She took his word for it. Chemistry was never her strong suit.
"Some people call me the Question," he informed her.
The name sounded vaguely familiar. Some sort of vigilante, who used to work out of Hub City? Hell, Renee thought, I can barely keep track of Gotham's freaks. "Why are you telling me all this?"
"To prove a couple points," he said. "First, that I trust you. Second, that most answers lead to more questions." His blank face confronted her. "How many more do you have now, Renee?"
"Oh, another dozen or so," she admitted. "But mostly I keep coming back to the same ones. What the hell's going on? What was that... thing ... that attacked us? What were those weapons?" She had phoned in an anonymous tip to the G.C.P.D., alerting them to the weapons cache, but that didn't mean that there weren't more of those futuristic firearms out there. "Where'd they come from?"
The Question nodded, like he approved of her queries. "Gotham is being targeted, Renee. What we found was the groundwork for an invasion." His voice took on a more ominous tone. "Gotham City is being targeted by Intergang."
Intent on their discussion, neither Renee nor her companion was aware of a third party eavesdropping on their conversation from five stories up. A cloaked figure crouched on the rooftop overlooking the alley. The scalloped tips of a voluminous black cape fluttered in the breeze, giving the figure the silhouette of an enormous bat. Keen eyes peered down at the alley through white one-way lenses. A determined expression showed beneath a forbidding black mask expressly designed to strike terror into the hearts of criminals. A nocturnal emblem was emblazoned on the figure's chest.
She wasn't Batman.
WEEK Id
SHIRUTA.
"I cannot change the world alone," Black Adam confessed. "Which is why I have summoned Kahndaq's allies here."
He addressed his honored guests in the palace's high-tech reception area. Kahndaqi flags hung upon the walls, while a large holographic representation of the Earth floated in the center of the room. Kahndaq's present allies, indicated on the globe by black with a golden band, included China, Singapore, Iran, Syria, Egypt, North Korea, India, Chile, Zandia, Qurac, and Modora. Conspicuously missing was Bialya, whose corrupt government remained under Intergang's control. A good beginning, he thought, but only the beginning.. ..
Super-powered champions from throughout the world mingled amongst themselves, accompanied by various aides, advisors, and translators. They sipped on champagne and iced fruit juices as they listened to Black Adam's speech. Among the costumed emissaries, he recognized:
General August-in-Iron from China.
Cascade from Indonesia.
Rocket Red from Russia.
Lady Zand from Zandia.
Ibis the Invincible from Egypt.
Sonar from Modora.
Queen Cobra from India.
Together, they represented a potential alliance with power enough to challenge the Justice League of America and its decadent Western allies. Exactly as he intended.
"Each of you is a representative of your great country," he continued. "And I ask you to deliver a message to your leaders." A short black cape, with golden trim, had been added to his uniform for this formal occasion. "Many have joined our coalition, but many more have been resistant... or reluctant to allow others in. As of now, I ask you to forget the political rivalries between one another. Soon we will have the strength to—"
"Stop!" A strident voice, coming from the corridor outside, interrupted his address. Scowling, he turned his head toward the disturbance. Who dares?
To his surprise, he saw the nameless young woman he had rescued from Intergang, the one who had so callously been offered to him as a "gift," come charging into the reception hall, pursued by a trio of palace guards. A loose-fitting robe clothed the fleeing maiden. Her dark brown hair flowed behind as she ran from the guards.
"Stop her!" a guard shouted. "Come back here!"
Heading straight toward Black Adam, she jumped through the holographic globe. Laser-generated oceans and continents flickered and fuzzed as her passage disrupted the three-dimensional image. She landed nimbly on the other side of the globe, only a few yards away from Black Adam. Before she could reach him, however, a pair of guards tackled her.
"Let me go!" she exclaimed. The guards struggled to hold onto her. She thrashed furiously in their grip, as when she had tried to escape from her American captors. The girl had spirit, if nothing else.
"A thousand pardons, Mighty Adam," a guard apologized as he and his comrades attempted to drag the squirming woman from the room. He looked profoundly ashamed by the incident. "She threw her dinner in Maqued's face and ran here before we could stop her."
