Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

What would you think about an alternate universe with a female-Clark as Superwoman in the Golden Age?

Is the only main change in the classic canon together with her love interest…It’s not Earth-11, let’s say is Eart-19...meet Clara Kent/Superwoman!

It's 1948, in Metropolis!

Up in the sky! Look! It's a bird? It's a plane? No! It's Superwoman!

Faster than a speeding bullet! More powerful than a locomotive! Able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, this amazing stranger from the planet Krypton, The Woman of Steel: Superwoman!

Empowered with X-ray vision, possessing remarkable physical strength, Superwoman fights a never-ending battle for love, truth, and justice, disguised as a mild-mannered newspaper reporter, Clara Kent!

In a world plagued by the Cold War and mistrust, can Superwoman bring peace to the world while fighting for love, truth, justice, and the American way? Can she finally find a happy life with Louis Lane, the love of her life? Can she defeat Lex Luthor and the terrible ancient evil he is about to awaken?

KALA-EL/CLARA JOSEPHINE KENT/SUPERWOMAN

BORN: Krypton, a moon in a distant galaxy. Formally 28/02/1918, SMALLVILLE, KANSAS

PROFESSION: ASSISTANT REPORTER

YEAR: 1948

PLACE: METROPOLIS (METROPOLIS COUNTY, NEW YORK)

-Farmgirl, born Kansas 1918. No sisters nor brothers.

-Nicest girl in the office but very unfunny.

-Disappears without reason very often.

-Lives alone in a little flat and has a golden retriever dog called Krypto.

-Daddy issues. Her father didn't let her pursue a career as ballet dancer or swimmer (he didn't want her to take advantage of her powers) and died when she was 18.

-Former nurse during the war in the Pacific Ocean and in the Philippines.

-Loves children and dogs

-Tomboyish trails. Not quite elegant.

-Music-Hall fan, Katherine Hepburn and James Stewart fan

-Favorite books: Scarlet Pimpernel adventures, Jane Austen, Upton Sinclair and Virginia Wolf, somewhat eclectic.

-Amateur writer of children's stories, with characters such as DeeDog and the Komfy Dragon.

-She greatly admires her boss, Perry Weiss. A 1940s style very liberal Republican journalist, chief editor of the Daily Planet. She despises her deputy boss Cat Grant.

-Ambiguous relationship with her other boss, senior reporter Louis Lane. Clara has a good friendship with Louis and hides that she is very much in love with him. At the same time, she competes a lot with Mr. Lane and is annoyed by his political ideas and his paternalism.

- Strange friendship with the young millionaire Bruce Wayne, something that is very surprising for the people in the newsroom of the Daily Planet.

-Always good scoops but never appears in the front line and too stubborn and independent to grow fast in the newspaper.

-Progressive quaker like her parents.

-Civil rights supporter.

-Dislikes General McArthur, dislikes even more Lex Luthor

-Loves Eleanor Roosevelt but also Governor Dewey.

-Hates guns

-Supports unions, splits ticket between Metropolis Liberal Party and the two main parties. Politicians must be kind.

SUPERHEROINE LIFE

-Superpowers: Flight, Super-Strength, Super-Speed, X-Ray Vision, Heat Vision, Enhanced Vision, Super-Hearing, Super-Breath, Cooling-Breath, High Invulnerability, Super-Stamina…

-Superwoman can fly to a Mach 100 speed.

-Acts as Superwoman since October 1945.

-Defeated General Zod’s invasion in July 1946.

-Initial bad relationship with Batman but now close friends and allies. Together with the Flash, they make up the Justice League.

-Didn't act as Superwoman during the World War II because she was afraid of her powers. After the discovery of the Holocaust and the atomic bombs she decided to step in and showed herself to the world on autumn 1945.

-Worst enemy: Lex Luthor, heir of Nikola Tesla, rocket engineer & CEO of TELCORP (Tesla-Luthor Corporation)

-Deeply in love with Louis Lane, who strongly rejects the superheroine.

-She hides her supersuit and cape under her normal clothes. The material is extraordinarily thin, flexible, and resistant, and very easy to wear under normal clothing. Whenever someone needs Superwoman, she just needs to find an inconspicuous place, rip her shirt, unfold her cape, and fly away at full speed.

FAMILY & ORIGINS

The El family & Krypton

Krypton was a decadent civilization located on a moon near a large gaseous planet in the Orion belt, next to a green sun. In the past they had visited Earth and other planets expanding civilization, but their penchant for slavery, war, resource extraction and violence caused many of these projects to fail. Even in 10,500 BC the Kryptonians almost caused the terraforming of the Earth, melting the poles and destroying Atlantis and other civilizations, causing among other things the end of the Ice Age. Nearly 99% of humanity perished during the Kryptonian attack.

