a thickening waist line came to stand 
beside them.  "If you're interested in this artist, I have more of his work in 
the back room."

 Clark's voice was firm.  "We're interested."

 "Back here, if you'll follow me."  He walked toward a dark wooden door at the 
opposite end of the gallery and stood to one side so they could precede him into 
the room.

 This room was also long and narrow, lined with canvases resting on the floor 
and propped against the wall, three and four deep.  Natural light in the room 
was limited to the afternoon sun coming through the one window at the back.  In 
that corner, a man sat at a small wooden table, drinking tea.  For a second, 
Lois was reminded of a monk whom she had encountered in an old Irish monastery.  
The man looked up as the trio entered the room and came forward to meet them.  
He was wearing jeans and an old sweater, his gray hair neatly secured in a pony 
tail.

 "Clark Kent and Lois Lane?  You're here sooner than I expected.  Martha said 
you'd be about half an hour." 

 "Fast cab."  Lois sometimes wondered if she was better or worse than Clark in 
coming up with reasonable explanations for inexplicable occurrences.
 
 "I expected Martha to be with you."

 "She's coming.  Why did you want to talk to us, Mr. Moran?"  Clark asked.

 "Why don't I make another pot of tea and then I'll tell you."  He carried the 
teapot over to a small sink on the other side of the room and plugged in the 
kettle.  Then he turned to scrutinize the couple in front of him.  "You don't 
look much like Martha, Mr. Kent."

 "He's more like his father," Lois said.

 "I'd feel better if I thought you were Martha's son.  But I've read your work, 
both of you, and I trust it.  You two have guts and I think you have compassion.  
What I have to say to you now I want to go no further."

 "You can trust us, Mr. Moran.  The Daily Planet does not reveal its sources."  
Lois's voice was firm.

 Moran shifted his gaze to her partner looking for his agreement. Clark nodded.

 "I can't take a chance on going to the police.  I expect Martha's told you.  
Once they run a check on me, they'll find an old charge and I'm done."

 Clark crossed his arms.  "Did you kill that police officer?"

 "No!"  Moran's voice was vehement.  "I don't know how he died.  I think he got 
caught by a bullet from one of the bank's security guards."

 "So you did rob that bank."

 "Yeah.  Tried to anyway.  We'd run out of money.  Three of our guys were in 
jail on phoney charges and we couldn't even raise bail for them, let alone get a 
decent lawyer.  We had to rob that bank.  We had no other choice."

 Clark said nothing but Lois forged ahead.  "So what did happen at that jail?"

 Moran shrugged his shoulders ironically.  "It was a small jail."  He paused for 
a moment as he reached for two mugs from the shelf above the sink.  "Do you 
know, I watched the whole thing from my cell.  The deputy lit a cigarette and 
then came over to give me and my cell mate, a local drunk he'd brought in about 
a half hour earlier, some supper.  The drunk took a lucky swipe at him and 
connected.  I was outta there real fast.  I read the next day that the jail had 
burned and they figured the drunk's body was mine.  That was fine by me."

 Clark's narrowed eyes still were disapproving.  "What about his family?"

 "Not many street drunks have families."

 Clark lowered his head for a moment, acknowledging Moran's point.  "Okay, so 
why do you want to see us?"  His voice was soft, serious.

 "That fire last night wasn't an accident.  Someone is trying to get rid of us.  
Now that I think about it, I think it started over a month ago.  Small things.  
Different each time.  At first, just to discredit us.  Make it look like we were 
behind a lot of crime."  Clark, recalling his father's wallet, raised his 
eyebrows.  "Okay, maybe some of that was valid.  There've been other things, 
too, but I don't know if they're connected.  A couple of murders.  That body 
that was dumped on the steps of the local precinct office."  Clark looked up 
when Cliff said that, thinking of the string of unsolved killings that he had 
been following for the last couple of months as Cliff continued speaking.  "Then 
the gas leak last week.  Maybe an accident.  But those two bombs weren't.  CEPL 
did not plant them."

 Moran looked at them both directly, his blue eyes blazing and his deep rich 
voice passionate.  "I love this city.  We love it.  But business is destroying 
it.  Not the small guys.  They make it happen here.  But Bronson and others like 
them.   Concrete everywhere.  Forget the parks, the people, the families and the 
kids.  How much money can you make?  That's the question.  The  kids on the 
street.  Who cares?  Not the families who molested them, abused them.  The old 
guys with nowhere to go.  We staked out part of this city; the part no one else 
wanted.  So now they want it back.  So they'll get rid of us.  Send us to jail, 
kill us.  Who cares?"

 "How can we help?"  Lois asked.  Listening to him, Lois could understand why 
Martha had never really forgotten him.

 "Find out who the real bomber is.  It's not me.  Bronson would like to 
discredit CEPL and they can do that if they get me."

 Clark's tone was at last sympathetic.  "Where do you suggest we start?  No one 
on the street wants to talk, assuming they know anything."

 "They'll talk if I say.  I'm not sure what they know, but I think the two of 
you can piece it together if they do.  I do know they're convinced another 
bomb's out there and they're frightened."

 "Okay,"  Clark let a breath escape that he hadn't been aware that he was 
holding.  "Let's start with you.  Were you at the Daly Apartments last night?"

 "Of course.  We were pretty careful about everything, especially the fires.  
Believe me, I know what I'm doing when it comes to these things.  If the MFD 
says we started the fire there, you want to check into that."

 "The MFD's still sifting through the evidence.  Was there anyone there last 
night that you didn't know personally?"  Lois asked.

 "No.  No one."

 "Anything unexpected?"  Clark realized his question was strange, given that 
life on the streets was mostly unpredictable.

  "Yeah, in a way.  An old drunk, Mick, came by late, looking for a place to 
sleep.  I'd talked to him a few times on the street but he's a loner.  This was 
the first time he'd ever been willing to stay with us."

 "Could he have started the fire?  Smoking, maybe?"  Lois asked.

 "No, he didn't smoke.  He was proud of that.  He would have died in the fire if 
it hadn't been for Superman.  Maybe that's who I should try to contact."  He 
stopped speaking and looked at Lois and Clark.  "Ms. Lane, Mr. Kent, they say 
that Superman is a special friend of yours.  Is there any way you could convince 
him to help us?"

 Lois tucked her hair behind her ear.  "Rumors of our connection with Superman 
are greatly exaggerated.  We have no influence over him."  She laughed.  "You'll 
just have to make do with two ordinary reporters."

 As she finished speaking, the gallery owner reentered the room, this time 
bringing Martha Kent with him.  She said hello to her son and daughter-in-law 
and then gave a more cautious greeting to Clifford Moran.

 Moran's reply was more friendly.  "I'm glad you've come, Martha.  I want to 
apologize for last Saturday.  I said some things I shouldn't have."  His soft 
voice was sincere as he looked at Martha with a sadness that surprised her.  For 
a moment she saw the boy who had been her close friend so many years ago.  
Wanting to comfort him, she smiled and stepped closer, touching his arm.

 Moran encircled her in his arms and Martha returned his hug.  "It's so good to 
see you again, Martha."

 Lois looked on, amused, as she noticed Clark cross his arms again and narrow 
his eyes in disapproval as he watched the two embrace.  She tapped his shoulder, 
whispering, "Relax, Clark."

 Her husband gave her a half smile, shrugged, and slid his hands in his pockets 
but nearly choked at Moran's next words.

