Introduction/Preface
Suppose Superman existed, really existed. Existed in this world, not a fictional one.
Everything you know about the world stays the way it is, except there is a Superman who came to Earth years ago. Just Superman. No Supergirl, Krypto, General Zod, Brainiac, Mr. Mxyzptlk, etc. No Batman, no Flash, not even Lex Luthor. Just Superman.
What would he do? What would he be like?
It is standard practice to have an opponent for Superman, for all superheroes, for all heroes, period. Every author knows you need an antagonist to balance out the protagonist. Or, not.
When I watch the Superman movies, I find my favorite parts are simply Superman being Superman. Flying, rescuing people from disasters, stopping routine crimes. To me, the plots get bogged down in fantasia when you introduce super-villains or evil geniuses.
But wait, what would Superman’s struggle be then? Doesn’t he need to struggle? Or is it all just a matter of “here he comes to save the day”, and he does, and fade out?
I think the struggle of Superman is, again, being Superman. Compared to any life form on Earth, Superman is god-like. How does someone with such powers and abilities not become a god? How does he stay balanced, human, real?
This is what I have attempted in this exercise.
Almost every Superman movie gives me worms. I wonder why the writers and directors just can’t seem to get him right. One of the more recent entries has him stealing clothes to wear. No; Superman would never do that. Note: I stopped reading Superman comics years ago. Also, I have not watched any of the animated features. The Superman I grew up on was before Crisis on Infinite Earths, before he “died”, etc. Simplistic, I’m sure. But it was the Superman of three plus decades, so his character certainly had some merit.
The most comfortable I’ve felt about non-comic book Superman works have been the two novels by Elliot S. Maggin: Superman: The Last Son of Krypton (1978) and Miracle Monday (1981). I have tried not to copy his work, but he has definitely influenced mine. Fortunately, I am not writing this for profit, but just as “Fan Fiction.”
So here it is. I have included a couple of situations where Superman ventures away from Earth, but those are not my strong suit. And I have taken the liberty of adjusting the yellow sun/red sun topic in a way which makes sense to me. If I had introduced magic into these pages, I would have made Superman unaffected by it, as my personal belief is that there is no fantastical magic, beyond whatever psychological manipulation and deception can be employed to fool people (as on this website!).
Maybe my version of Superman is singular. Or maybe not. I hope you like what you read here. I like it. If you really don’t care for it, then perhaps it will spur you on to write your Superman story; I’d love to read it.
Of course, none of this would be possible without Jerry Siegal, Joe Shuster, and DC Comics. Thanks.
The Kryptonian
Chapter One
There was no way out. The six-year-old pick-up truck was laying on its driver’s side, and Josh was pinned against the driver’s door by the crushed steering wheel. He simply could not wriggle out. Thirty feet off the road, down in this embankment, no one would see him. Laying on the horn was futile; the battery must have been disconnected in the accident. Josh’s cell phone was lying within eyesight, perhaps ten feet in front of him on the ground, half submersed in a puddle.
No way out.
He was trying not to think about the inevitable, when he heard a rich voice say, “Joshua Middleton, I will have you out in a moment. Your arm is broken, but it is a simple fracture. You will be in the ER in about three minutes.” The groaning sound of metal straining followed, and in an instant Josh felt the vehicle gently set upright again. The door flew off, and there stood the only possible explanation–Superman.
Two minutes and fifty-three seconds later, Josh was in the Frankfort Hospital Emergency Room. Twenty-six seconds after that, Superman was tracing the blare of a tripped alarm in Metropolis at the Security Trust and Savings Bank on 16th Street.
Four gunman wielded semi-automatic weapons with Glock G-17s as their back up. Thirteen employees and twenty-one customers were sitting in a group in the center of the bank, guarded by two of the robbers. The other two were loading the rest of their booty into tactical backpacks when Superman flew through the window. By the time the people in the bank could react to the sound of the crashing glass, Superman had disarmed the automatic weapons with his heat vision. He alighted in front of the ringleader, and said calmly, yet forcefully, “Travis Curry, tell your men to stand down. This is over.”
Curry pointed his rifle at Superman and pulled the trigger. As he stood there perplexed, looking at the useless gun, Superman grabbed each of the other three bank robbers, yanked away their weapons, and tied each one’s hands behind their backs with their belts. This took a total elapsed time of 2.3 seconds. Suddenly Superman was standing directly in front of Curry, his hands outstretched in order to receive the rifle and revolver. Travis Curry quietly complied. Minutes later the robbers were in police custody, and the would-be hostages were being attended to by EMTs. As he flew out the window, Superman smiled at the bank president, “Sorry about the damage.”
Eight minutes later Superman was bringing the last of three young boys to the shore of Lake Mayfield, just south of Metropolis. They had tried going on an adventure in a canoe, planning to cross the lake and return. Unfortunately, none of them had ever been in one before. Not surprisingly, they capsized. As they struggled to swim to shore, their water-logged clothes weighed them down and they were in serious danger of drowning. Fortunately, Superman had spotted them and rescued the three little explorers.
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Both the Kents had noticed Clark was not prone to bruises, scrapes or cuts as a toddler. In fact, one night when Clark was about two, Jonathan asked Martha if she could remember him ever being injured. She told him no, and then confessed that just before Clark turned one—they celebrated his birthday as June 18th, the day they found him—she had researched Congenital Analgesia. She hadn’t known the name of it then, but had heard of a peculiar and rare condition in which a person feels no pain. The danger lay in not distinguishing things which were harmful, and there were documented cases of young children suffering severe burns, or dying, simply because they could not feel something was wrong. But then she had seen Clark scrape his knees across the ground in what should have led to scratches and drawn blood, yet he didn’t have a mark on him. She chalked it up to him being a tough little guy, and didn’t think much about it after that. It was the incident of the alligator snapping turtle that got Jonathan and Martha’s attention and raised their awareness of two aspects of their son’s abilities.
To celebrate Clark’s second birthday, the family had gone to Myers Lake to enjoy a day of relaxing and picnicking. Clark occupied himself poking a stick into the water as he walked along the shore, watching the small fish who congregated there with interest. Pa kept an eye on him, just in case Clark should fall in; he hadn’t yet started to teach his son how to swim.
Suddenly a squeal of delight broke the quiet of the day and Clark horrified his parents as he showed them the cause—dangling from his left index finger was an alligator snapping turtle, who had a death grip on Clark’s slender finger.
Clark was laughing and making faces at the beast as Pa ran to him. Then Clark took his other hand and wriggled his fingers in the turtle’s face, which promptly released the index finger as it clamped down on Clark’s right pinky finger. Pa screamed “NO!!!”, which startled Clark, and confused him. Why would Pa be mad at Clark playing with the funny turtle? Clark wasn’t hurting it.
Ma ran up crying again and again, “Clark, are you all right? Are you hurt?” Clark smiled and held up his trophy: “Isn’t he funny Ma? He likes to kiss my fingers.”
Pa told Clark firmly, “Get him off your finger son, and put him back into the water. Now!” Clark was still confused, but lowered the turtle into the lake, then pulled out his finger. Martha grabbed his hand and kissed it as she inspected it for damage, relieved to see it was intact, but expecting it to be broken. It was fine. There was not a mark on either his index finger or the pinky. Nothing.
“Clark” Pa asked, “Did that hurt?” Clark had learned a few months ago what that word ‘hurt’ meant. The Kents had a little difficulty in explaining it to him, but got him to understand hurt meant something felt bad. Clark chose his answer as carefully as a two-year old could: “It didn’t feel bad Pa, it just…felt. Not bad, not good, just…I felt it, but it wasn’t anything.”
Pa inspected the fingers carefully. Martha was right—there wasn’t even the slightest indentation of where the snapper’s jaw had latched on. An alligator snapping turtle can lop a man’s finger clean off, but Clark’s delicate little digits didn’t even seem to register the presence of the turtle. These things can range from 20 to over 170 pounds, and this one seemed to be about 60-70 pounds, Jonathan guessed. But Clark had played with it as if it was nothing.
When it was clear that Clark was okay, Martha calmed down. “It’s okay Ma. Clark is fine. That was a pretty big goomer though, wasn’t he?”
“His friend is bigger, Pa!” Clark exclaimed.
“What friend, Clark? Did you see another turtle like him?”
“I see him now. They are swimming together there” Clark pointed about twenty-five feet into the lake.
Pa couldn’t see anything. The glare of the water was one barrier, the murkiness of the water was another. “You can see two turtles Clark? Where? How do you see them?”