Over the centuries the Kryptonians lost the fuel necessary to travel across space and ended up confined to their planet, dedicated to warfare, genetic engineering, creating clones whose organs they needed to extend their lives, to pleasure and to exploiting the subsoil of their planet.  The Kryptonians also established a dictatorship with a caste system based on genetic engineering and prohibited natural reproduction.

Jor-El and Lara were a couple of scientists critical of the system and supporters of the abolition of the caste system. They also fought against genetic engineering, violent repression, and the permanent destruction of the ecosystem. After a series of terrible earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, and gas outbursts, it became clear that Krypton's core was collapsing, due to the energetic drilling and magnetic energy used in Krypton's industry. The Planet was doomed but the ruling caste ignored it. Jor-El and Lara had a daughter, Kala-El in a natural way against all the rules of Krypton. Determined to save her daughter’s life, Lara managed to manufacture a small ship capable of making a space jump to other regions of the Universe, willing to spare her daughter from the horrible demise of Krypton. General Zod stole her design and built a larger fleet of ships but Jor-El managed to sabotage the departure and sent the fleet to the Phantom Zone, a black hole near Krypton.  

Lara made the decision to send Kala to Earth, believing its culture to be more optimistic and compassionate, and less susceptible to the errors that plagued Krypton, compared to other inhabited planets nearer to them. Jor-El, on the other hand, favored sending her to New Genesis, a distant planet where Kala would be exposed to less radiation and thus gain fewer extraordinary powers, enabling her to lead a more ordinary life. However, Lara managed to persuade him. As Kala traveled to Earth and matured under the influence of a yellow sun, she would develop incredible abilities and could have the opportunity to live a fulfilling life dedicated to helping humanity, thereby restoring the honor of Krypton's name.

Within hours of Kala's birth, she was placed in the small ship, accompanied by the robot guide Kelex, whose memory was imprinted with the consciousness of Jor-El and Lara, as well as nearly all of Krypton's cultural heritage.  They included several Kryptonian artifacts inside, such as a nearly indestructible ceremonial female ancestral caped suit with the crest of the House of El on its chest. The ship was launched just hours before Krypton’s demise and travelled through space for thirty years…

Joe&Martha Kent, Kansas life

Joe and Martha Kent were a Quaker farming couple whose farm was struck by the pod carrying Kala-El the 28^th of February of 1918. Although owners of substantial property they were a very humble, cooperative, austere, devout, and civil rights-minded people. Martha Kent was a descendant of Kansas abolitionist guerrilla fighter John Brown. They both raised Clara very lovingly and unwilling to ask too many questions about the baby's origin. Clara was a very sickly child as her body did not adapt to the Earth. She was an affectionate and obedient young girl and devoured books. The Kent family were avowed supporters of the New Deal and Joe Kent was a member of the local farmers union.

As Clara entered puberty, her development accelerated rapidly, and her superpowers started to manifest. She quickly showed remarkable talent in swimming and ballet. Despite her curiosity about her origins, Joe imposed strict restrictions, including prohibiting her from pursuing a professional career in these fields to avoid exploiting her supernatural abilities. Additionally, he strictly forbade Clara from using her superpowers to help others, fearful of humanity's reaction and wary of savior messiahs in the era of interwar dictators.

Clara initially rebelled against her father, but ultimately acquiesced, intimidated by her own powers and empathetic to her parents' concerns. During this period, Clara struggled to blend in but found solace in her two closest friends, Pete Ross, whom she harbored secret feelings for, and Lana Lang. Unlike Pete, Lana was privy to Clara's superpowers from their early childhood together. In 1936, the passing of Joe Kent from a heart attack deeply affected Clara, leaving her to forego college and take up work as a teacher and nurse's aide in Smallville. Her engagement to her childhood love, Pete Ross, ended abruptly in 1939 after she disclosed her powers to him, causing Pete to react with fear, though he eventually vowed to keep her secret. Amidst these challenging times, Kelex, the Kryptonian robot, was activated and unveiled Clara's true heritage, casting her into a state of turmoil.

From 1940 to 1941, Clara spent her time in Canada and Alaska on a quest to locate the Fortress of Solitude, a mysterious destination indicated by Kelex. However, with the onset of World War II, she chose to serve as a nurse in the Pacific theater, committing to use her superpowers solely for the aid of injured soldiers, worried that any further use might bring more pain and destruction. In the waning months of 1944, the hospital ship USS Shuster, carrying Clara, was struck by a Japanese torpedo. Clara dove into the ocean, using her superhuman strength to keep the vessel afloat long enough to run it aground. The ship's unexpected buoyancy and seeming levitation baffled everyone, and the event was shrouded in secrecy. Granted leave to return home, Clara made her way back to Alaska where, with Kelex's guidance, she finally discovered the Fortress of Solitude. It was there that she gained a deeper understanding of her heritage and began to train her superpowers.