 "You're still beautiful, Martha Clark."  He looked over at Clark. "Do you know 
how beautiful your mother was when we were back at Kansas State?"

 Lois replied, her eyes laughing, "We have some idea."

 "Let's get started, shall we?" Clark's voice was very polite.

 "There're a couple of people you should talk to but I can't go with you.  Alex 
will take you to them.  After you've talked to them, the word will be out and 
you won't need him.  Be careful, the police could be watching Alex, too.  He's 
only been part of CEPL for a year and I don't think they've tagged him for 
anything.  He's pretty clean.  By the way, I haven't used my real name since I 
*died*.  People here know me as John Marshall."

 He walked over to the door and opened it, stepping out into the gallery for a 
second.  Turning to the two reporters, he said, "You can trust Alex."  Then 
Moran looked past them.  "Will you stay and have some lunch with me, Martha?  It 
would be good to talk."

 "Of course, Cliff.  I'd like that, too."  Picking up her son's look of concern, 
Martha waved him away with a small but mischievous smile. "See you two, later."

 Outside in the gallery, a tall young man dressed in black with a small backpack 
slung across his shoulders approached them, his long legs quickly covering the 
distance from the back of the gallery.  Though he was probably in his early 
twenties, he had not lost the gawkiness of adolescence.  Lois thought he looked 
like a punk Abraham Lincoln, minus the beard.  She recognized him as one of the 
trio who had been studying the sculpture when she and Clark had come into the 
gallery.

 He reached out a long arm to shake their hands and smiled politely, a boy on 
his best behavior.  "Hi, I'm Alex.  Just follow me."

 As they were following him out of the store, Clark leaned toward Lois and 
whispered urgently.  "Lois, we can't leave my mom here alone."

 "She's not alone; she's with Cliff."

 "That's my point."

 "Clark, he's not going to hurt her."

 "I know that."

 "Are you two coming?"  Alex waited for the two reporters who had stopped behind 
him.

 "Yes.  Let's go, Clark."  When he did not move, she rolled her eyes in 
exasperation and tugged at his hand. "Clark!"  He relented but she could tell 
that he wasn't happy.

* * *

 Lois and Clark followed Alex down a couple of side streets and then along a 
narrow alley that opened onto a small square, lightly covered in snow and 
surrounded on three sides by deserted buildings, their foundations ringed with 
brick and concrete rubble.  One of the buildings had been partly demolished, 
leaving it an architectural amputee, its east wall scarred with pale plaster and 
multi colored brick.  But the square itself was neat, with all fragments of 
rubble removed. Several young trees lined its boundaries, staked to help them 
through the first couple of growing seasons.  Benches had been added, as well as 
a play area for children, the empty swings now waiting for spring.  An old 
apartment building and a church built of grey limestone completed the west side 
of the square.

 "Over here," Alex said as they crossed the square toward the church.  "CEPL got 
this project going."  He stood for a moment in front of a young tree that was 
not much taller than him.  "This is my tree."  He touched the trunk with 
affection.  "I planted it last spring.  It's a maple tree."  He blushed, as if 
realizing that affection for a tree might sound a little odd to the two 
reporters.

 Clark looked at the tree with a careful eye.  "Trunk is pretty straight and the 
branches have good separation.  It'll do fine."

 Surrounded by farmers, Lois thought.  However, what she said was, "Did John 
help with this?"

 "It wouldn't have happened without him.  He got everyone organized, made us 
realize we could do it."  Alex's admiration for the older man was evident as he 
spoke of some of the small projects that CEPL had completed.

 "Were you there last night, Alex?" Clark asked.

 "Yes.  Wouldn't have missed it.  I live with friends in an apartment a couple 
of blocks from here but I had to be there in that building to let them know that 
they can't destroy this city.  Look what we've done here.  This apartment 
building had been abandoned.  So we took it over.  Well, CEPL did.  They 
scrounged material and rehabbed it and now it's a decent home for people who 
couldn't afford anything else."

 "Did the church help?" Lois was curious about how they had raised the necessary 
resources.

 "Some.  The church was empty too and the diocese sold it to CEPL for the cost 
of the paperwork.  A couple of the sisters and one of the priests help run the 
shelter which operates out of the church now.  A couple of the guys wound up 
here last night after the fire."

 They entered the church vestibule, its tall ceiling soaring into darkness above 
them.  But the room was warm, and Lois unbuttoned her overcoat and loosened her 
scarf as they crossed the worn slate floor to the nave of the church.  Part of 
it had been transformed into a dining hall, filled with several long tables 
which were now unoccupied.  Beyond the tables, the room had been partitioned by 
a large screen decorated with a colorful mural.  Behind the partition was a 
dormitory with cots lining the wall.  There were only a few people in the room.

 "Even when it's cold, many of the guys who come here prefer to be on the 
streets.  They're always afraid that the authorities will take away their 
freedom.  Make them follow rules," Alex said as he led them over to an old man 
whose face was partially obscured by an unruly grey beard.  The man looked at 
the newcomers with suspicion and reached for the dark bundle beside him, as 
though fearful that they would take it from him.

 "It's okay, Andy.  This is Lois Lane and Clark Kent.  They're friends of 
John's.  They're going to help find out who set the fire last night."

 "And where the next bomb's gonna be.  They gotta find that out, too."  His 
voice was excited.  "Someone's trying to kill us.  They wanna get rid of us."

 "Who does?"  Lois's voice was gentle as she sat beside him on his cot. 

  The man looked startled and backed away from her, watching her carefully.  
"The outsiders.  Snakes.  They want to get rid of us."

 "How do you know they want to get rid of you?" Clark's voice was calm.

 "Something bad happens after they come."

 "What happens?"  Lois continued.

 "Gas.  Explosions.  Somebody's not there the next day."

 "Who's not there?"

 Andy looked at Alex before he answered Lois. "Janie wasn't there."

 "Where do you think the outsiders come from, Andy?"  Lois's voice was gentle as 
she continued questioning the old man.

 "They're not like you.  They come from a dark van."

 "What do they look like?"

 "They're like him, big, same age, only one had brown hair."  Andy's eye shifted 
to Clark.  "Black jackets and thick warm shoes.  Cost money." 
He was becoming increasingly agitated as he spoke.  "Don't know who they are.  
They'll blow us up."

 Clark spoke with firmness.  "Not if we can stop it, Andy. You've helped us get 
started."

 The old man looked at him.  "You helped Mick last night.  Ask him.  He knows."  
He sank back onto the cot and closed his eyes.

 "Thanks, Andy.  I'll see you later."  Alex led the two reporters back toward 
the front of the church. "There's someone else I'd like you to see if we can 
find her today."

 "How long has Andy been on the streets?" Lois asked.

 "I'm not sure.  He's been around as long as I've been down here.  He was 
released from one of the state psychiatric hospitals.  They stamped him fit and 
normal.  But he had nowhere to go and he gets confused real easy.  It was 
Superman who saved Mick last night."

 "Maybe he's confused about the outsiders, too.  He thought they were like 
Clark."

 "I don't think so.  A couple of others have said the same thing.  John hasn't 
had any luck tracking them and now that the cops are looking for him he's got to 
stay under."

 "John didn't mention anything about the outsiders to Lois and me." 

 "He probably wanted you to discover that on your own.  You have to admit, it 
sounds paranoid and John needed for you to take him seriously."

 "I don't suppose you've seen these guys?"

 "No, that's the problem.  I think they're pretty careful whenever someone's 
around unless it's someone who's homeless.  Ever notice how some people don't 
see street people?"