Clark understood part of Pa’s question. “There Pa, under the water about this much” spreading his hands vertically to show an approximation of depth. He didn’t understand what Pa meant by “how do you see them” though.
“Clark, you can see under the water?”
“Of course, Pa. Can’t you?”
In later years, he discovered the only thing that hurt him was kryptonite, fragments of Krypton that were scattered throughout the galactic system. The effect on him was similar to radioactivity, albeit one with immediate effects. Depending on the size of the piece of kryptonite and his proximity to it, Superman’s reaction varied from a slight tingling sensation to immediate weakening in its presence. A large enough piece could eventually kill him if he was not able to get away from it. Fortunately, the amount of kryptonite which traveled to Earth was minimal, and Superman’s encounters with it were rare.
Once, an enterprising criminal had fashioned kryptonite into the head of a bullet, believing that the slug would pass into Superman’s body and slowly kill him. But it merely bounced off and landed out of range of harm. Superman’s super compacted atoms didn’t lose their density when near kryptonite; it weakens him as a flu weakens a human, and eventually can drain him of life. The criminal would have been more successful applying a strong epoxy to the kryptonite.
Kryptonite’s damaging rays were unable to penetrate lead, and thus Superman was able to keep the occasional bits of it out of the wrong hands by securing it in lead containers in his Fortress of Solitude.
That evening, as Jonathan and Martha reviewed the events of the day, Martha offered an explanation for Clark’s ability to see under the water. She suggested his eyes may have a built-in ability to cut through glare, as Pa’s fancy sunglasses could do. Pa rejected that idea, as it did not account for Clark being able to see through the muddy, murky water. Ma’s response was a simple “Then I just don’t know Pa. I just don’t know.”
Pa considered the potential lessons of that day: Was Clark impervious to harm, and could he see right through things? Pa Kent wondered to himself what sort of man Clark would grow into someday. Even in his wildest dreams, he couldn’t imagine the answer to that question.
Chapter Two
He had made thousands of rescues prior to that day, covertly. Lives had been saved, property was salvaged, and natural disasters were averted. He had kept his existence a secret, partly because he was not ready to face the world, partly because he did not think the world was ready for him, and partly because, well, he really wasn’t sure why. But somehow, he knew it wasn’t time yet. He talked about it with Ma, and she backed him up in his belief that he would know when the time was right.
For a while after Pa had died, he found himself confiding in Ma more than ever. But she told him he needed to learn to trust his own feelings, and figure things out for himself. She told him she would always be there for him, but he needed to stand strong on his own. Her long hug assured him and comforted him, and as they embraced, he realized Ma was right. It was time for him to make decisions on his own.
After their talk, she went to the Lane cedar hope chest at the foot of her bed, and brought out a red, blue, and yellow outfit she and Pa had found in his ship. Jor-El had packed it as a reminder of his Kryptonian heritage. Ma and Pa had marveled at its unique feel; it was made of something like fabric, but not anything they had encountered before.
She also gave Clark a box that contained everything else in the ship—crystals, two bottles of colored fluid, and some objects neither she nor Pa could identify.
In time Clark learned what all those items were, including the liquid isotopes that when combined had rendered the exterior of his ship virtually impervious to damage in space; they were packed as part of a supply kit for the ship. Clark had discovered that applying them to the red, blue, and yellow costume made from the Kryptonian materials made it likewise impervious. Not completely invulnerable, as was his body, but able to withstand all manner of damage; as close to indestructible as something could be.
Clark decided this was what he should wear while performing deeds in public. It was distinctive of course, the primary colors being a sight people would recognize; he anticipated they would recognize it as a symbol of rescue, of good, of hope. It would also connect him with his birth culture—a people he never knew. He would wear it proudly. Just when he would start appearing in public was an uncertainty, but Clark felt he would know when the time was right.
And so, it came to be one night in Metropolis, several weeks after Clark had begun his job at the Daily Planet, that he made his first public appearance.
He was walking one early evening towards the botanical gardens, when his super hearing picked up a burst of rapid gunfire. It was either a 30 or 50 caliber machine gun–not good.
It took him less than three seconds to locate the source and confirm it visually. Two seconds after that, he arrived at the scene.
As he descended, the military style operation was fast reaching its climax.
At the federal reserve bank two dozen heavily armed men had forced their way into a cash holding room and had packed up almost $500 million dollars. If successful, each one of them would end up with $20 million.
Two fed employees were injured by gunshots, one more was knocked unconscious by a blow to the head by one of the robber’s guns. Twelve taxis sat outside the front door. They had been stolen by the gang, and were part of their plan to vanish into the city. Hundreds and hundreds identical looking cabs were all over Metropolis. They would blend in, then take twelve separate routes, stopping along the way to swap out the plates and change the fleet numbers. Each of the dozen taxis would look just like a driver with a passenger. It was brilliant.
To keep the SWAT team at bay, if it arrived in time, the gang had a half-track truck parked in the front plaza. A 50-caliber machine gun was mounted on a swivel, protected by a turret of 1 1/2” steel. The turret had a slot which allowed for the horizontal sweep of the machine gun as it swiveled; it was more than adequate protection against the SWAT weapons. The gunner inside had a gas mask at his side, in case the police tried to use tear gas.
Superman disabled all the weapons except the 50-caliber when he was still more than a mile up above the scene. He left the machine gun operational. He thought he may as well make a strong first impression.
Several police cars were being used by the police on the scene as shields. They were leery of the 50-caliber. A crowd of bystanders more concerned with grabbing videos and photos of the situation than the police directives to move back, included Lois Lane. She was moving around, trying to get unique angles, picturing how this would play on the eleven o’clock news. She had the opening paragraph of her story written mentally when out of nowhere, a man in a blue and red costume with a red cape was standing thirty feet in front of the half-track.
“James Sullivan. Come out from the turret and surrender. This is over.” The man’s voice was quite deep, almost baritone.
The gunner saw the clown in the funny costume as a possible decoy, so he prepared for an attack by the police. That didn’t happen, but Mr. Clownsuit kept coming.
Sullivan fired a burst at the man’s feet. He kept coming. “Come out now, or I will come in and get you.”
“How did you know my name?”
“I can see it on your drivers’ license in your wallet.”
“Bullshit”
“It is in your dark brown leather wallet in your back right pocket, along with your Visa card, Mastercard, Sam’s Club membership card and National Rifle Association card. They all read ‘James Sullivan’.
<What the hell! Who IS this guy?> “Listen pal, do you know who you’re dealing with here? I’m a serious man, and this is a 50-caliber machine gun that can cut you in half!”
Superman replied calmly but firmly, “More to the point James Sullivan, do you know who, or what, you are dealing with?” Superman floated ten feet up into the air.
Gasps went up from everyone there—the police, the robbers, the bystanders. Was this guy…floating? Flying?! Even the imperturbable Lois Lane was taken aback enough to drop her cell phone to her side, albeit momentarily, before regaining her composure and getting the recording back on track.
Sullivan started shooting, letting off a short burst of about five seconds. <What the hell? I couldn’t have missed.> Sullivan let him have it. Over twenty rounds were hitting the man per second. He kept firing, but the man didn’t even flinch. The police and other onlookers could not believe what they were seeing. Dozens of cell phones now aimed in unison at the blue, red, and yellow clad man. Only Lois’ phone was capturing the wider scene, with an intermittent close-up. <I’ll have to send this directly to WMTP. Too many vids will be uploaded in minutes> Lois figured her contact at the news station, upon seeing the video was coming from her, would use it on the air in breaking news.
The other robbers, unaware their guns were inoperable, took aim and tried to shoot the man, resulting in nothing but ‘clicks’ as the guns would not discharge. Back up weapons also failed. The men ran to their taxis to get out of there. The man floating in the air turned his head briefly to glance at each cab, and instantly the tires on the side facing him popped and went flat. Then the man flew into the continuing stream of machine gun fire, tore open the turret as if it were wet paper, and hauled Sullivan out. In the few seconds it took Superman to fly to the police cars, James Sullivan’s belt had been removed and was wrapped around his wrists, functioning as handcuffs. Twenty-eight seconds later, the rest of the gang were likewise deposited at the feet of the disbelieving police.
“All their weapons are disabled, officers, except for that machine gun. Good night.” And then he was gone. Lois was baffled. “Did he just fly up and away?” she asked aloud. But her fingers were already sending the video along with a notation to Albert at the TV station. Then she dialed Perry.
