Enemies & Allies (29 page)

H
E KNEW THE WORLD WOULD NEVER BE TRULY SAFE-NOT
from petty thieves who were willing to murder, not from corrupt industrialists who wanted to take over the planet…perhaps not even from the threat of alien invasion.

But Earth was secure enough, for now.

Bruce sat in the Cave, still clad in his dark armored suit, the black scalloped cape tucked behind him; he had removed his cowl and it sat like a demonic mask on the corner of the laboratory table. At the moment he was deep in thought, balanced between being millionaire Bruce Wayne and vigilante Batman, half in and half out of costume, both a corporate head and a hero. It didn’t really matter which outfit he wore.

With Lex Luthor in disgrace, the future of LuthorCorp was in limbo. The man had been too narcissistic to believe his company could possibly function without him, so—unlike Thomas Wayne—he had failed to create detailed contingency plans for his demise. He had established basic guidelines for the company to continue, and it would limp along for a time, but it was obvious that Luthor had designated no heir. He did not trust anyone enough.

Many of LuthorCorp’s pending R&D contracts had been transferred to Wayne Enterprises. Bruce’s best researchers would continue to develop sophisticated ways to defend America, and with those profits he could devote more resources to medical research and the construction of new hospitals, which would have made his father proud.

Alfred had brought him a club sandwich and small bowl of canned peaches in syrup, a treat he had particularly enjoyed as a boy. Bruce hadn’t touched either.

He regarded the empty cowl on the desktop next to him—the black pointed ears, the empty eyeholes of the mask. But the focus of his current study was the faintly glowing green rock sitting in a lab tray, the mineral sample he had taken from Luthor’s mansion. Superman’s Achilles heel.

If the story of Kal-El’s origin was true—and Bruce had no reason to doubt it anymore—this might indeed be a fragment of the exploded planet Krypton. And through some sympathetic connection, a kind of radiation that primarily targeted someone tied to that planet, even in small doses this “kryptonite” weakened Superman. Because of the gulag’s reactor explosion, the entire meteor crater at the Ariguska impact site was gone. All traces of the Siberian kryptonite were almost certainly destroyed.

He wondered if the piece here was the only sample Luthor had possessed, and now Bruce had it. Nobody else needed to know its power over Superman.

He looked at the rock one last time, then sealed it in a new lead-lined case he’d had specially constructed. He locked the case in a vault carved in the Cave’s solid rock. For safekeeping.

He hoped he would never have any reason to use it.

K
AL-EL WANTED TO MEASURE HIS LIMITS. HE NEEDED TO
know how far he could go. As he shot straight up into the sky, the details of the terrain below shifted from individual houses and buildings to intersecting patterns of roads and the checkerboards of crop fields, then to a blur of generalized landscape, and finally the outlines of the continents themselves, swiftly masked by thick white clouds.

The atmosphere grew thinner and colder as he flew higher, higher, straining toward the very edge of Earth’s atmosphere and beyond. He had never tested himself like this before, never pushed so high.

The air became vanishingly thin until he just kissed space, where raw and unfiltered sunlight continued to give him strength. He felt as though his every skin cell was charging, like a minute battery. He felt no shortness of breath even here. He was an alien, after all.

No one had been here to teach him. He had no comrade to give him advice, no other Kryptonian to tell him about his heritage, his strengths and weaknesses. Kal-El simply drifted over Earth, gazing out toward the infinite universe. So many stars…so many planets. So many questions.

He focused his telescopic vision, pushing outward into deep space with a resolution greater than that of the best Earth-based telescope. From here, he could see the moon with its artistry of distant mountain ridges and round craters, the stark and lifeless terrain drawn in sharp relief by slanted sunlight. He tried to discern any signs of activity—lost cities or alien bases, domed settlements, silver rocket ships, the barest hint of an extraterrestrial civilization.

But he saw nothing. No hint of strange visitors, Kryptonian or otherwise. He silently asked the universe if he was truly alone, but the universe didn’t answer.

So he turned back and looked at the blue, green, and white globe turning beneath him. From here, high enough that he could see the planet’s curvature, Kal-El gained a new perspective: The landmasses showed no political boundaries, no lines delineating countries, no colors that separated Communist from capitalist. Kal-El decided he liked this view of Earth best.

He descended swiftly through the atmosphere, cutting through the clouds and soaring over continents, heading back to Metropolis. He was not alone, because the people of Earth were
his
people. And Lois. She could be more than just a friend. He’d like that, and he knew she would like it as well.

Kal-El might have been different from them…but all people were different from one another. Yet even with those differences, they all shared a common bond. And Kal-El—Superman—would always stay there to protect them.

L
EX LUTHOR’S SENSATIONAL TRIAL PROCEEDED WITH GREAT
alacrity, an example of swift and effective American justice. The news media loved it. He wasn’t the least bit surprised. These little people who now accused him were incapable of seeing the larger picture.