 They followed him through an uninhabited block of the city, several of its 
buildings now shells reduced to their outer walls.  Where only the deep 
excavation of a structure's foundation remained, the area was surrounded by 
chain link fencing, with red 'keep out' signs.  Alex's long legs climbed nimbly 
over some of this debris as he took what appeared to be a short cut through a 
narrow alley between two brick hulks, stranded amid the grey rubble like 
shipwrecks on a rocky beach.  He circled around behind a boarded up gas station, 
its pumps ripped away from their concrete pads, and crossed a short side street 
to come to a stop in front of an old warehouse that had probably been a garment 
factory at one time.

 "It's not that we're against big business, you know.  We can't take on this," 
Alex's eyes shifted from his companions to the ruins around him, "without money.  
But we believe we have the right to have some input on their agenda."  He 
stepped through the doorless entry of the warehouse and paused for a second to 
get his bearings in the dimmer light.  "Some guys are squatting here.  You 
should talk to them."

 Remembering their lack of success earlier in the day, Lois thought this was 
going to be a waste of time.  Nevertheless, they followed Alex up a narrow 
stairway on their right into a large room ringed with tall windows. The room was 
squalid, its floors bare and the walls a grimy grey.  In the far corner, a 
litter of kids, bundled in sweaters and old jackets sprawled among piles of 
sleeping bags and makeshift furniture.  Two of them were sleeping. 

 Alex introduced Lois and Clark, briefly explaining why they were there.  For a 
moment no one spoke as each person sized up the two reporters.  Finally, one of 
the group motioned for the three of them to sit down on one of the vacant 
mattresses on the floor.  He then turned to a young girl beside him.  She was 
too thin, with the exception of her swollen belly which indicated that she was 
about six months pregnant.  Her eyes were glazed and she didn't seem to be 
completely awake.

 "Sarah, tell them what you saw."

 "I don't know what I saw.  Maybe it was nothing.  Sometimes I pick up some 
money working nights, ya know.  Not so much now."  She patted her stomach. "Most 
guys aren't so interested.  Last Thursday night I was heading over to the strip.  
I pass by that old entry into the subway tunnels.  I don't know if it's still 
used.  I've never seen anyone there.  But last Thursday I saw two guys come out 
of that gate at the front of the tunnel.  I figured they were working there.  
They looked like that.  I was walking toward them and they didn't see me at 
first.  I thought they might be business so I stopped in front of them."  She 
stopped speaking for  a moment and looked at Lois.  "I'm doing it for my baby.  
I'll get enough money so we'll be O.K."

 Lois tried to suppress the sadness that was welling up in her for this child in 
front of her.  "What happened next, Sarah?"

 "They laughed at me.  Not mean, though.  One of them gave me ten bucks."

 "Do you remember anything about them?"

 "They were tall, not as tall as Alex.  Bigger builds though.  One of them had a 
cool earring, a silver coiled snake.  He had a snake tattoo on his hand too. I 
noticed it when he gave me the money.  The other guy was carrying a gym bag."

 "Where's this tunnel exactly?" Clark asked.

 "Over at Levine and 22nd."

 "That's were the gas leak was last Thursday," Clark said. "What time did you 
run into these guys?"

 "About nine o'clock.  That's all that happened.  I told Mick about it when we 
were at the apartment last night and he said he saw the same two guys.  I don't 
know if he did.  Sometimes he's off."

 "They've been trying to get us out of here.  Say this is private property.  Not 
any more.  Nobody's used this building in years.  So it's ours and we're not 
leaving."  This comment came form the pale young man who had given Sarah 
permission to speak.

 "Who are they?" Lois asked.

 "Don't know for sure.  They had the police with them the first time.  Said they 
represent the owners of this building.  They've been back a couple of times but 
we're not going.  We know there's gonna be another bomb but we're not afraid."

 "How do you know that?"

 "Everyone says so.  You gotta stop it."

 "Why not go to the police?" Lois asked.

 The kids looked at her as though she were nuts.  "Sure, lady.  Like they're 
gonna take us seriously."

 Another one of the group said, "The cops been down here.  Lookin' for John.  
Nothin' else on their mind.  Too bad we never seen him."  He shrugged and turned 
back to the magazine he'd been reading.

 They talked for a few minutes, but the kids knew nothing more.  They hadn't had 
that much information to begin with.

* * *

 Half running across the subway platform, Martha caught the last car of the 
train seconds before its heavy doors clamped shut.  Spotting an empty seat, she 
sat down and looked around at the other passengers in the crowded car.  One of 
the things that she loved about Metropolis was that its population reflected all 
parts of the world.  She thought if she talked to each person on this car she 
would know more about the world outside the United States than if she went on a 
vacation to some foreign land.  Of course, if she talked to everyone on this car 
they would think she was crazy.  One of the unspoken rules of subway 
transportation is that you pretend that the person whose thigh is jammed 
intimately against yours on a too narrow seat, is not really there.  Coming from 
a small town, Martha found this rule hard to obey and every once in awhile, she 
broke it and had been pleased to note that she had been neither arrested nor 
netted as a result.

 However, this afternoon she sat quietly, thinking about her time with Cliff.  
It had been good to see him again and the talk had flowed easily between them, 
like they were kids again, excited about some new artist or cause.  Even so, 
there had remained a distance between them, part of it her fault as she had 
found it difficult to hide her concern about the rootlessness of his life and 
some of it his as he could not resist a few digs at her seemingly very 
conventional life-style.  She had no illusions about the recipe for his 
survival: one part odd jobs and one part charm, seasoned with a pinch of petty 
crime.  He was a strange mix of arrogance, ego, and edgy selflessness, as 
committed as he'd ever been to causes that she too thought were important.

 When she got back to the townhouse, she hugged Jonathan tightly.  She could 
tell by the way he held her that he had been very worried about her and that now 
he felt a strong sense of relief that she was home.  His voice was gruff as he 
asked her about the man he'd never met.  Martha told him about Cliff and what 
they had talked about, letting Jonathan know how much his understanding meant to 
her, how much it had always meant to her.  Then the two of them climbed the 
stairs to the nursery.

   Laura was just beginning to wake up from her afternoon nap and Martha picked 
her up, succumbing to the lovely warmth of a baby snuggling into her arms.  
Cliff had accused her of taking the easy way out when she had returned to 
Smallville after her short time in jail.  He had been wrong.  Although she had 
never doubted that her decision to marry Jonathan was the right one, it had not 
been easy, especially in the early years as they had worked together to make a 
go of the run-down farm that he'd inherited from his grandfather.  They'd had to 
fight just as surely as Cliff had. Then had come the pain of not being able to 
have children, the emptiness that was like a cold dark hand around her heart. 
And the guilt that she had felt when the adoption agency rejected them because 
of her background.

  Laura burbled and stretched a tiny arm as she completed the complex task of 
waking up.  Martha fell under her granddaughter's spell, suddenly remembering 
what it had been like when she and Jonathan had found Clark.  Martha had scooped 
him up out of his small ship, making sure that he was covered in his dark blue 
blanket.  She had gazed at him in wonder, only dimly hearing Jonathan say that 
they had better contact the authorities.  She hadn't bothered looking up at him; 
she'd just shaken her head, knowing that the baby was theirs and that she loved 
him and that she would not give him up, her brown eyed, dark haired baby boy, 
sent to them, by parents far away, in a tiny ark to be found among the flags of 
Shuster's Field.