Lois Lane came through the newsroom door like the proverbial woman possessed. “Clark!” Did you see that guy?!” Clark Kent was the first person she saw, and so she immediately attacked him with her unbridled enthusiasm. Clark, as stoic as ever, asked, “What guy?”
“The guy! That guy! That…that superguy! He…” and Lois froze, then silently mouthed her own words back to herself. <That superguy. Superguy!> She forgot all about Clark as she hit her keyboard and began to write about what would turn out to be the defining piece of Superman’s first appearance. In fact, Perry White used her term for the banner headline in the special edition of the Daily Planet:
SUPERMAN in Metropolis
In the story, Lois detailed the event at the Federal Reserve, describing this god-like creature who seemed to defy the known laws of physics. Flying, superspeed (Lois coined this term as well), invulnerability, “X-ray vision” (how else could he see the machine gunner’s drivers’ license?), as well as a physical description of him. She chose to use the term “striking” rather than her preferred term, “gorgeous”, because she didn’t want to sound like a smitten schoolgirl. Lois wasn’t certain where her reporter’s objectivity and her own personal reaction/separated in this matter. She had never been affected like this by someone before. Then again, she had never encountered a god before. <But he was gorgeous!>
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It was Pa’s idea that proved most effective in training him how to use his heat vision effectively.
Superman was quite happy with his heat vision—it had many uses, even in his daily life as Clark. Sometimes he would be walking with friends along the shore of a lake or a beach, or even in town, and he would use it to cut open six pack plastic rings unnoticed. Even if the plastic did make its way to the ocean, neither sea life nor birds would be strangled.
His eyes were able to generate extraordinarily high temperatures by using the rods and cones in his eyes to activate certain bands of the color spectrum which were beyond the range of human vision. Just as a transformer can take the low power of a battery and turn it into a high voltage device, so too did Superman’s eyes activate certain bands of the color spectrum to change into expressions of heat–extremely intense heat, which could be delivered hundreds, even thousands of miles along the path of a beam that was literally pinpoint. Years of practice had given Superman unerring accuracy with his heat vision. A millisecond burst could weld the firing pin of a firearm to its hammer, a technique Superman often used to disarm criminals from miles away, before he arrived at the scene of trouble. More than once he had acted as Clark, confronting and taking down a robber, a gang member, or a drug dealer, who could not understand why their usually reliable piece was now jammed.
But those years of practice started with Pa. He started with the old coffee can of nuts and bolts he kept in the barn. They weren’t good for anything, but a farmer seldom throws anything away. “You never know when you might have a use for it.” Of course, not many farmers had Kryptonian sons who could melt the metal hardware just by looking at it, but Jonathan did.
Pa started by throwing nuts and bolts and having Clark melt them before they hit the ground. It only took a day or so before Clark could melt them in mid-air as fast as Pa could throw them. Then Pa got out his shotgun and deer slugs, and tried that. Clark missed the first few, then never failed to melt them. He was a fast learner, and focused intently on the task. Next Pa tried regular shotgun shells, each containing twelve smaller pellets. That was a challenge for Clark. It took him the better part of a week before he was successful in getting his first 12/12 melt. After another few days of trials, Clark was getting all twelve most of the time. By the time half a month had passed, he was getting every pellet every time.
Pa then borrowed Richard Ross’ high-powered rifle and bought two boxes of cartridges. While Pa’s shotgun fired at about 1300 to 1800 feet per second, depending upon if it was loaded with cartridges or slugs; Ross’ 30-06 fired at 2600 fps. Pa used the first box to train Clark to get used to the faster velocity, which he mastered quickly. Then he changed things up, calling to Clark as he pulled the trigger to either melt or catch the bullet. Clark enjoyed this game, as it allowed him to let loose with his speed.
Pa’s training with the shotgun and rifle laid the foundation for Clark to master his heat vision. Pa’s experiments showed that Clark could use his heat vision even in the dark, as there was a spectrum invisible to the human eye which could still be energized into the intense heat. Clark continued practicing on his own, trying to make the heat beams narrower and narrower, even as he tried them at longer and longer distances. To celebrate his 16th birthday, he used it to carve a one-centimeter tall smiley face into a rock on the moon, approximately 240,000 miles away.
Chapter Three
Civilians were cleared for a radius of about 200 yards from ground zero, which in this case was the center of the plaza, where stood a man with six pounds of plastic explosives strapped to his vest. The detonator in his hand was at the ready, held tightly, his palm damp with sweat. He was scared, but ready to push the button; it was necessary to show them. HE would show them!
“Captain Richardson, tell your officers to stand down. I will handle this.” Richardson looked around for the source of that voice. He saw nothing, then the shadow appeared beside him, rapidly growing larger. A few moments later the source of the voice and shadow landed beside him—Superman.
“Captain, have them holster their weapons. The only threat here now is a stray bullet that might injure a bystander.”
Captain Richardson had never been faced with this type of scenario before. Unsure of himself, he signaled his command to stand down.
Superman walked up to the suicide bomber. “Jeffrey Monroe, you do not really want to do this, do you?”
Monroe asked, “How do you know my name?”
Superman smiled, “I know everyone’s name, Jeffrey.” He took one step closer towards Monroe.
“Don’t! One step closer and I’ll blow this whole block up!”
“But why, Jeffrey? What is wrong?”
“The whole system is corrupt. I need to make a statement.”
“What would you like to happen, Jeffrey?”
“I want the people to see this, and join the revolution!”
“Give me the detonator, Jeffrey.”
“Stand back! I mean it. I’ll blow all these cops up.”
Superman said calmly, “I will not let that happen, Jeffrey.”
“Even you can’t stop me, Superman. This will blow instantly.”
As Monroe raised his hand, it trembled, and his face took on an expression of resignation. Captain Richardson knew that look—Monroe was getting ready to take his own life, and of all those around him. <All but Superman’s>, Richardson thought.
Superman repeated, “I will not let that happen, Jeffrey. Hand me the button.”
Monroe shuddered, but held the detonator fast. Superman held out his hand.
“No! I’ll do it. I’ll do it!”
“No, you will not. It is over, Jeffrey.” Superman took another step, and Richardson saw his life flash before his eyes as Monroe emphatically pressed the button.
Nothing happened. He pressed it again, and again. Then he pushed the back-up detonator on his vest. Still nothing.
“I tried to give you the easy way out, Jeffrey. But now they will have to prosecute you to the fullest extent of the law. If you had handed me the detonator, you probably would have gotten a bit lesser sentence.”
“Why didn’t it blow? Why didn’t it blow?”
“Jeffrey, I disarmed your vest from a half mile away. I told you I would not let this happen, Jeffrey Monroe.”
<Son of a bitch!> thought Richardson. <From half a mile away. Jesus.> He stopped sweating, but was still shaking.
Superman took Monroe by the arm and escorted him to the Captain. “Here you go, Captain”, then disappeared into the sky.
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Superman’s knowledge of physics was unsurpassed; it was imprinted on him during his journey to Earth by the learning modules his father had carefully prepared. Jor-El, Krypton’s leading scientist, was also one of the most brilliant physicists in Krypton’s galaxy. All the knowledge he had accumulated was passed on to his son.
The state of suspended animation Kal-El had been in on his journey from Krypton to Earth was engineered by Jor-El to maximize his son’s learning. The journey utilized multiple wormholes, but also required traversing spans of space by more conventional means. The duration was almost four months in length. It was that time, a total of over 2800 hours, that allowed a vast amount of knowledge to be passed on to him, which was retained deeply in his brain. The encyclopediac body of accumulated information was beamed into his brain via a high-speed learning system perfected on Krypton. Even today, Superman found himself recalling facts in moments of problem solving he didn’t realize he knew.
Superman’s knowledge encompassed more than physics and the other sciences. He was familiar with histories of planets and solar systems Earthlings would not know of for centuries, if ever. His understanding of Earth’s art, music, literature, and languages was unrivaled. Indeed, Superman could speak any language, any dialect, perfectly.