Learning about the atrocities of the Holocaust and the devastation caused by atomic bombs, Clara was moved to adopt the mantle of Superwoman, using her powers to aid humanity while donning the traditional Kryptonian costume of her ancestors. Her mother, Martha, stood by her choice. She moved to Metropolis and, in September 1945, started working as an assistant reporter hired by Major Louis Lane, freshly back from Europe. On October 1, 1945, Superwoman made her debut, stunning the world and marking a pivotal change in History. She presented herself at the newly established United Nations, sharing her backstory and her commitment to humanitarian aid while steering clear of political disputes, save for safeguarding civilians.

Thus began Clara Kent's dual existence as a journalist; and, whenever needed, as Superwoman. By July 1946, she had thwarted an invasion led by General Zod and other Kryptonian survivors. However, her challenges were far from over, facing foes such as the Intergang—a conglomerate of Metropolis and Gotham's organized crime—Atomic Skull, a former Nazi operative wielding fearsome technology, and Lex Luthor, who was nurturing a growing animosity and suspicion towards the superheroine, along with his creation, Metallo.

DAILY PLANET CHARACTERS

Perry Weiss, a major shareholder and editor in chief of the Daily Planet. Born in Odessa in 1886. Jewish immigrant from humble origins who became a skilled journalist and founded the Daily Planet as a tool of the liberal wing of the Metropolis Republican Party to unseat the city bosses of the time. Still a staunch liberal, he supported Roosevelt in 1932 and 1936, and was an ally of Mayor LaGuardia. He won the Pulitzer Prize in the 1920s for defending a due process for Sacco and Vanzetti. Friend and ally of Louis Lane's father. He is very demanding with his employees but is very fond of Clara. He admires and defends Superwoman despite Louis Lane's distrust. Best friend of Cat Grant.

Cat Grant, Co-chair of Perry Weiss, Pulitzer winner, closeted lesbian, and Ayn Rand Fan. Born 1901, she comes from an old fine family of Knickerbockers. She is like Louis the least liberal element of the newspaper. To protect herself she married a very old friend of her father who helped her lead a double life. For twenty years she lived with a painter named Margaret Ivy. Considered the best writer of the Daily Planet, in addition to being a journalist she has published four novels. Very elegant and popular in intellectual circles. She is tremendously authoritarian. Cat often treats Clara harshly, mainly because Clara challenges her authority, and they hold opposing political beliefs. Yet, as Clara matures in her role as a journalist and Cat Grant starts to believe she might be Superwoman, Cat secretly becomes her protector and advocate, propelling her career forward without Clara's awareness. Cat is also the best friend of Perry Weiss.

Jimmy Olsen and Lucy Weiss, Clara’s best friends

Jimmy is a junior urban photographer. He comes from a town in Massachusetts. He is 7 years younger than Clara. He is a party animal, friendly, generous, and somewhat naive. Yet he is a skilled photographer who has been able to capture the worst of the night and day of Metropolis. Miraculously he always gets the best pictures of Superwoman (Clara helps him a little). Very democratic and complains about working for a newspaper that is too conservative for his taste. Adores Clara whom he treats as his big sister. It doesn't even cross his mind that she is Superwoman. Jimmy thinks that Louis is a snob and a bigot.

Lucy is a senior political photographer and the only woman on photo reporting on the Daily Planet who works outside the fashion department. She is the eldest daughter of Perry Weiss. She is an intrepid photojournalist who gets overseas passes and has been to several military conflicts. A loyal friend of Clara, and a very serious and professional woman. She is suspicious of Clara's double identity but would never say anything. She is the same age as Clara and a lover of jazz and the more alternative circuits of Metropolis.

NAME: LOUIS LANE

BORN: 08/02/1912, METROPOLIS (NEW YORK)

PROFESSION: SENIOR REPORTER

YEAR: 1948

PLACE: METROPOLIS (NYC)

-Rich family, born in 1912, first of 6 brothers.

-Caustic, cynical, ironic but somewhat kind.

-Commanding.

-Lives in Park Avenue with his 6-year-old daughter and his rich unfaithful wife, fashion reporter Pat Lane (neé Kelly). Very unhappy marriage.

-Major rank during the war in the US army. He also worked with the OSS.

-Elegant, sportsman, plays violin.

-Teaches music lessons in an orphan house in secret.

-Not that snobbish nor WASP, new rich family traits.

-Arkham University alumni.

-Classic music and literature lover.

-Heavy drinker.

-Does not enjoy journalism, thinking of quitting to politics or teaching literature.