  Jonathan knew, too, because the next thing she heard was his gentle voice 
saying  "Let's go home, Martha.  We'll keep him safe.  I'll make sure they never 
find this capsule."

* * *

 Lois and Clark walked out of Metropolis General Hospital, trying to make sense 
out of what Mick had said to them.  Mick was sure the devil was trying to kill 
them, kill all of them.  He made the ground shake and the air hard to breathe 
and people disappear.  You have to hide from the devil.  The devil has helpers.  
The devil has snakes.  They'll find you wherever you go.  They nearly found him 
last night but he hid from them and they went away.  But they left something and 
they'll come back for it. The devil and his helper.  They'll kill you.  You have 
to stay by yourself.  You have to hide from the devil.  As he talked, his 
agitation increased until the duty nurse called a doctor who sedated him, 
staying until the old man was calm.

 "So we look for someone with a snake tattoo.  That's just about every second 
guy with a tattoo in the bars of Metropolis."  Lois looked at her husband for a 
second.  "Although we know he's your size.  So that limits it to every fourth 
guy."  She brightened for a moment.  "Maybe I can get Jimmy to do it."

 Clark raised his eyebrows. "Come on, Lois.  Think how it'd be, going to all the 
bars in town and asking to see a guy's tattoo.  Jimmy would be dead by morning."

 Lois sighed.  "I hadn't thought about that."

 "You, on the other hand, could get a guy to show you his tattoos real fast."  
Clark raised his eyebrows at her suggestively.

 "Clark!"  Lois sounded shocked.

 "I could watch.  Come to your rescue if you needed."  His tone was helpful.

 "I can take care of myself, Clark Kent."

 His eyes sparkled and he flashed her a grin. "O.K.  You check the bars on your 
own and I'll check out a few other things."

 "Such as?"

 "I'll try the MFD again."

 "I'll call Henderson and ask him for a run down on guys with explosives 
experience who look like our man."  

 "Let's talk to Bobby Bigmouth, too.  He might be faster than checking the bars.  
And after that, Ms. Lane, I think we head home."  Clark slid his arm around her 
shoulders as he spoke.

* * *

 The MFD had found traces of a delayed reaction incendiary bomb in the Daly 
building.  This information altered the police take on the identity of the 
bomber since it was difficult to argue that their only suspect was the masked 
spokesman for CEPL when he had been among those spending the night there.  That 
he was prepared to risk his own life seemed unlikely, although Henderson still 
thought there was a possibility that the group's leader might have thought that 
he could get everyone out of the building before the bomb detonated, thus making 
CEPL look like victims and thereby gaining public sympathy.

 Lois rolled her eyes while Henderson was telling her this but had the good 
sense to stifle her reply.  She wanted Henderson to do her a favor and ticking 
him off didn't seem like a wise move.  She made her request for a list of known 
illicit explosives talent and then listened to the pause at the other end of the 
line.  Henderson was thinking, always a good sign, she thought. 

 "What makes you and Kent so sure that our guy is not the one?"

 "We've been talking to a few of the people down in the Annex."

 "So have our guys.  Nothing.  They clam up.  No one knows this masked guy.  You 
got a lead on him?"

 "Henderson, can you do that search for me?  There's a fear down here that 
there's going to be another bomb."

 "Yeah,  wouldn't surprise me.  We got word this morning that last Thursday's 
gas leak was no accident.  I'll have Liz put your description through the 
computer and see what we get."

 "Thanks, Henderson.  I owe you."  Lois could be gracious when the occasion 
warranted.  She hung up the receiver and stepped away from the protection of the 
phone cubicle.  "He'll do it.  Now let's go find Bobby."

 They found Bobby Bigmouth at the cafeteria where he sometimes worked but, for 
once, he didn't know any more than they did.  He'd picked up the edginess on the 
streets, all right, and he knew it was caused by the fear of the bombings, the 
fires, and the unsolved murders which Bobby knew Clark had been investigating.  
His grizzled face was apologetic as he told them what little he knew.         

* * *

 That night, Superman searched the Old Market and Annex area.  Slowing his speed 
as much as possible and swooping low, he scanned the area.  Entering the tunnels 
under that part of the city, he did a whirlwind inspection of crevices and dark 
corners.  Some of the tunnels were in use-- part of the subway system that 
crossed beneath the city, but most were now abandoned.  Some of them had been 
built almost a century ago as the subway system was completed, while others had 
been built to provide access to the sewer system and to underground steam pipes 
and gas lines.  As he blitzed through these low narrow burrows he noticed a few 
shapeless men and women, moles settled in for the night.  In some cases, their 
cardboard packing crates told him that these tunnels provided permanent 
residences, giving them some protection against the cold of winter.  His search 
turned up no sign of a bomb.

 When he got home, the house was in darkness except for one light upstairs.  
After stopping in Laura's nursery for a few moments, he walked down the hall to 
the master bedroom.  It was empty.  Noticing the light coming through the open 
door on the far side of the room, he smiled, spun into his terry robe, and then 
entered the bathroom.  Lois, her dark hair tied up in a pony tail, was lolling 
back in the bubble-filled tub, sponging water over her shoulders.  She smiled at 
him as he leaned against the sink counter.

 "Find anything?"

 "No.  I checked pretty carefully.  No bomb anywhere.  The place is safe."

 "Good."  She was aware that his eyes had left her face as he spoke and were now 
wandering over the rest of her body. She smiled and arched her back 
provocatively, silently flirting with him as she dribbled foamy water over her 
shoulder again.  "So, you're home for awhile?"  As their eyes met again, she 
smiled as she saw the mix of laughter and passion in his.  What she wanted to 
do, she thought with a sigh, was to let her hands roam over every inch of him.  
Rivulets of water trailing over her body, she rose from the tub, and reached for 
a towel.

 He beat her to it.  "Yeah, I'm home for awhile.  So, is there anything I can do 
for you?"  His voice was both teasing and hopeful as he began to rub her gently 
with the towel.

 "Hmmm.  That feels so nice."  She half closed her eyes as she spoke, leaning in 
to his touch as he massaged her shoulders and then bent forward to cover her 
mouth with his in a slow sweet caress.  She put her hands on his chest and then 
slid them up to his shoulders as she deepened their kiss.  "There might be one 
or two things you could do for me, Mr. Kent."

 "Glad to be of service, Mrs. Kent."  He reached back and undid the ribbon 
holding her hair.

* * *

 "I might have your man," Henderson's voice was low key as he spoke to Lois on 
the phone late the next morning giving Lois the feeling that he was doing 
something else at the same time he was talking to her.  "Jeff Saracini.  Black 
hair, hazel eyes, six two, snake tattoo on his right hand and left forearm, 
released a year ago from New Troy Penn.  Clean parole record.  Convictions for 
arson, assault.  Skilled in the production of explosive devices, it says here.  
How'd you know, Lane?"

 "We talked to a lot of people yesterday.  The snake thing kept coming up, not 
always in lucid conversation, but too often to ignore."

 "Anyone we should talk to?"

 "Yeah, I think so, but I'm not sure she'll talk to you.  Let me talk to her 
again.  I'll try to get her to agree to see you away from the station."

 "Lois, this guy is not a gentleman.  I trust Kent will keep you out of trouble.

 Eyes veiled, Lois stared at the receiver for a moment.  "Look Henderson, I 
don't need a keeper."

 "No?  Motherhood reformed you?"