Puzzled by the guard's account, he approached their captive. "What is the girl's problem?"
"My name is Adrianna Tomaz," she blurted defiantly, straining against the beefy guards holding her back. "And you are nothing but a terrorist!"
She spit in his face.
By the gods! he thought. How dare she mock me before my guests! His expression darkened as he wiped the spittle from his cheek. Anger flared within his heart. Had he not rescued this maiden from vile captivity? Her lack of gratitude offended him deeply. Were it not for the presence of his distinguished guests, who watched the altercation with varying degrees of embarrassment and amusement, he might have been tempted to strike her down where she stood.
"That was not wise," he informed her ominously.
METROPOLIS.
"See for yourself!"
Perry White hurled a newspaper in Clark's face. Smarting from the impact, Clark unwrapped the paper from around his head and took another look at page one. Beneath the masthead of the Daily Star, the Planet's chief rival, was a blurry photo of Supernova soaring through the air above the city. "EXCLUSIVE! FIRST LOOK AT NEW HERO!" proclaimed a banner headline.
Clark winced at the sight.
"The Daily Planet has nine hundred and twelve employees on its staff," Perry informed him angrily. The apoplectic editor shook his finger at the damning headline. "This is what happens when Clark Kent lets every one of them down!"
"Perry," Clark began, "I tried for an exclusive—"
"Good reporters don't try, Kent! They succeed!" Veins bulged upon Perry's neck. He grabbed the Star and waved it in Clark's face. "Superman's been missing for weeks. A new mystery replacement is on the scene. You beg me—beg me!—to give you an exclusive on the investigation. And because you blew it, the Star broke the story, not the Planet. The StarV
The Star was to the Planet what Lex Luthor was to Superman. An intractable adversary to be defeated at all costs. Sitting before Perry's desk, like a schoolkid summoned to the principal's office, Clark knew that the other paper's scoop had to be driving Perry nuts. He couldn't blame his boss for being upset. I really dropped the ball on this one. Clark awkwardly fingered the Band-Aid on his cheek as Perry continued his tirade.
"Meanwhile, 'reporter' Clark Kent is six steps behind the Pony Express on this." Saliva sprayed from Perry's lips as he glared irritably at the other man. "And what is wrong with your face?!"
"I cut myself shaving," Clark said sheepishly.
"Again?" Perry shook his head in disgust. "If you don't kr ow how to use a keyboard, Kent, tell me you at least know how to use a razor!"
"Kind of," Clark said. These days his face was more delicate than he was accustomed to. He missed using his heat-vision to shave. Not that he could explain that to Perry.
"Don't get cute!" Perry scolded him. "This isn't good old Perry, just blowing off steam." His raspy voice took on a more rueful tone. He reluctantly removed an envelope from his desk drawer and handed it to the seated reporter. "Clark ... I'm ..." For once, he seemed at a loss for words. "I..
Clark took the envelope. In the past, before the Crisis, he would have peeked at its contents with his X-ray vision. Now he had to open the letter like anj'body else. The document inside read Notice of Termination.
Clark couldn't believe his eyes.
He looked up at Perry, aghast. "You're firing me?"
"It's not just this, Clark. " The editor slumped into his large leather chair, looking miserable but resigned. He massaged his temples with ink-stained fingers. "You've been letting things slide for weeks. Big things."
Clark rose to his feet, determined to plead his case. "Mr. White, I know I've been in a slump...."
"In this business, Kent, two weeks is a slump." His voice held a definite note of regret. "Four weeks is burnout. After seven weeks of watching you walk around like you've forgotten everything you know about reporting, I went against my own better judgment and gave you the Supernova assignment, praying to God above that you could deliver in a timely fashion."
Clark walked over to the picture window overlooking Metropolis. "Mr. White, I can do better."
"No kidding!" Perry's temper flared up again. "That's the point, Kent! 1 don't know what secret skills and tricks you've been relying on all these years as an investigative reporter. Worse, I don't know where they went."
A flash of light caught Clark's eye. He peered through the window. His eyes narrowed behind his glasses. Could it be .. . ?