But there were things Superman did not know. In the vast store of information Jor-El had provided for his son’s education, the one omission, an intentional one, was medicine. With advanced Kryptonian medical techniques and knowledge, his son would be able to rid Earth of nearly every disease extant. But Jor-El feared the threat to the Earth’s civilization, and its future development, if medical breakthroughs were introduced before their natural course of development. This decision, which Jor-El did not make lightly, was not based on philosophical belief, or on hubris. It was based on sufficient data from similar situations in civilizations on scores of planets in which more advanced civilizations had tried to ‘save’ lesser developed planets through benign interference. Naturally a superior race felt it could aid a lesser developed society by imposing patterns of development which had proven successful elsewhere. Some of these experiments immediately misfired, others succeeded…for a while. But in every case that had been studied, eventually the target society degenerated into upheaval, or chaos. Imposing fast-track development simply did not work. The advanced planetary races learned that each society had to develop at its own pace. Each planet’s societies had their own foibles and intricacies. Tampering with them had always led to disruption, and often, to violent results. Sometimes the malignancy appeared in political systems, sometimes in military applications of the medical science. In every case some component of society unraveled; the effects ranged from segregation of classes–with a privileged few gaining access to the medical salvations at the expense of the majority who suffered even worse than before–to all out, planet-wide wars. No, Jor-El knew, it was better to let the planet develop its own cures at its own pace.
And, despite his vast knowledge in science, Superman didn’t understand some aspects of his own existence. His super compacted atoms, similar to matter at the beginning of the big bang, provided his invulnerability. There was nothing he had experienced that could harm his body. Yet why did his super-dense body only weigh 100 kilograms on Earth? And why did he weigh exactly 100 kilos? Ever since he reached adulthood, his weight never varied. Not by even a single gram. A large meal would temporarily increase his mass, but he soon metabolized it and his weight returned to 100 kilograms.
How exactly was he able to fly? He was aware of theories regarding this among Earth’s scientists: He leapt by applying thrust with his legs against whatever surface he was on; his legs made micro-fluttering motions similar to a swimmer that provided propulsion; his blood served as an anti-gravity serum; he could make himself weightless at will. None of those was correct. Superman himself had thought the thrusting theory was the case for a while, until he experimented in his early teens and noted he could initiate flight even without an initial thrust. And when he discovered he could remain in the air stationary, hovering, this too negated the thrusting concept. There was clearly a rational explanation for his ability, but it wasn’t until he recalled, then studied, the properties of fourth and fifth dimensional physics Jor-El had passed on to him that he understood. He tried to explain it to a brilliant scientist once. Although she was able to follow the necessary math for a while, it soon went beyond her comprehension. It would probably take her a long time to get through an understanding of the calculations Superman left with her. Perhaps she would never get there.
His so-called X-Ray vision was also curious. Superman thought it was more properly termed fluoroscopic vision rather than X-Ray vision, but Lois Lane’s landmark news article about him labeled it X-Ray, and as other items in her piece, it established terminology which became the standard in discussing him.
The mystery to Superman was that he was not able to see through lead. At first, he thought that it was because of lead’s density. But he could see through gold, and he found that he could see through much denser substances he encountered on other planets and in space. There was something unique about lead’s molecular structure that thwarted his ability to see through it. What the specific property was that prevented this, he was so far unable to determine.
These questions could not be answered by the information Jor-El had prepared, because even the great Jor-El could not have known that upon his arrival on Earth, the tiny Kal-El would become a super baby, then a super boy, and finally, Superman.
And so Superman eventually just accepted the fact he was an anomaly in the universe.
But there was a lot he did know about himself. The yellow rays of the sun had a cumulative effect on Superman’s physiology. His body stored the energy. A simple analogy might be the photosynthesis process of plants. His absorption of the sun’s rays since infancy had given his body remarkable qualities. Prolonged absence from the rays of the sun did not diminish his abilities, nor did they disappear when under a red sun, or blue, or any other hue, for that matter. His powers were permanent.
Through experimentation and analysis, he also knew that yellow suns in general would not have produced the effect on his body; it was specific to Earth’s yellow sun. On his visits to other planets orbiting red suns, he temporarily collected samples of life forms and discovered they did not respond to the rays of Earth’s sun as he did. He could not fully analyze the uniqueness of Krypton’s sun, since it no longer existed. He had Jor-El’s data about the sun, but it was not enough to give him a definitive answer. It was only after analyzing data from his ship’s journey did he realize it was not only the rays of this yellow sun, but the combination of cosmic radiation the ship was exposed to during that journey, that affected his infant body. The gamma rays, space plasma, and emissions from other stars had begun the transformation of his anatomy. His Kryptonian composition, combined with those emissions, served as the catalyst for the sun’s yellow rays to energize him in a singular fashion. Once again, Superman accepted that he was unique in the galaxy, if not the universe.
Superman could see the entire spectrum of colors and emissions, not just those known to humans. Visible light to a human consisted of waves in the range of 4,000 to 7,000 angstrom units; Superman could see the lowest end of the spectrum—gamma rays—all the way up to high end radio waves, and everything in between: ultraviolet light, visible light of course, infrared, and microwaves. Thus, cell phone signals, as well as other means of communication were readily traceable for him.
In his daily life, he did not look at the whole spectrum. Just as we humans can focus on something near by effectively blurring or ignoring images in the distance, so too could Superman focus primarily on what humans saw. This was a different approach to the one he used regarding his sense of smell.
Superman preferred to keep himself aware of all odors that triggered his olfactory senses. It is well known how much better a sense of smell dogs have than people. Lesser known is the abilities of bears. Bears share membership with dogs in the suborder Caniformia, and have a sense of smell seven times greater than that of bloodhounds; a bear can smell food two miles distant. Superman’s sense of smell ranged much further than that. To keep harm at bay, he trained himself to always be alert for the smell of poisonous substances, even gases that are normally classified as “odorless”, as well as gunpowder, C-4, PE-4, and other explosives. The odor of plutonium is another for which he was continually vigilant.
Chapter Four
Superman was humanoid, but he was not a human. He had to make a concentrated, studied effort to learn to behave like a human.
He was only a very small child when Ma first expressed her concern that he might be discovered as being different. She noticed that he did not squirm or fidget as other children did. It was good that he was so even tempered and tranquil, but he was positively stoic when reading, watching television, or listening to music. He simply sat perfectly still.
No one did that. Everyone fidgets somewhat. But little Clark also had no need to blink, yawn, squint, act tired, or to catch his breath. Ma, and then also Pa, realized that Clark would have to learn to appear to be human.
Ma read to him from the Mark Twain short story, A Double-Barreled Detective Story, in which a mother is explaining to her extraordinary son about why he must keep his remarkable abilities a secret:
“I will answer your questions now, dear. I have found out that in one way or another you are quite different from other people. You can see in the dark, you can smell what other people cannot, you have the talents of a bloodhound. They are good and valuable things to have, but you must keep the matter a secret. If people found it out, they would speak of you as an odd child, a strange child, and children would be disagreeable to you, and give you nicknames. In this world one must be like everybody else if he doesn’t want to provoke scorn or envy or jealousy. It is a great and fine distinction which has been born to you, and I am glad; but you will keep it a secret for mamma’s sake, won’t you?”
The child promised, without understanding.
Once Ma and Pa got him to understand, Clark was a dedicated student of human behavior. At first, he simply mimicked, then adjusted to incorporate multiple examples of behaviors into more subtle actions. As he got a little older, he learned to know when to exhibit the various behaviors, and how to make them barely noticeable. That was the key—being so very subtle as to blend in.
Clark was about five when he became interested in studying people beyond their physical actions. Oh, he still engaged in the overt actions, but he started paying attention to what people talked about, how they interacted with each other, how they showed affection, and other emotions.
Small children are naturally inquisitive, and have a tendency to ask enough questions to drive parents crazy. Clark was all that, plus he had questions children did not generally ask: Why do people chew gum? Yawn? Squint? Crack knuckles? Stretch?
Fortunately, Ma and Pa had limitless patience. They sometimes struggled to find answers to questions; how could you explain what bright lights felt like to someone who could stare into the sun with no ill effects? Eventually they used the catch all of “Because” when explaining human frailties. Clark just accepted this, and trusted Ma and Pa’s assurances that he would someday understand.
He even had to remind himself to swim while in water. After flying became second nature to him, it was at first difficult to remember to not fly while in the water, but to move his arms and legs as if swimming. But eventually he caught on.
Of all the human habits he learned, the one he had the most trouble with was yawning. It was also the thing that got him interested in his study of interpersonal psychology, so to speak. Not the yawning in of itself, but how it was contagious between people. Clark was fascinated that a picture of someone yawning, or even seeing a dog yawn, could trigger yawns in someone.