 "No, it has not."   The indignation in Lois's reply heightened as Henderson 
laughed and hung up the phone.  Why did everyone think that motherhood should 
slow her down?  She'd had a baby, not a personality transplant.  After quickly 
scribbling a note, she placed it on Clark's empty desk.  Moments later, she was 
jabbing the lobby button in the elevator.

 Half an hour later, she'd navigated a few alleys and climbed through rubble to 
find the squat that she, Clark and Alex had visited yesterday.  She tried to 
convince Sarah to talk to Henderson.  The girl was reluctant; she feared being 
charged with soliciting and most of all she was terrified that they would hold 
her until her baby was born and then take the baby from her.

 "You don't get it, do you?  I can't lose my baby.  Nobody's ever loved me.  My 
baby will be someone to love me."

 Lois felt close to tears.  Part of her felt that the best thing in the world 
for the child would be to be taken from this girl-woman and yet she understood 
how Sarah might never get over that loss.  "Sarah, no one will take your baby 
away.  I promise you that.  But you have to trust us and you have to let us help 
you."

 Sarah agreed finally to go with Lois to the shelter.  She would talk to 
Henderson there but she would not go downtown.  Pulling her black ski jacket 
over her bulky sweater, she got to her feet and followed Lois out onto the 
street.  She led Lois to the shelter, taking a longer route, but one that 
involved less climbing and no back alleys.  Sarah was reaching a stage in her 
pregnancy that discouraged back street scrambling.

 Once at the shelter, Lois entrusted Sarah to a nun who was helping out that 
morning.  As Lois put through a call to police headquarters, she hoped that 
Sister Joan would make it her business to take long term care of Sarah.  When 
she got through to Henderson, he said he'd be there as soon as possible.  Lois 
returned to the long trestle table to have coffee while Sarah dug into the 
beginning of a sensible lunch that the sister was preparing.  Lois smiled at the 
nun in relief, sending her a silent request to take care of the girl.

 While the three women were chatting over lunch, Alex showed up at the church, 
slightly out of breath.  Catching sight of Lois, he walked quickly over to the 
table.  "Lois, I was about to phone you.  I've just seen the two guys that Sarah 
was talking about."

 "Where?  Let's go, Alex.  We've got to follow them."

 "Where's your partner?"  Alex sounded doubtful.  "I'd feel better if he were 
here too."

 "He's, ah, on another story."  The truth was that Clark had picked up a news 
bulletin about a major storm in the North Sea that was threatening to wipe out 
the oil platforms there, endangering the lives of the workers who lived on them.  
"He'll be here later, if he gets time.  Sarah can let Henderson know where we've 
gone," Lois said as she and Alex rushed out of the church.  Of course, since 
neither of them had left any specific information about their destination, this 
would be difficult.  Lois Lane, on the trail of a big story, was not always 
logical about details.

 "I saw these guys getting out of a van a couple of blocks from here.  I went 
over to get a closer look, and I spotted the snake tattoo on one guy's hand."  
Alex was excited and he rushed his words.  "I figured I'd better call you and 
the shelter was just around the corner."

 They jogged the two blocks to where Alex had seen the men and spotted them 
turning into a side street not far from the squats.  "O.K., Alex, let's take it 
easy here."  They slowed down, keeping far enough back so they wouldn't be 
noticed, but close enough to see their quarry stop in the middle of the sidewalk 
up ahead.  Lois pulled Alex into the doorway of a boarded up store on their 
right.

 The two men halted in front of an iron grate in the sidewalk and then looked up 
and down the deserted street.  Seeing no one, the taller of the two men pried 
the grate open and they both lowered themselves into it, disappearing from 
sight.

 "Alex, I'm going down there.  You go back to the shelter and tell Henderson 
when he gets there,"  Lois whispered as she peered around the store's doorframe. 

 "You can't do that."  Alex's voice had risen a decibel.  "I'm coming with you."

 "It's O.K., Alex, I've done this before.  I'll be careful.  What I need you to 
do is tell Henderson."  She looked at him as she spoke, her voice confident, 
willing him to go. 

 Alex hesitated and then made up his mind.  Briefly, he touched her shoulder.  
"All right, but I'm back here as soon as I'm done."  Turning, he
ran back in the direction from which they'd come, his long legs stretching like 
an ostrich in flight.

 Lois pried the grate away from its metal frame and climbed down the iron ladder 
attached to the side of the shaft which led below the street surface.  Jumping 
down the last two feet, she landed on the dirt floor of a small cave-like area 
with tunnels going off in two directions.  Great, she thought.  Which way?  Then 
she noticed the damp earth scuffed in the tunnel to her left and proceeded down 
it, careful to keep to the wall in case she should be close to her quarry.

 After several interminable minutes treading cautiously in the dark, Lois 
finally heard their voices up ahead although she could not make out what they 
were saying.  Clark, you have it too easy, she told her absent partner.  It was 
difficult walking in the dark and so she kept her right hand on the damp tunnel 
wall to help her sense where she was going.  She wondered if there were rats 
down here.  There were.

 Suddenly, she could hear clearly what the two men were saying.  They had come 
to a halt and Lois could see the perimeter of a small circle of light cast by a 
flashlight against the dark ground.

 "This will do.  I figure we're under the squats here.  This'll clear everyone 
outta there for awhile.  Hand me the box." 

 Slight sounds of movement but no talk.  Lois wished she could see what they 
were doing.  Then the voice again.  "O.K., the timer's set."

 "How long we got to get outta here?"

 "More than enough time.  This'll blow at rush hour, make a greater impression 
then.  No more problem down here for the boss and we get our bonus."

 "Yeah.  His man'll contact us at the airport as soon as the six o'clock news 
broadcasts the explosion.  He gives us the cash and we're on the next flight to 
the beach." 

 At this point, Lois made her mistake.  In an effort to try to see the two men, 
she stepped away from the shadows of the wall; a decision that placed her within 
range of the flashlight which now turned toward her as the two men began to 
retrace their path back to the grate.

 "Well, we have a complication."  The hazel eyes that stared at her glittered.

 Lois turned and ran.  God, she couldn't see in this darkness.  Her foot hit a 
puddle, throwing her off balance for a second as she slid in the muck.  That 
second was all they needed to gain distance on her.  Instinctively, she turned 
and aimed a quick kick that caught the first of her pursuers in the groin.  He 
sank to the ground, roaring his pain in a  string of curses that echoed off the 
tunnel walls.  His partner ignored him and kept running toward her.  Not 
realizing she'd made the decision, Lois stood her ground.  With luck, she could 
take out two guys this way.  She knew she couldn't outrun him.
 
  He stopped about three yards away from her and she saw that he had a gun in 
his hand.  "It's over, lady."  His partner rose to his feet, walked over to her 
and looked at her for a moment without speaking.  Then he struck her hard across 
the face.  Lois reeled back in pain and then tried to aim a second kick but only 
managed to deliver a harmless blow to the side of his hip.  He hit her again, 
shoving her against the hard wall of the tunnel.  The pain of the blow seared 
like a white flash through her consciousness just before everything went dark.

 "Is she dead?" the man with the gun asked.

  His partner dropped to one knee to look at Lois carefully.  "I don't think so 
but she's out cold. Who knows how long she'll be out.  Finish her off, Jeff.  We 
don't want any witnesses."