"You used to be great, Kent," Perry went on, oblivious to the approaching light. Getting out from behind his desk, he paced dolefully across the office. "You used to take risks. You used to put yourself in the thick of news." He sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as Clark. "Now you play it safe, keep your distance. And that's not the job."
Squinting into the glare, Clark saw a caped figure flying above the city streets. The figure bore a distinct resemblance to the blurry photo on the front page of the Star. "So I'm fired." He reached down and unclasped the lock on the window.
"You cost us a lot of credibility," Perry pointed out. His back to Clark, he didn't see the mild-mannered reporter slide the glass pane open. "So far Supernova is still just a headline and a photo. There's still time for the Planet to get the first real interview, but it won't be by you. I've reassigned it to Cox. He'll get it somehow."
"You never told me this was my last chance, Mr. White," Clark said as he stepped out of the window onto the ledge. Fear of heights had never been a problem with him.
"I'm sorry, Kent, but—" A gust of wind blew into the room, rustling the newspapers on Perry's desk. Puzzled, he turned around to see Clark standing on the ledge,' only inches away from a thirty-story drop. "Great Caesar's Ghost!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing?" Perry rushed toward the window, desperate to keep Clark from committing suicide. "Wait! It's not worth killing yourself, man!" His face went pale as Clark toppled over the edge. Arriving at the window, he watched in dismay as Clark plummeted toward the street. "Kent!"
Clark found falling a peculiar sensation. Gravity, which he had so often disregarded in the past, grabbed onto him in revenge. The wind roared in his ears as the air rushed past him at alarming speed. For a second, he wondered if maybe he had made a fatal mistake. This always worked for Lois. .,.
"Easy, mister. I've got you." Supernova swooped out of the sky and caught Clark in his arms. Gravity was cheated once more as the flying hero carried Clark up, up, and away. His all-concealing blue hood muffled Supernova's voice. "Are you okay?"
Thank you, Lois, Clark thought with a grin. This particular stunt came straight from his wife's playbook. "I'm fine." He thrust a miniature tape recorder in the hero's face. "Clark Kent, Daily Planet," he identified himself. "Let's talk."
But before he could fire off his first question, Clark heard the sound of heavy artillery blasting somewhere below. What the devil? Supernova flew toward the booming noise, which was soon accompanied by frantic shouting and screams of terror. Looking down, Clark saw a formidable-looking armored vehicle rumbling down Memorial Drive. Gun ports and rocket launchers bristled from its dense steel hull. A 120-mm cannon protruded from its turret. Panicked pedestrians scattered as the tank opened fire on the buildings facing the streets. Masonry and broken glass exploded outward, adding to the chaos. Police officers fired at the vehicle, but their bullets bounced harmlessly off the ATV's spent-uranium armor. Whoever was manning the tank seemed intent on creating as much devastation as possible. ■
The Bahdnesian Revolutionary Front? Clark had heard a rumor that the terrorist organization was plotting to hijack the military's new mortar-proof all-terrain vehicle. Looks like those whispers were right on target. He frowned at the wanton destruction, wanting to personally take the tank apart. Even though he believed that the loss of his powers was only temporary, he still felt frustrated at moments like this. This was a job for Superman—or at least it used to be.
"Take care, mister," Supernova advised as he swiftly deposited Clark on the sidewalk, safely behind the tank's path. Clark wished the new hero well as, without hesitation, Supernova took off after the tank. A wide-eyed tourist started snapping off photos with his digital camera. Clark hurriedly handed the man a wad of cash in exchange for the camera. He focused the camera on Supernova just in time to catch the flying hero confronting the runaway tank. Dazzling beams emanated from Supernova's eyes, causing a stretch of pavement to disappear right in front of the oncoming ATV. Had the asphalt been disintegrated, vaporized, or teleported away? Clark couldn't tell.
In any event, Supernova definitely showed the terrorists that all-terrain was not the same as no-terrain. The speeding tank crashed down into the gaping pit and tilted over onto one side. Its armored tread spun uselessly in the air, churning up a cloud of loose dirt and gravel. Glowing like the sun, Supernova landed on the lip of the gap, overlooking the overturned vehicle. His cape flapped behind him as he gazed down confidently upon the immobile tank. Another brilliant eyebeam opened one side of the tank, exposing the trapped terrorists to the broad daylight. They threw down their weapons as a SWAT team closed in to take the felons into custody.