As he got older, he discovered the practice of method acting, and took that to heart. He did not fall victim to the common problem among method actors, that of struggling to become themselves again after being immersed in a role. It was not a struggle for Clark to switch off the “human” role and become the Kryptonian he was. He knew, as did Ma and Pa, that his essence was the same. It was just the public shell that varied between the two roles. And the three of them understood completely that the “role” was Clark; his true self was the Kryptonian who did not need to scratch, fidget, etc. “Clark” was the shell
Of course, it would be years before any of them would know of Krypton or what being a Kryptonian meant, or of his true name of Kal-El. But they understood he was different, and that great things were in his future.
Clark gained great insight into his role playing when he came across a book in the library about performing magic. It contained a description of the inner dialogue a magician must employ when performing tricks. The inner dialogue was the magician telling himself the coin had truly disappeared from his hand, rather than the reality that it was cleverly hidden by his fingers. The inner dialogue was what gave performances the necessary conviction to fool audiences. Clark adoption of this technique allowed him to learn his role well enough that he even fooled Ma one day.
It was when he was eleven years old. He had been noticing classmates who had allergies and colds, and secretly practiced the sniffling, sneezing, and coughing. Then one Friday he gradually introduced these following a Wednesday night visit by a neighbor who had recently been ill.
By Sunday night Ma was convinced Clark really had become sick for the first time in his life. As she and Pa came into his room with a thermometer and a bottle of cough syrup, Clark began coughing some more, and mimicking the sound of someone hacking up phlegm. As Ma approached the bed, Clark suddenly sat up, grinned, and said, “Pretty good, eh Ma?”
After the Kents admonished Clark for worrying Ma, Clark explained that he needed to try and fool them to test his ability to pass as a normal kid. Partly out of relief, and partly because of the inherent logic Clark presented, the Kents had to agree with him. In the end, they congratulated him on his success, and later, had a little laugh about it between themselves.
Clark found chewing gum to be of great use in practicing mannerisms. As with all his mimicking, he practiced chewing gum in front of a mirror for long stretches of time, making sure he worked his tongue along his gums and teeth to imitate trying to loosen pieces of gum that might have broken off and gotten stuck. He even practiced what it looked and sounded like when someone almost swallowed the gum.
Eventually he learned to look exactly like a normal, human boy. Except that soon this boy would find he could move asteroids with the same effort his classmates would use to bounce a beach ball.
Clark Kent was Superman’s secret identity because Ma and Pa had to cover up their discovery of him when he crashed to Earth. To disguise himself, he had learned to stoop a bit, speak in a slightly higher pitched voice, appear to be rather meek and mild, and feigned near-sightedness. Superman could slip in and out of the role of Clark without thought or hesitation.
Jonathon Kent had instilled many positive qualities in Clark—a strong work ethic, honesty, loyalty, and a matter-of-fact approach to solving problems. Martha also had a strong influence on Clark, teaching him through her examples of empathy and compassion. One of her lessons was particularly difficult for him to accept: The need to take time off to recharge his psychological batteries. With his abilities, Superman could save countless people from death and injuries—playing God. He had felt that every minute he was not out scanning the world for trouble was possibly another life that might be needlessly lost. Ma had spoken to him a half dozen times about him not being able to save everyone. He resisted. Then he finally felt the effects of fatigue; not physical fatigue of course, but psychological. His thinking was not with its usual clarity and directness. One Thursday evening he made mistakes of judgement in trying to save a family in a house fire, and some bystanders in a gang shooting. No one was killed because of his mental fumbling, but two people were injured. Two injuries that would not have occurred had he been his usual self.
As a result of this he took vacations now and then. A holiday from being Superman. Just two or three days would refresh his psyche, and he would be back thinking and helping others at full capacity. Ma’s words had finally stuck with him: “You can do anything, but you can’t do everything.” Ma was a wise woman.
His usual method was simply to travel. Not as Superman, not as Clark Kent. He chose to be as anonymous as possible as he interacted with people, in order to learn more about human nature and to appreciate life from the perspective of others. He was always eager to learn how diverse types of people viewed the world.
Sometimes in his vacation travels he would be asked his name and occupation. He told people to call him Casey, a play on his initials, and that he worked on a farm. That was good enough to satisfy most inquiries.
Sometimes those holidays from being Superman led to adventures as interesting as those he encountered as the Man of Steel. For example, there was the time, as Casey, he visited a little roadside diner and bar in Grand Tower, a small town in southern Illinois.
He was just about to start eating a slice of apple pie, having already eaten a simple, but tasty lunch, when his hearing picked up the sound of multiple engines getting nearer. Glancing in the direction of the sound, south, his super vision revealed a gang of 38 motorcyclists approaching. They were about five minutes away. Casey asked the mom and pop proprietors if they ever had problems with vandalism or trouble makers there. They looked at each other, and replied quietly that the only trouble they ever had was with a motorcycle gang that visited a couple times a year on one of their pilgrimages to wherever biker gangs pilgrimage to. Casey walked up to the counter and said firmly but friendly, “In a few minutes, that gang will be here. If you would trust me with your restaurant for a few minutes, I will make sure they do not make any more trouble for you. Take the big bills out of your register, so you know I’m not trying to rob you, and then go into your cellar and hide.”
Shock, fear, and trust all washed over both the man and the woman. This stranger was asking them to trust him with their diner?! But as a sign of that trust, he suggested they take the majority of the cash in the drawer with them? This was very strange, and laughably ridiculous. But there was something about him, something neither could put their finger on.
“You have about three minutes before they arrive. It would be for the best.”
The man wondered if this was some undercover government secret agent. Every logical bone in his body told him this was insane, yet he looked at his wife and said, “Get the money.” Somehow, she understood and agreed.
As they went downstairs, Casey smiled and said, “Give me about half an hour, please. I’ll come and get you when it’s over.” The man nodded, and one minute later they were downstairs.
Casey went back to his pie and was just about finished when the first biker came through the door.
The large man, wearing a faded blue denim jacket that had had its sleeves cut off to make into a vest, walked into the diner and was surprised to see the man, who was now standing up and carrying his dirty plate and fork behind the counter, to rinse them off in the sink. There were no vehicles in the parking lot, so how did he get there? And where were those old folks that run the place?
A couple more bikers came in, then a few more, then all of them. The very last one through the door didn’t walk in, he sauntered. The first man, with the name Rudy stenciled on his do-it-yourself vest, caught his eye, and gestured towards the man behind the counter. “Where the old farts?” asked the gang leader. Rudy replied with a shrug.
‘Hey, who are you?” yelled the leader. The man behind the counter ignored him. “HEY! I’m talking to YOU!” Still nothing. By now everyone in the diner was watching the interaction. The leader motioned to a huge biker standing near the pool table. The giant, with the name Bubs stenciled on his makeshift vest, ambled over the counter and reached for the man’s collar in order to drag him over to the other side. But the man turned slightly at the last possible fraction of a second, and Bubs missed.
“You shit.” Bubs walked to the end of the counter and came around towards the stranger, who had no place to go now, no place to duck away, no way to avoid the grasp of Bub’s oven mitt-sized hands. Bubs grabbed for him, Casey grabbed back and caught Bubs’ wrist in the firmest grip Bubs had ever felt. His hand was immobile. Bubs put his considerable weight into it and pulled. Nothing. It was as if his hand was caught in something solid. Bubs swung at Casey’s head with his left hand, to no avail. It was now immobile in the grip of the Casey’s other hand.
It was rare for Casey to use such a high degree of super strength in dealing with a human. Usually when handling bullies, he would scan the muscle fiber of the bully, estimate his mass, and calculate the level of strength the bully had. Casey would then apply ten to fifteen percent more than that. Too much force and he could easily break an arm, or even break an arm off. But to hold Bubs stationary here, he used about 300% of Bubs strength level.
Casey pushed backwards, and Bubs was propelled about fifteen feet back. Bubs regained his balance, and charged full bore; almost 350 pounds of mass coming like a bull charging. Casey, now using a more reasonable level of force, jabbed with his right hand, and Bubs doubled over. The punch to his solar plexus was perfectly placed, and Bubs was incapacitated, but not injured. His diaphragm went into contraction, and Bubs just dropped to the floor on his rear.
Casey stepped over the giant’s body, and walked over to where the gang leader was sitting. Four bikers immediately took attack positions, but the leader told them to hold.
Casey quietly said, “Richard Feck, I think it would be a good idea if you all left.”
“How do you know my name? Who are you?”
Casey said calmly, “I think it would be a good idea if you all left.”
“Who the hell are you?”, Feck asked again.
“I think it would be a good idea if you all left.”
“Make this moron talk.”, Feck instructed the four bikers. They moved in, and about three seconds later they were all crumpled on the floor, just like Bubs.