 "Not with this," Jeff put the gun back in his jacket.  "No sense leaving more 
evidence than we have to."  He grabbed Lois's arms roughly and dragged her body 
through the greasy puddles part way down the tunnel while his partner followed.  
"This'll do.  She's close enough to the bomb here so that when it blows, she 
does too.  There's some rope in my bag.  Give it to me."  The other man tossed 
him the rope and Jeff bound her wrists behind her and then strung the rope down 
to her ankles. Next he used her scarf to gag her.  "Okay, let's get out of here.  
By the time they figure she was here, we're in South America."  He stood up and 
the two men ran quickly along the tunnel and climbed up into the street.

 Lois lay there unconscious for about ten minutes and then had a bit of luck.  
She was robbed.  Two old men, bundled in shabby clothes and half drunk had 
entered the tunnel looking for warmth.  An old mongrel dog shambled beside them.  
The two men were squabbling over the remaining dregs in a cheap bottle of 
whiskey when the dog wandered away from them to nudge at the trussed shape that 
was Lois's body.

 "Walt, look what we got here."  The older of the two men bent over Lois.  He 
lit a match and looked at her.  "I think she's dead."  He looked at his 
companion in shock.

   "Maybe she's got some cash," Walt said as he started to go through the 
pockets of her coat.  He found a twenty dollar bill, and grinned.  Pulling out 
his knife, he cut the ropes around her wrists.  "Help me get her coat off.  She 
won't need it no more and it's better'n what old Mary has."  When he'd removed 
her coat, he looked at her for a moment.  "Poor kid.  No place to die."

 "Let's get out of here, Joe.  That twenty'll get us a couple bottles and then 
we'll tell someone she's here."

 "Not much we can do for her now."  

* * *

 When Alex got back to the shelter, Sarah had gone.  Sister Joan reported that 
the girl had lost her nerve but she had hopes that the girl would come back 
later that day.  "I'm concerned about her health, Alex.  She's too thin.  We've 
got to get proper care for her."

 "Never mind that, Sister, is the cop here?"

 "No.  We got a call just after you left.  He's been delayed for another hour."

 "What?"  Alex raced to the phone.  To be safe, he put a call through to police 
headquarters as well as to Clark Kent at the Daily Planet letting them know the 
location of the grate.  Alex got Kent's voice mail and left a message identical 
to the one he'd left the police.  Great, he thought, everyone's got more 
important things to do.  He got the sister to lend him a couple of flashlights 
and then he left the shelter.

* * *

 Lois moaned, raising her hand to touch the back of her throbbing head.  For a 
moment she wasn't sure where she was.  Looking down at her feet, she realized 
they'd tied her up but how had she been cut loose?  Reaching forward, she 
unwound the rope from around her ankles.  Where was her coat?   She had to get 
moving but all she wanted to do was to lie down and go to sleep.  She had to 
stand up.  Slowly, her hand on the wall of the tunnel, she pulled herself up, 
dimly aware there was something she had to do.  Then she remembered.  There was 
a bomb somewhere.  She had to tell someone; she had to get out of here.  She 
felt like she'd been drugged.  Pushing herself, she staggered the short distance 
to the ladder that would take her up to the street.

 For a moment, the fresh air invigorated her, like cold water on a hot day.  She 
could make it.  She started to walk toward the church shelter, shivering and 
fighting the dizziness that was making her mind and her body numb.  I have to 
get home.  Laura needs me.  Clark, where are you?  Laura!  There's a bomb.  She 
wasn't sure where she was going.  Was this the alley that Alex had taken?  She 
didn't know.  There was no one around.  Everything was getting dark and her head 
hurt.  She stumbled over some brick rubble and fell.  Damn, no!  Her head 
throbbed and  she fought the nausea rising in her throat.  Why did she take 
these risks?  What was she trying to prove?  Who was she kidding?  She had to 
get up. If only this weight that was pressing down on her would disappear.  She 
couldn't see clearly, the street faded in a blur of white static, and then the 
blackness claimed her again.  She didn't get up.

* * *

  When Alex left the shelter, he ran back toward the squats, nabbing the first 
three guys he knew and then racing back toward the street where he had left Lois 
Lane.  The four men skittered down the ladder into the shaft and split up, two 
going down each tunnel.

 It was Alex who found Lois's bag.  He called to the others and all four 
searched the tunnel but found no sign of the reporter. Giving up the search, 
they returned to the street.  "They must have taken her," Alex said.  "I've 
gotta get the police."  That comment had the effect of making his three 
companions vanish quickly back into the security of the back alleys that they 
knew so well.

* * *

 Clark Kent was pleased with the rescue of the workers on the oil rig this 
morning.  Everyone was safe and he'd managed to re-anchor the giant rig so that 
it was secure against the force of the storm.  It had been easy.  Now he could 
put in a few hours at the job that paid, he thought ruefully as he entered the 
Daily Planet.  Although he wasn't consciously aware of it, the first thing that 
he always did when he got off the elevator alone was to look across the newsroom 
floor for Lois.  He'd been doing that since his first day at the Planet and he 
was always a little disappointed when she wasn't there.

 "Hey, Jim, seen Lois?" he asked as he passed the younger man on his way to his 
desk. 

 "Not since about noon, C.K.  I think she went out on an interview."

 "Say where she was going?"

 "No idea.  I didn't get a chance to ask her.  Perry had a rush on for some 
shots of that taxi pile up on Main and 2nd.  Think she left you a note, though."

 Clark sifted through the paper and mail that had been piled on his desk in the 
last few hours and found the note.  Reading it, he thought that she should have 
been back by now.  Then he flicked on his voice mail and got Alex's message.  
Lois, no, why do you do these things?  The most recent message was Henderson's: 
"Kent, an Alex Jefferson just called in a report of Lois being  missing.  Is he 
on the level?  Is Lois there?  I'm  heading over to Lexington and 27th to check 
it out."

 Clark ran past Jimmy toward the elevator.  "What's up, C.K.?"

 "No time to talk now, Jim.  Tell ya later."  The elevator doors slid shut as he 
finished his comment.  Seconds later he was airborne, arriving at Lexington and 
27th just as Henderson pulled up in an MPD cruiser.  Alex was with him.  In a 
matter of seconds, the two men were out of the car and standing on the pavement 
beside him. 

 "Gosh! Superman!"  Alex had never seen him before and was as speechless as if 
he'd encountered the ghost of Kurt Cobain. 

 "What happened?" Superman asked.  As Alex explained, his mounting panic obvious 
in the rapid jabs his long arms made in the air as he talked, Superman felt a 
rising sense of panic. He rose into the air, searching the alleys and streets 
below.  When he first saw the body spread-eagled in an alley below him, he 
prayed that it was not Lois but even as he did he knew that it was.  Landing 
beside her, he crouched over her, grateful that he could hear her heartbeat. 

 "Lois," his voice was a soft cry, half fear, half plea, but her eyes did not 
open.  Very  gently, he turned her over and touched the small trickle of blood 
that had coagulated on her forehead.  "Lois," he whispered as he wrapped her in 
his cape, lifted her into his arms and flew her to the emergency ward of 
Metropolis General Hospital.

 He strode into the reception area and was immediately met by a nurse.  "Do you 
know what happened to her?  How long has she been unconscious?"

 "No.  I found her in an alley."

  One of the doctors rushed over and took a quick look at her.  "Let's get her 
into a room immediately.  Looks like a concussion and probably exposure.  Face 
swollen.  I'd say someone has hit her pretty hard.  With luck, nothing more.  It 
depends how long she was out."

 By this time, the duty nurse and an orderly had placed Lois on a gurney and 
were wheeling her toward one of the rooms in the ER.  Superman followed.