Supernova stepped back to let the police officers take charge of the situation. Clark seized the opportunity to approach the masked hero before he could get away. "Excuse me," he said, taking out the tape recorder once more. "Perhaps we could continue our conservation?"
He already had the first clear shots of Supernova in action. Maybe he could score the first real interview as well? Besides his obligations to the Planet, Clark also had a personal interest in finding out more about this new hero. As Superman, he might well have to fight beside Supernova at some point. Who knows? he thought. Perhaps Supernova was League material? The world could always use a few more brave men and women to fight the good fight. Especially after our recent losses.
"I don't know," Supernova said hesitantly. His blue hood made it impossible to read his expression (at least without X-ray vision), but he seemed wary of the press. He glanced up at the sky, as though wishing he was already aloft. "I should be on patrol...."
"The public has a lot of questions about you," Clark said, appealing to the man's sense of duty. Good public relations was part of the job, no matter what Bruce might think. "It might ease their minds to know more about who you are, what your agenda is."
"I'm just here to help," Supernova said guardedly. Was he simply worried about revealing his secret identity or was there more to his reticence? Still, he wasn't flying away ... yet. "The public has nothing to fear from me." He seemed to spot something out of the corner of his eye. "That kid..." He looked back toward the enormous cavity in the street. Clark saw a curious child approaching the pit. "He's not watching where he's going ...!"
Supernova vanished in a flash, reappearing a second later in between the little boy and the edge of the gap. "Stay back, pal!" he gently admonished the wandering child. "That's an awfully deep hole in the pavement."
Clark nodded in approval, impressed by the other hero's attitude. Despite being new on the scene, Supernova had an air of experience about him. Would most beginners have thought so quickly to secure the crime scene and look after the bystanders? I think he's on the level, Clark thought. He watched as Supernova escorted the boy back to his grateful mother, then took off into the sky. Supernova
waved at the cheering crowd below, just like Superman would have done.
A pretty classy exit, Clark conceded. But one question remained.. ..
"Who's underneath that mask?" Booster Gold vented. He angrily tossed the Daily Planet aside, unimpressed by Clark Kent's front-page story and photo. Booster glared at Skeets as, all around them, movers carted the apartment's furnishings away. Aside from a few nasty smirks, the men ignored the ranting super hero in their midst. None of them asked for his autograph.
“it’s a mystery to me, s i r,” the robot replied.
"Yeah?" Booster said sarcastically. "You know what else is a mystery? How I'm going to adjust from living in a penthouse condo to a miserable three-room rental with alley view." He stepped out of the way so a mover could wheel a repossessed jukebox out on a handcart. "Hey, watch where you're going, bub!"
“YOU DO SO SUFFER, SIR.”
Booster overlooked Skeets' arch tone. "Largely, if not totally because this 'Supernova' jerk is stealing my limelight and eroding my endorsement deals." Only a few logos still adorned his uniform, mostly from companies that hadn't gotten around to severing their contracts with him yet. A worker thrust a clipboard at him, and he grumpily signed away his claim on various personal possessions. "This sucks worse than a time warp."
“I UNDERSTAND OUR FINANCES ARE AT A LOW, SIR, BUT PERHAPS IF YOU CHOSE A LESS DANGEROUS LIFESTYLE, A HIGHER CLASS OF REALTOR WOULD BE WILLING TO LEASE TO YOU?”
"Stop confusing me with logic." Booster grabbed onto Skeets and stared into the robot's optical array. "Isn't there anything in those twenty-fifth-century data banks about Supernova's true identity? Zero? Nada?"
“if only, sir."Skeets slipped away from Booster's grip, “but as we’ve
SEEN, TWENTY-FIRST-CENTURY HISTORY IS BEGINNING TO DIVERGE MORE AND MORE FROM WHAT’S RECORDED.”
Tell me about it, Booster thought.
“PERHAPS INVESTIGATING THAT SHOULD BE DUR FOCUS FOR THE
immediate future,” Skeets suggested, “such as it may be?”