Casey repeated calmly, “I think it would be a good idea if you all left.”
“Get him!”, yelled Feck, and eight more bikers closed in.
The flurry of arms and legs looked like a choreographed fight scene from a Bruce Lee movie. Casey put all eight bikers down, unconscious. It took 5.7 seconds.
“I think it would be a good idea if you all left.”
Casey walked towards the door, to hold it open for the bikers. As he passed the pool table, he heard the gun being pulled from Feck’s pocket. As Feck took aim, Casey picked up the 12 ball, spun around, and zipped it with lightning speed towards Feck. It hit his gun hand, and the Glock 19 fell towards the floor. Heat vision fused the firing pin and hammer together before it landed. As Fleck screamed in pain, the biker nearest him picked up the gun, pointed it at Casey, and pulled the trigger. When nothing happened, he stared at it; Casey walked over to Feck and picked him off the floor. The biker tried firing the gun again several times, and as it failed the fourth time, he threw it full force at Casey, who caught it effortlessly. Four other bikers pulled out their guns; four more billiard balls found their targets and four guns clattered to the floor.
Throwing Feck over his right shoulder, Casey grabbed another biker with his left hand and half dragged him out the door. He tossed Feck on his rear, then motioned for the rest of the gang to leave. As they started tenuously moving towards the door, Casey called out in a stern voice, “Don’t forget your fallen comrades.” The bikers looked at each other, then helped their friends to their feet. It took three of them to get Bubs up, but they finally managed.
As the last biker stepped outside, Casey walked up to Feck and looked him directly in the eye. “I think it would be a good idea if none of you ever come back here. You are Richard James Feck, you have been charged with armed robbery, assault, burglary, extortion, and grand theft.” Turning to Bubs, he said, “You are William Robert Bubbula. You have been convicted of assault and battery, illegal possession of a firearm, and shop lifting. You served six years in Marion penitentiary.”
He then ran through the rap sheets of another five bikers, and stopped. Casey turned to Feck, and said, “I know about every one of you, and can put enough heat on you from the Man that your gang won’t have enough members left to fill a golf cart. Is this understood?” Feck glared at him with hatred. Casey put his hand on Feck’s throat and held it firmly, without choking him. Feck grabbed Casey’s wrist and tried pulling it away, but found the grip immobile, just as Bubs had experienced a short while ago. Casey looked him dead in the eye, and repeated, “Is. This. Understood?” Feck, finally accepting the fact that he was beaten, quietly said “Yes”. Casey continued, “And I mean it when I say you should never come back. If any of you do, or if any harm comes to this property, or the couple who run it, I will find out and hunt you down. I will know where to look.” He then rattled off the home addresses of several of the gang, including Feck’s. They seemed bewildered, and Feck was shook. Casey repeated, “Never come back here. Is this understood?” Submissively, Feck nodded. Casey let him go, turned, and walked back into the diner. As the bikes rode away, he cleaned up his dishes, straightened the furniture, then let the couple know all was clear.
Chapter Five
After several months, Superman knew people were awed and possibly frightened by his existence. They marveled at his feats, and were grateful for what he did. But they didn’t understand him: Who was he? What was he? How did he do those miraculous things? How did he fly? What does he want? Is he a threat of some kind?
So he thought it would help to speak publicly, and see if his story would alleviate any fears.
But where and how? And just as importantly, Who? It made sense to have a someone at the Daily Planet interview him. Lois? Perry? No, he didn’t want to leave a trail that close to himself.
Television? That might work very well. But he had an affinity towards printed news. Thus, he set out to find the right outlet for informing the world about himself.
After contemplating a list of well-known journalists, he finally decided to visit one that wasn’t known—the Editor-in-Chief of a small-town newspaper—the Spectrum World Guardian in Spectrum, West Virginia. As it did in a number of small towns in America, the title of the local paper was considerably exaggerated as to its impact. Those that survived consolidations and the inevitable decline of small-town news outlets usually changed the name of the paper to reflect a more modest role. The World Guardian did not. Its editor was the grandson of the founder, and had a respect for tradition. He also had a strong sense of respect for objective news reporting, and was voracious in his fact checking. All this appealed to Superman.
William was working on the layout for the next edition, while texting ideas for a future project with Suzan, the paper’s photographer. Suzan was in her dark room, making enlargements for a future feature story. After a few comments back and forth, William turned his attention to the dummy paper in front of him. He lurched at the voice that startled him. “William Clementine”.
William looked up and jumped in his chair. Standing not ten feet from him was…Superman? No. It was just some guy in a Superman costume.
“No gag, William Clementine. I have come here to see if you would like to conduct an interview.”
“Wait. Are you trying to tell me you are really Superman? Oh, please. Do I look that gullible?”
Superman rose up to the ceiling and said, “I have no reason to believe you are gullible at all. And yes, I am Superman.”
William was speechless. It was Superman!
As Superman floated back down to the floor, he asked, “Do you mind if I sit?”, gesturing to the chair alongside William’s desk.
“Umm, yes, yes, I mean no! I don’t mind! Please, sit. Please sit, sir.”
“No need for ‘Sir’, William, if I may call you ‘William’”
“Yes, of course, sir, err, Superman.”
“Do you have time for an interview, William?”
“Yes, YES!”
“Good. You see, I think it is time people learned a little bit about me, and I wanted to do this with someone who was interested in me as a news phenomenon, but was not associated with any particular political stance.” Superman gestured to the wall of clippings and photos behind William, which contained dozens of photos and articles about the Man of Steel. “I assume you are not affiliated with any news network or politically based organization?”
“No, we’re just an independent paper.”
“And a good one, from what I understand.”
William smiled. Did Superman really know about the World Guardian?
“I believe your photographer is nearby. Do you think it would be a good idea for her to video this for your documentation that I was really here?”
William grabbed his phone and called Suzan. Her voice answered, “You’re calling me? When have you ever called instead of texting?”
William interrupted: “Drop whatever you’re doing and bring the video camera, tripod, and digital camera in here. Hurry!”
Suzan knew true urgency in William’s voice, and hence ran into the room with the equipment in less than one minute. She stopped short.
Superman rose, and said, “Hello, Suzan Dewes. May I suggest you set up your video camera to get both William and me in the shot?”
Suzan was still a bit dumbfounded, and William had to help her get things set up. He asked Superman, “Do you mind if Suzan takes pics while we talk?”
“Not at all. Now, I am sure you have plenty of questions, but please let me begin by giving a little background…” And with that, Superman related the story of planet Krypton and its destruction (spelling out Krypton, and any other terms that might be unfamiliar to William. He described how he acquired his powers, what his costume represented, his happiness with being on Earth. Then he let William take over.
William was a good choice. He was well versed in the existing information on him, and asked intelligent questions. On some questions Superman demurred, such as where he grew up on Earth, what he thought of various political activities in the U.S. and Russia. When William asked if he had a name, Superman said he did, but it was a Kryptonian name, and would not mean anything to anyone on Earth. That led Suzan to interject a question of her own: “Is there life on other planets?”
Superman smiled. “Of course. I am an example of that. But there are many, many inhabited worlds in the galaxy. There is no life on other planets in this solar system, although Mars once had the potential to develop some. But the atmosphere grew too hostile to do so. I believe some day astronauts will discover evidence of past reservoirs of water on Mars, but they never sustained any life forms.”
William asked, “How do you know this?”
Superman replied, “Well, I have been to Mars several times, and know its geological record. Plus, I have access to data that has been accumulated by scientists from many worlds over a long period of time. You recall I told you my father on Krypton designed and constructed the ship which transported me to Earth? He was a brilliant scientist and collected such information.”
A good hour transpired in the interview, when Superman stood up and said politely, “Well William, Suzan, I think this would be a good time to leave.”
He shook hands with both of them, posed for photos with each, and a selfie of all three of them. Then he said, “Maybe you could bring the video camera out doors to get footage of me flying, in case you need further proof for any doubters that I was really here.”
As they walked down the hall, he cautioned them: “The world press will be all over you for a few weeks. Your best bet is to publish a complete transcript of our conversation in a rush issue of the Guardian, and post the entire video online. There will be sharks offering you huge sums of money for any other details you can remember, or fabricate, but those things will just hurt the integrity of your paper. Just be good journalists, and this story will probably help your circulation and your careers.”
William and Suzan nodded. They had already planned on staying up all night getting a special edition out. As they reached the door, William offered, “How about if we print a few pics in the paper, then report that the video will be posted 72 hours later? That way people will actually read the paper, rather than only watch the video.”