 "Uh, Superman.  We can take it from here."  The doctor, an efficient young 
woman, nodded at Superman.   "We'll see if we can contact a family member.  
Avoid the husband or boyfriend, though, Elaine," the doctor said to the older 
woman.  "Eight times out of ten, he's the guy with the fists."

 The nurse observed, "There's no handbag.  I'll check her clothes for any I.D.  
Don't suppose you have any idea who she is, Superman?"

 Superman had been feeling pretty irrelevant by this point. Standing quietly on 
the sidelines was a strain when what he wanted to do was shout, "I'm going in 
there with her.  She's my wife and I'm not leaving her."  Instead, he said, with 
as much calm as he could manage, "Her name is Lois Lane Kent.  She's a friend of 
mine.  I'll stay with her until I know she'll be all right."  His voice was 
firm.  He was not going anywhere.

 "She's a reporter for the Daily Planet, isn't she?  I haven't been in 
Metropolis long, but I've read some of her stuff.  Not bad.  So I guess this 
isn't one of the eight times out of ten."  The doctor said as they walked  
behind the gurney into the ER.

 "No, it is not."  Superman's words were brusque as he followed the woman.  He 
thought to himself: but it is her husband's fault.

 He paced in the waiting room while Lois was examined.  Even a superman could 
not convince a nurse that he ought to be able to break the rules when it came to 
medical procedure.  That the two other people in the waiting room were surprised 
by his presence there did not even dawn on him.  It wasn't long before the 
doctor reappeared. 

 "Superman, your friend has a severe concussion but no fracture to her skull. 
The concussion came from a blow to the back of her head.  She's also suffering 
mild hyperthermia from lying outside but nothing serious.  Her face has been hit 
pretty hard, I'd say, but that's her least serious problem.  We hope she'll come 
around pretty soon."

 "I'll call her husband.  He'll be here as soon as possible.  May I see her for 
a minute before I go?"

 The doctor seemed to sense his mood and smiled.  "Of course.  Don't worry, 
Superman.  I've seen a lot worse cases than this.  But you might try to talk 
your friend into taking a few less risks."

 I wish, Superman thought, as he walked behind the doctor into Lois's room.  He 
stood for a moment looking at his wife and felt his chest constrict.  What if it 
had been worse?  Stooping beside her bed, he stroked her cheek with the back of 
his fingers, the only gesture that he felt would be safe given the other people 
in the room.

 "Thanks, Doctor.  I'll call her husband.  He'll be here as soon as he can."  
Then he walked out into the corridor, looking for a convenient stairwell in 
which to do a quick change act.

* * *

 Clark called his parents first and then Perry White to let them know what had 
happened.

 "Jeez, Kent, can't you keep better tabs on that girl?"

 "No, Chief, I can't.  I'd like to, but I can't," he snapped, his sense of 
frustration mounting.  As powerful as he was, he'd never been able to control 
her.  Why was he even thinking that?  He didn't want to control her.  He just 
wanted to keep her safe, to keep his family safe.  She knew I wasn't around.  
What's she trying to prove?  But he didn't voice these final thoughts. 

 "Clark, stay there until she comes to.  It'll take more 'n a tap on the head to 
keep that young woman on the sidelines, son."

 "Thanks, Perry."  He hung up the phone and put a call through to Henderson and 
told him that Superman had found Lois.

 It said something about Henderson's respect for Clark Kent that he gave Clark 
the next bit of information.  "Kent, Lois was on the right track.  We found a 
bomb farther down the tunnel where the kid found her bag.  That's off the 
record, by the way.  I don't want whoever planted the bomb to know we found it.  
And I want to talk to Lois as soon as she wakes up."

 Clark spent the next hour sitting beside his unconscious wife, watching her, 
talking to her.  As he sat there, he began to construct in his mind a large 
cabin, more like a fortress.  Isolated and remote.  He would take Lois and Laura 
there and he would keep them safe.  There would be no plots to take his child 
from him, no temptations to distract Lois.  As he planned the details of this 
cabin, he began to relax.  He would build it the way she liked, with rooms that 
let the sun in.  He looked at her bruised face and the bandage on her forehead 
and it seemed as though she were talking to him.  "It's beautiful, Clark, but 
now we're your prisoners."

 He reached over and touched her face, cupping her cheek in the palm of his 
large hand.  "O.K., baby, so I won't build it," he said to her, "but you gotta 
promise that you're gonna be more careful."

 Lois opened her eyes as he was speaking.  "Won't build it?"  Her voice was 
thick, slurred and she looked at him, her eyes confused.  Then she was alert.  
"Clark, there's a bomb.  You've got to get it."

 Clark's intentions were different.  He had pressed the button signalling the 
nurse and was now out in the hall ensuring that someone was on the way.  Then he 
returned to her bedside.  "I know, sweetheart.  Henderson's already found it."  
He grinned at her, his relief at her regaining consciousness freeing him and 
making him giddy.  "You know, I've never seen anything as beautiful as you are,"  
he said as he slid his finger through a strand of hair.  

 Lois managed a weak smile.  "Thanks, Clark. I appreciate that.  Now, if you 
could make my head stop hurting, I'd be really grateful."

 He kissed her cheek very gently, respectful of the massive bruise that was 
forming along the side of her face.  "Lois, you've got to stop hanging around 
dark tunnels, burning buildings, exploding warehouses, flagpoles. . . "

 Her voice was still slurred, "No fair.  Right now, I think you've got a point."

 "You do?" Clark sounded surprised and felt another small ripple of light pass 
through his soul.

 "Clark,"  Lois's voice was urgent now.  "There's more.  What time is it?  The 
guys who planted the bomb.  They're going to meet someone with a payoff at the 
airport as soon as the news breaks about the explosion.  Is there still time?  
You've gotta go."

 "Sush.  It's O.K., there's still time. 

 Just.  He put through a call to Henderson, telling him that Clark Kent would 
meet him at the airport as soon as possible.

* * *

 It was easy for Superman to get to Metropolis International Airport; it was 
more difficult for him to find two men, about whose appearance he had only the 
sketchiest details, out of all the thousands of passengers milling about the 
exit gates.  Henderson had his team distribute a mug shot of Jeff Saracini as 
well as a description of the two suspects to airport  personnel at the departure 
gates.  His men, as well as airport security, were stationed throughout the 
terminal.  The inspector had asked both radio and T.V. news to announce the 
explosion as a late breaking news bulletin.  He was hoping by then he would have 
spotted his quarry and could wait until they were approached with the pay off.  
They had over an hour to go.  He was only too pleased to have Clark Kent along 
as an extra observer.  They could use every bit of help they could get.

 "Just keep out of the way if these guys put up a fight, Kent."  Henderson gave 
Clark a copy of the mug shot.

 "Don't worry, I can handle myself pretty well."

 "It's not you I'm worried about.  I don't want to have any screw ups caused by 
avenging husbands."

 They narrowed the exit gates down to those for flights leaving no earlier than 
seven o'clock, knowing that the two fugitives would have arranged to take 
payment at the last possible moment before they had to go through the final 
luggage security check.  The police also had a lucky break.  One of the stewards 
at the check-in counter recalled processing the two men.  She remembered seeing 
the snake tattoo as the man had handed her his ticket and she had also thought 
it unusual that the two men were taking only carry on luggage on a flight out of 
the country.  That, combined with an inept attempt by his companion to flirt 
with her had made them stick in her mind.