Nobody else saw the irony in the fact that he was entitled to face a jury of his “peers.” Who, in all of the United States, could be considered Lex Luthor’s peer? Nevertheless, the evidence against him was incontrovertible.

With Lois Lane’s persistent and thorough investigative work over the past several months, as well as Superman’s repeated interference, Luthor had been caught red-handed. Because of his covert cooperation with the Soviet KGB general, Luthor was even branded “un-American.” Senator McCarthy renounced any and all connection he’d ever had with Lex Luthor.

That
was the most annoying of all.

Lois Lane was a permanent fixture in the gallery, sometimes sitting next to Clark Kent, covering the story daily. As Luthor glanced at her without catching her eye, he expected to see her gloating, or at least exhibiting some personal satisfaction to see such a great man brought so low. But she was a professional newswoman, and she reported the story for the
Daily Planet
with a reasonable degree of objectivity. With grudging respect, Luthor had even considered complimenting her efforts but decided that she would probably not appreciate the gesture.

He insisted on being his own legal representative, since he was far more qualified and talented than any lawyer he could have hired. Certainly no one had a greater incentive to succeed. But his conviction was a foregone conclusion—he knew that from the start. Lex Luthor refused to beg, refused to make excuses. In fact, in his cool and logical summation, he did his best to convey to the jury, and the hordes of reporters in the gallery, the breathtaking complexity and scope of his plans, his sheer genius in creating the false alien battleships and directed-energy defensive weapons. Surely someone had to admire that.

Not surprisingly, the little people of the jury took less than an hour to find him guilty, convict him of treason, and sentence him to death.

Luthor remained seated, motionless. He didn’t rage, didn’t curse, didn’t make a scene. Of course, the government was too shortsighted to take advantage of his brilliance. In his mind, the wheels were already turning. Starting now, he had to plan his escape.

Looming over him, the portly, sour-faced judge said rather snidely, “I believe, Mr. Luthor, that our penal system uses a model of electric chair designed and built by LuthorCorp.”

Not at all rattled, Luthor gave the judge a cold smile. “Then, Your Honor, I am confident it will work properly.”

K
AL-EL FOUND BATMAN SITTING AMONG THE GARGOYLES
on a rooftop in Gotham City. Hunched over, the other man looked like a gargoyle himself in his black cape and cowl. He directed his intent gaze at the streets, as vigilant as the silent stone sentinels beside him.

Drifting down in a quiet swirl of red cape, Kal-El landed next to him. Batman didn’t flinch, his gaze never flickered, but he spoke in a deep voice. “Greed, corruption, jealousy, poverty—even pure evil.” He turned to look at Kal-El, his eyes darker than the shadows around him. “People will always find reasons to cause harm. And the world will always need men like us.”

Kal-El added his increased acuities to scan Gotham City. “I’m glad to know I won’t be the only one protecting the innocent and defending against injustice.”

Batman frowned. Even without any sort of superhuman vision, he seemed to see as much as Kal-El could. “I hope you aren’t going to propose a partnership.
You’re
the hero, Superman. I prefer to operate out of the public eye.”

Kal-El frowned. “We could accomplish more together. We have the same goal—to make the world safer from criminals.”

“Criminals,” Batman repeated. “The Gotham City Police Department considers
me
a criminal. But I’m not going to stop what I’m doing simply because I don’t fit into one of their neat categories. What exactly is a vigilante? Do
you
ask permission to rescue those people you save, or do you act on your own and follow your conscience? As long as I do what’s right, I’ll keep doing it.” Now he did smile slightly. “Besides, I don’t need a sidekick.”

Kal-El was surprised. “You thought I wanted to be
your
sidekick?”

“I said I don’t need one.”

“Neither do I. But we don’t always have to operate alone. We don’t each have to
be
alone. Sometimes we’ll encounter problems large enough to warrant cooperation between us. There’s got to be some sort of trust.”

Batman nodded. “Agreed.”

Kal-El stood tall then, smiling. “And in that spirit, I promise I will never expose your real identity…Bruce Wayne.” He had secretly used his X-ray vision to look through Batman’s mask, recognizing him immediately. “You can trust me, Bruce. My word is my bond.”

Now Batman rose from his crouch, an unexpected smile on his face. His black cape fluttered in the suddenly cool night breeze. “And I promise not to reveal the location of your Fortress of Solitude…or
your
secret identity, Clark Kent.”

KEVIN J. ANDERSON
is the author of the internationally bestselling and award-winning Dune prequels (coauthored with Brian Herbert), and has carved an indisputable niche with science fiction epics, including his own successful Saga of Seven Suns series and The
Last Days of Krypton
. His work has won or been nominated for numerous major awards. He lives in Colorado.

www.wordfire.com

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