“An excellent plan, William.” With that, he flew up and turned once to wave at Suzan’s video recorder. Then WHOOSH! and he was gone.
William looked at Suzan, “Holy SHIT!”
“No kidding!” was her only reply.
The paper was met with varying reactions, from absolute faith in the pictures and interview, to complete disbelief and laughter. Three days later the entire nation, the entire world, believed. The video was authentic; the flight up into the sky at the end was the icing on the cake.
As Superman had warned, there was an inordinate amount of attention directed at William, Suzan, and their paper for a while. The Sheriff’s Department sent deputies to help ward off pests. Deputies also patrolled their homes, and were able to fend off any real problems.
One group of visitors they could not fend off was the FBI team who showed up the day after the video was posted. The agents decided it was best to bring the two journalists to the FBI field office to question them properly, but they never made it past the point of escorting William and Suzan out the door of the paper’s office.
As the agents led William and Suzan to the black SUV, a familiar blue and red figure landed on the roof of the vehicle.
“Special Agent Brian Gardner. Please direct your agents to let these two go back into their office.” Superman’s voice carried with it a tone of authority few were able to resist; Special Agent Gardner was one of those few.
“Superman! Umm, I have my orders. I need to bring these two in for questioning.”
“You will not be able to carry out that order, Special Agent Brian Gardner. I will not allow you to remove these two from their office. Not now, not tomorrow, not next month, not next year.”
Gardner found Superman’s use of his full title and name a bit unnerving. “What do you mean, you won’t let me?” I’m with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. This is official business!”
“I am sorry, but when you harass innocent citizens, it is my business. You have the full transcript of my conversation with William. You have the full video. There is nothing else for him or Suzan to tell you. Please leave now, or I will have to escort you and your team forcefully.”
Gardner did not like being threatened, nor did he like being made to look bad. “Look, Superman, I’m only trying to do my job.”
“Yes. You tried, and I prevented you from doing so. That is all your superiors need to know. William, Suzan, you are free to go.”
Agent Cady grabbed William by the arm, then thought better of it and let go. Gardner could do what he wanted, but Cady wasn’t about to argue with Superman.
William and Suzan walked back to the doorway; no one tried to stop them.
Superman continued. “I know you are doing your job Special Agent Brian Gardner, but those two have nothing else to tell you. And let me assure you, I will monitor the FBI’s activities to make sure they are not under surveillance, wiretaps, or any contact whatsoever from your Bureau. I already know of the plan to trace their cell phones. Cease and desist now.”
With that, Superman flew straight up and vanished.
Gardner didn’t know what to feel. He knew that the standard operating procedure would be to haul in those reporters, ask them about everything that had been related in the interview and video, then ask them the same questions again and again. He also knew those people had not committed any crimes, and there was really no point to such an interrogation. As much as he hated being threatened, he had to concede that Superman was on point in this instance. He wondered if his bosses would see things the same way…
They did not. That afternoon his boss’ boss, the Assistant Director, slammed his fist down on the mahogany conference table and exclaimed, “I don’t care what this costumed clown said. We’re the freakin’ FBI and no one tells us what to do. We’ll put those two under any kind of surveillance we want, and Fly-Boy won’t even know about it!” He pointed to the two tiny devices on the table: ”These taps are so sophisticated, they are totally untraceable.”
Moments later the smell of burning wood got their attention as the center of the table began to smolder. In a few seconds the familiar crest of Superman stared at them. Then the two electronic bugs visibly melted before their eyes into small puddles of shiny metal. Gardner looked at the Assistant Director inquisitively. The A.D. said nothing, other than to dismiss the meeting.
Chapter Six
He hated playing God. But he accepted that as Superman, he sometimes had to. Or chose to.
There was often a trade-off: Helping out in an immediate situation vs. letting people develop and learn to help themselves in the long run. Superman’s studies of hundreds of civilizations through Jor-El’s data base showed him how important it was to let planets develop at their own pace. Jor-El’s omission of medical technology was instructional here. Although Superman at first didn’t understand his Kryptonian father’s reasoning, he came in time to understand, and accept the inevitable logic. And so, Superman knew that letting a group, a civilization, or even an entire planet fail at certain endeavors was crucial to its development, and to its cultural fabric.
He could attempt to end wars by destroying every weapon on Earth. But that would not stop war. Humans would use sticks and stones and fists to wage war. It was not a technological problem; it was a human nature problem. Krypton had followed a similar path a long time ago, until Zinn-Zal had brought peace to the planet. But Superman knew there was no reason to assume he was Earth’s Zinn-Zal, and he knew the outcome if he tried to be. Not good.
So Superman resigned himself to the fact he could not change human nature by force. He hoped that he was setting a good example for others, not that he was the only example or role model. But he did his share.
But he also drew limiting parameters on the failures that would occur. For example, although wars would bring on much needless suffering, damage that could affect more than localized areas he would not allow. Nuclear weapons, for instance.
—————————————————————————————————————————————–
BANG! BANG! BANG! The gavel came down loudly in the speaker’s hand. “Ladies and gentleman, please settle down that we might get started.”
The crowd noise diminished considerably, when a loud voice called out, “Mr. Secretary-General. I request permission to address the Assembly.”
The Secretary-General of the United Nations looked up to see who was speaking. No one gestured to get his attention “Mr. Secretary-General. I request permission to address the Assembly.”
The Secretary-General spoke into the microphone, “Who said that?”
The voice answered him from above, “I did, Sir.” And the figure of Superman floated down to within a few feet of the stage.
A cry went up in the General Assembly Hall as the 192 delegates pointed at the red and blue figure, almost everyone shouting exclamations of wonder as they hurried to get their cell phones out for photographing Superman.
For the first time in his life, The Secretary-General was speechless. Here was this man, this Superman, whom he had seen in news videos and photographs from around the world, barely a few feet from him, suspended in mid-air. After several moments, his voice came back to him, followed slightly later by his composure. “I, ummm, I-I-I …”
Superman landed gently on the stage. “Mr. Secretary-General, I request your permission to address the member delegates of the Assembly.”
“Yes, yes, I understand. We have a process here, and in order for a non-delegate to speak, you need to be sponsored by a member country.”
“Here! Here! We do! We sponsor Superman!” “Here!” “Yes!” “Here!” the collective voices numbered over one hundred as delegates offered to sponsor his address.
The gavel hit home sharply and repeatedly as the Secretary-General called for order. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a most unusual occurrence here this morning, but as there are more than the required number of sponsors, I turn over the podium to…Superman!”
A great cheer rose up from most of the delegates, although there were those who were skeptical of the motive behind his feats and fearful of his power; these were countries run as dictatorships. Their values did not coincide with the message of hope and justice that Superman had spread through his actions.
As he walked to the podium, he scanned every seat, from the front row on the main floor to the last seat up in the rafters. Each person felt that Superman had looked directly at him or her.
“Mr. Secretary-General, assembled delegates, members of the press, and guests: I promise to only take up a few minutes of your time.
As you probably know, I have come to Earth from my home planet of Krypton, which was destroyed through natural causes. As an orphan, I have lived almost my entire life here, and regard this planet as my home. Many have asked what is my purpose in being here. Quite simply, I was sent here by my parents in order for me to survive Krypton’s destruction. That was their decision. Now, my continuing purpose here is my decision. My overall purpose is to protect the Earth.”
Another cheer went up, and Superman gestured for quiet.
“The risk to the Earth from extra-terrestrial harm is minimal to non-existent. Nevertheless, I am vigilant to ensure Earth’s safety. Obviously, there is extra-terrestrial life; I would be considered Exhibit A.” Laughter filled the hall.
“The greatest threat to the safety of the Earth comes from within, not without. I refer to weapons of mass destruction. Humans are a curious species in the galaxy—you have so much potential for good and positive advancements, yet you have a warlike nature within you that does not seem to diminish. Your history shows that even when you have attained what you call “Golden Ages” in your development, wars and destruction are easily triggered with relatively minor events. This saddens me.
Yet my role here is not to change your nature. Only you can do that, and it will take time. A long time. There will be many battles and wars over pieces of land, ideologies, resources, as well as old wounds that fester and lead to vengeance. As I said, this is your nature.
But your weapons technology has advanced to the point where such wars can have long-term effects on your peoples, as well as the flora and fauna of the planet. Innocent life forms, both human and non-human, are threatened by egos. This is unacceptable.