 That narrowed the search down to gate twelve from which a flight for Buenos 
Aires was leaving at seven thirty.  It was Clark who spotted the two men first, 
seated at a bar watching T.V. some distance from where he was standing.  As he 
looked at them, he felt remote from the crowds around him, isolated by the anger 
welling inside him.  One of those men had attacked Lois.  He put a call through 
to Henderson and was joined almost immediately by an undercover cop.  Henderson 
was there moments later.

 "You got great eyesight, Kent.  I can't tell a thing from here,"  Henderson 
spoke quietly as he continued walking past Clark toward the bar.  He took a seat 
at the opposite end of the counter and waited.

 At the end of the newscast, the anchor interrupted the weather barbie with a 
bulletin announcing a massive explosion in the old Market Annex.  That was the 
signal.  A well dressed woman in a tailored suit took the seat next to the two 
men and ordered a spritzer.  She reached into her purse, pulled out an envelope 
and placed it beside the man with the tattoos.  When the bartender brought her 
the drink, she got up without speaking and took it over to one of the small 
round tables circling the bar.  Henderson's man followed her.

 The tattooed man picked up the envelope and put it in his inner pocket.  
Henderson made his move.  "Jeff Saracini, you're under arrest."  As he began to 
read him his rights, his companion took off.

 Clark had been watching all this carefully.  At the first sign of flight, he 
and two other undercover cops galvanized into action, chasing the man through 
the crowds toward the escalator.  Clark had a head start on them, and got to the 
man first.  Grabbing his shoulder, he forced the man to stop.  The man took a 
swing at him, Clark ducked, and his opponent lost his balance as the momentum of 
his swing had no destination.  With a grip like an iron vise, Clark clamped his 
hands on his opponent's shoulders. "That's it.  Your flight's grounded."

 "Hey, easy man.  You don't know your own strength."

 "Thanks, Kent.  We got him."  The undercover cop took over and Clark felt the 
breath go out of him.  He'd wanted more.  He wanted to push these guys around, 
let them know what it felt like to be hit by someone stronger than them.  He was 
shocked by how powerful this feeling was and he stood, uncertain what to do 
next, fighting for control.  He was aware of his fists clenching and unclenching 
as he watched, but did not listen, to the police officer reading the man his 
rights.

 Much later and much calmer, Clark returned to the hospital, carrying a small 
bouquet of roses which he added to the flowers Perry and Jimmy had brought.  The 
doctor had told him that Lois appeared to have no problems but that they would 
like her to stay overnight for observation.  When Clark got there, Lois was 
fighting sleep.  Her face was still swollen, but had changed color so now it was 
a subtle blending of blue-grey and green.  Clark thought maybe there was a bit 
of purple, too.  Then he noticed that the room was nearly full.  The whole gang 
was there, including Laura.  Lois was on the phone with her mother in Florida.

  "Yes, I was being careful.  No, I didn't tell Clark I was going."   She 
listened in silence for a moment. "No, Mom, I'm fine, fine."  Silence again, 
then,  "No, no you don't need to cut your vacation short."  Lois handed the 
phone to Clark and hissed, "Tell her I'm fine, Clark."

 Clark raised his eyebrows and gave her a look that was a cross between a smile 
and a grimace.  "You're right, Ellen, she takes far too many chances."  He 
grinned as he listened to her.  "I agree.  She never thinks about the 
consequences."  Another pause, "Yeah, acts without thinking."  He listened 
intently, keeping his eyes fixed on his wife who was rolling her eyes as he 
replied to Ellen.  "Uh huh, acts impulsively."

 "Clark!  Tell her I'm fine."

 "Yeah. I'll tell her, Ellen.  Enjoy the rest of your vacation.  Bye."  He hung 
up the phone and leaned over to kiss his wife's cheek, meeting her smoldering 
eyes.  "That purple color looks good on you."

 "Thanks, Clark."  Her tone was sarcastic.

 Clark grinned at her and then turned to lift Laura out of Martha's arms.  
"Thanks, Mom."

 Both Martha and Lois spoke almost simultaneously.  "So what happened at the 
airport?"

 "Henderson got them and their contact.  I went down to the station with them 
and waited while they put a trace on her.  No priors, but guess what?  She works 
for Metropolis Fidelity which is a holding company for several construction and 
development companies, including Bronson Corporation."  Clark turned to Jimmy.  
"So, Jim, tomorrow we start doing some digging on Metropolis Fidelity and find 
out who's behind it and what else it controls."

 "Hey, what about me?"  Lois demanded.

 "You, darlin', are stayin' home for the rest of the week."  Perry's voice was 
firm.  "Come on, Jimmy, let's head home."

 "Us too, Jonathan.  Clark, we'll take Laura.  Lois fed her just before everyone 
arrived and there's a couple of bottles in the fridge for her."  Martha lifted 
her granddaughter from Clark's arms, turning to smile reassuringly at Lois as 
she did. "Now, Lois, don't you worry about Laura; she'll be fine. See you 
later." Martha walked to the door and stood there for a moment.  "Thank you, 
both of you, for all you've done to help Cliff."  Her eyes blurred for a moment 
and Clark encircled her in an affectionate hug. 

 "Any time, Mom.  You're pretty amazing, you know."  His voice was gruff and 
then he let his dad rescue her.

 "Come on, Martha.  It's getting late."

 Lois sighed and sank back into her pillow as they all left.  "Do you think 
Laura will be all right?  I should be going home, too.  What if she gets upset?  
What if. . . "

 "She'll be fine, honey."  He grinned as he interrupted her. "Remember, thanks 
to not so modern technology there's milk for her and I hear her dad's pretty 
super."  His face turned serious and he gently stroked her hair.  "Lois," he 
began.    

 Lois met Clark's eyes and touched his hand in response to the concern she saw 
in them.  "I know, Clark. I know.  Don't think I didn't think all that when I 
was trying to get back to the shelter."

 "You don't have to prove anything, Lois.  You don't have to do everything.  
Even Superman can't do that." 

 "How did you know, Clark?  That I felt that way, I mean."

 He caressed her cheek.  "Because I love you.  And because sometimes it gets 
like that for me too, and whenever it does, you always tell me that what I do is 
enough."

 She kissed the palm of his hand and let her shoulders relax.  Then she grinned.  
"But you gotta admit, it's a pretty clever way to get two extra days off work.  
And my edge, Clark.  I've still got it!"  Her eyes sparkled.

* * *

 A week later the Kent household was back to normal. The television was on, 
tuned as usual to the news channel.  One item got the attention of all four 
Kents.  They looked in astonishment at the screen as the camera panned slowly 
over the headquarters of Metropolis Fidelity, which had been spray painted in 
the early hours of the morning.  Twisting green vines, leafy trees, and large 
fanciful scarlet flowers covered the grey concrete.  Oddly, a large outline of a 
broken egg had been painted by the entrance door.  It was beautiful.  The 
spokesperson for Fidelity was outraged and spoke strongly about vandalism and 
the desecration of private property. 

  Martha laughed.  "Well, there's more than one way to get a park."

 When the news item ended, Jonathan handed Lois a large envelope.  "Oh, here, I 
forgot this.  It was on the front doorstep as we came in this morning."

 Lois opened the envelope, looked at the single sheet of paper which she had 
pulled out, and then smiled as she showed it to Clark.  It was a charcoal sketch 
of the two of them, humor and affection evident in the way in which they looked 
at each other.  At the bottom was written, "Thank you". It was signed with the 
initials CGM.

* * *

  the end