Therefore, I come to you today to provide information which may help you move towards reducing the danger from weapons of such mass destruction. Some of you are aware of the number of nuclear weapons stockpiled throughout the Earth. Some of you do not have access to accurate data. To put everything on the table for your attention, I have for you the following:
As of this morning, Russia has 6,692 operational nuclear weapons; the United States of America has 6,358; France has 302; the People’s Republic of China has 291; the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland has 208;…” and he continued down the list, naming every country with nukes and the number each had. Delegates were writing these numbers down furiously. The representatives from the United States and Russia showed shades of red in their faces, as the numbers Superman recited were larger than either had been reporting.
“These are accurate as of about two hours ago. If any nations dispute these, please be assured my numbers are correct. I have no political agenda; I am simply reporting the facts. In addition to this total of 14,046, there were twelve other nuclear weapons, either in the hands of terrorist groups, or rogue nations. I have permanently disabled those twelve.” Three of the delegates, representing those rogue nations, busily texted messages to their respective government offices. Superman caught the eye of one of them, and smiled. The delegate did not return the smile.
“Also, there were seven stores of lethal gases stashed away. I have rendered those gases inert or harmless.
It is my hope that the leaders of your countries will take the steps to reduce their nuclear stockpiles. To that end I will report each week the current count of these weapons through contacts with the press. Perhaps shining a light on the facts will spur your peoples on to pressure your leaders.” The truth was, Superman checked on nuclear weapon stockpiles daily, to make sure there were no leaks or missing weapons. It would be little effort to locate a different newspaper each week and share his count.
“I also hope that someday, your nations will go further and work to eliminate nuclear weapons. I will be glad to assist any nation that wishes to do so by disposing of their nuclear stockpiles safely.
I have chosen to not interfere in your wars. These are things you must work out for yourself. But when your violence endangers the planet, I will intervene. Any nation that attempts to use nuclear weapons will find those weapons disabled before they reach their targets, and the entire stockpile of that country will be eliminated. Further, any attempts to develop more weapons by that country will be stopped. In other words, a country that launches nuclear weapons will be totally and permanently disarmed of all its nuclear weapons.
The cynics among you may interpret my message this morning as a threat. That is not my intent. My intent is to uphold a promise: I promise to protect Earth, even from itself. I have lost one home when the planet Krypton was destroyed; I will not lose this one. Thank you for time.”
With that, Superman walked over to the Secretary-General, shook his hand, and flew up and away. The overwhelmed audience exhibited mixed reactions—most stood and cheered. Some didn’t know what they felt.
Chapter Seven
Two years before that faithful day Superman stopped the Federal Reserve Bank robbery, he had to play God. He did not make this decision lightly.
It was ironic, Superman thought. Although there have been two cyclones designated “Kent”, there had never been a hurricane Kent. Until now. And this one was a monster beyond reckoning. Hurricanes were rated as Categories 1 through 5. Hurricane Kent would easily qualify as a Category 6, had there been such a designation, possibly even a 7. Kent was going to be devastating on a scale mankind had never experienced.
As it moved its way westward across the Atlantic, the meteorologists and other scientists, officials from the United States, Mexico, and all the Caribbean countries and territories were on full alert, and had begun mobilizing resources for evacuation, medical supplies, food, water, generators, fuel, and everything else they could think of.
The expected result was tens of thousands of deaths, hundreds of billions of dollars in property damage, and ecological devastation to virtually all islands and land masses in Kent’s path. People flocked to churches, mosques, synagogues, and every place of worship. The news was reporting scant else except Hurricane Kent.
Superman knew he had to mitigate this storm. He had a plan that made sense theoretically, but now he was going to try it out in practice.
He could have covered the distance from Metropolis to the mid-Atlantic in a flash, but he enjoyed exploring the deep ocean life, and so he swam underwater towards the storm. Actually, it was more of flying under the water rather than swimming. Water resistance meant nothing to his Kryptonian strength, and he traveled at approximately 1100 kilometers per hour, a bit under Mach 1. He could have gone much faster of course, but he didn’t want to disrupt the sea life. Thus, it was a leisurely two-hour journey for him.
As he arrived at the hurricane’s location, he surfaced into the eye of the massive storm. Kent was already rotating counterclockwise at a speed of well over 150 kilometers per hour. By the time it reached the Caribbean, it would top 200 km/h. But Superman had decided it was not going to reach the Caribbean, and took action.
He began at the eye, flying in a clockwise direction. The idea was to match the speed of the storm, but Superman’s body mass was minute in comparison to the hurricane. Therefore, he had to fly significantly faster to counteract Kent’s intensity. Then he expanded the circumference of his pattern, flying against the eyewall, increasing his speed, as the eyewall was the fastest moving area of the hurricane.
He kept expanding his circle, increasing his speed as he made wider circles. This was already the largest storm on record, well over 2,000 kilometers in diameter and growing as it moved westward. It took the better part of an hour to finish his task. The storm shielded him from the eye of satellite observation, covering any evidence of his involvement. He wondered how the news would explain the result.
When he was finished, the once mighty Hurricane Kent was simply a massive storm, which Superman further dissipated by crisscrossing its mass with latitudinal and longitudinal flights. When he was satisfied it would not be a threat of any type, he flew up and away, arriving at Metropolis within minutes.
The morning news used phrases as “miracle”, “unprecedented”, ‘impossible”. Each major religious group claimed responsibility for the good news, as did television faith healers who were quick to parlay their self-proclaimed “miracles” into appeals for increased donations.
NASA had no explanation whatsoever.
Surreptitiously. Anonymously. Invisibly. These words describe how Superman performed many deeds before his public “coming out” at the Federal Reserve bank robbery that evening. Miraculous dissipation of tropical storms and hurricanes, extinguishment of forest fires, retardation of flames in apartment building—all these occurrences and others were the result of Superman’s watchful eyes and ears.
Another such event happened near the Gulf of Guinea in western Africa. A notorious fanatical group, known as religious zealots, had been kidnapping young girls to use as negotiating pawns, human bombs, and sex slaves. This group had terrorized parts of Nigeria, Niger, Chad, and Cameroon. Superman took notice, then he took action.
He had focused on two activities: Disarm the group, and free the children. The first task was Herculean in scope. Almost eighty weapon arsenals had been hidden by the group in four countries over a range of thousands of square miles. The second task was even more daunting: tracing and finding the kidnapped girls, then getting them to freedom safely. However, he was Superman.
It was slow methodical work. Not slow by human standards, but slow to him. He started making a sweep across the targeted countries, working only in the darkness of night. When he found a weapons cache, often hidden in caves, he burrowed underground from a distance then came up into the midst of the firearms and explosives. Two seconds of heat vision were enough to trigger explosions, disposing of everything, He watched the beams from the soldiers’ cell phones, which led him to other outposts of the group. After he went through those encampment by encampment, he returned to the geographic search, to ensure no square mile was missed.
After setting off each location’s arsenal, Superman incapacitated all the vehicles, disabled all the firearms not in the cache, and fried all the cell phones and radios. Thus, the soldiers were unarmed and isolated. They were confused and panicked; either the devil himself was upon them, or their god had turned on them. Either way they were beyond distraught.
Immediately afterwards the nearest police outpost or legitimate military force received an anonymous phone call, spoken in perfect local dialect, detailing the location of the group’s camp. Thus slowly, but surely, the group was rendered powerless.
When Superman found captives, he first cleared an escape path for them through the jungle. A four-meter-wide swath cut with his heat vision made a safe travel route; he knew within a year or two the overgrowth would erase all trace of his trailblazing. Then he would speak to the girls quietly but reassuringly in Hausa, Yoruba, or whichever language they understood. Then the wall of their hut or tent would miraculously split open, and a pathway would await them. Often the girls made their way well out of camp before their former captors realized what had happened. Regardless, Superman made certain they were unable to follow. Sometimes a whirlwind enveloped them, the dirt blinding them, only to find themselves secured with ropes or cables from their encampment. Sometimes they fell unconscious due to a sudden pressure they felt on their carotid artery.
The phone calls to authorities in these cases gave the location of the girls’ path, allowing the girls to be welcomed into safe haven soon after their release.
On one occasion a girl had caught a glimpse of Superman. When asked how they got away, she drew the stylized “S” in the ground, complete with the pentagon shape shield that encompassed it. Of course, now one knew what she was talking about, and could not decipher her statement about a white angel who saved them; Superman was the first white person she had ever seen.
Years later, after news of Superman’s existence and photos had spread across the world, the young lady figured it out, but still continued to refer to him as an angel–her angel.