-Jewish father (Lane surname is a change from Lantzman), Irish catholic mother. Raised catholic and religious, but not extremely orthodox.

-His father is a self-made tycoon who started as Democrat in the Tammany Hall and then switched to Republican. Close ally of Mayor LaGuardia.

-Fought in the European theater during World War II.

-Conservative Republican opposed to his father’s Liberal Republican views. Louis staunchly supports General McArthur, who he believes should be the next President.

-In the past he had a good opinion of Lex Luthor. He saw him as an innovator and freedom fighter, but his opinion changed when Luthor kidnapped him to set a trap for Superwoman.

-Perry Weiss favorite reporter.

-Won the Pulitzer Prize in 1941, for his articles about the first defeat of the Intergang.

-First person to interview Superwoman.

-Very nice and paternalistic to Clara He pushes Clara's career forward despite Cat Grant's apparent opposition. He is secretly in love with Clara. Although he rejects Superwoman and suspects she is the same person as Clara, he deludes himself and rejects these suspicions.

-Tired of New Deal Politics, anticommunist.

-"a brilliant and kind man" for most of the Daily Planet staff, a "terrible asshole" for many others like Jimmy Olsen.

-Strongly rejects Superwoman and other heroes.

-Sometimes Clara really hates him.

-Famous line "Neither reds nor capes".

-He lives a bizarre love triangle with Clara Kent and Superwoman. Although he publicly rejects the superheroine, he also desires her and he and Superwoman have had moments of passion, which Louis feels guilty about because he is married and because of his religion. On the other hand, he is in love with Clara Kent as much as he rejects the figure of Superwoman. He deludes himself about the identity of both. A bit James Stewart in Vertigo, something that destabilizes and infuriates Clara.

THE FORTRESS OF SOLITUDE AND KELEX

Jor-El and Lara could not send their daughter Kala to Earth alone and without any information about her origin or how to live with the marvelous abilities she would develop as she grew up. That's why they not only sent with her a ceremonial female costume as a reminder of her lineage, but also sent Kelex, the El Family's domestic robot. Kelex is a robot assistant with a great memory capable of performing all kinds of explanatory and analytical tasks, as well as treasuring, developing and producing information. It is also a tool for interstellar communication, albeit limited. Jor-El and Lara imprinted their consciousness in Kelex, as well as all the information about the history and culture of Krypton, including scientific explanations about the adaptation of Kala's body to Earth. Kelex has the ability to compress himself into a metallic ball, and so he was from the impact on Smallville in 1918 until 1939 when he unfolded and revealed to Kala as her assistant and guide.  Kelex has the ability to listen to all types of sound transmissions, including radio, and an advanced language program that allowed him to quickly learn English and other human languages, enabling him to communicate easily with Kala, now Clara Kent.

However, Kelex was activated too late. By then, Clara was already a grown woman with most of her powers fully manifested but not yet controlled. To assist her properly, train her in using her superpowers, and fully manifest her parents' consciousness, Kelex needed additional technology. The robot detected signals from several Kryptonian ships abandoned on Earth for thousands of years, remnants of a failed invasion in 10,500 B.C. The most accessible was located in a glacier in northern Alaska. Despite Clara's initial mistrust, Kelex convinced her to search for the ship. They abandoned the quest in 1941 but resumed it in 1944. After months of effort, they finally discovered the ship. Clara used it extensively to learn about her origins and train her superpowers. Since then, Kelex has resided in this ship, now known as the Fortress of Solitude, which Clara uses as her base and refuge. There, Clara studies Krypton's past and technology with Kelex, listens to holograms of her parents, stores special mementos she can't keep in Smallville or Metropolis, repairs her super suit when damaged, and hides the people she cares about during threats, like she did with her mother during the attack by Zod and Faora in 1946.

CURRENT AND PAST ENEMIES

Lex Luthor: Rocket engineer, CEO of TELCORP and Heir of Nikola Tesla. A Brilliant scientist who defines himself as a "radical humanist"…but in the early 30s supported closely fascism to stop "imperialism" and "usury" and later changed his mind and move closer to the USSR to fight "predatory western capitalism". Publicly, he is a tycoon and scientist loyal to the United States and works closely with the government. The world's greatest philanthropist. Loving father and husband. Hates Superwoman to death and believes she spells the end of humanity. Paranoid and ruthless but convinced that he does everything for the greater good.

General Zod & Faora: Political dissidents like the El on Krypton, on the other hand they believed that Krypton's only salvation lay in emigrating and invading, terraforming, and exterminating other planets. They almost succeeded in a coup d'état but after their failure; Zod and his henchmen tried to flee by space jumping their ships, Jor-El managed to sabotage the launch and send them to the Phantom Zone. Over the years they managed to escape and arrived on Earth in 1946, shortly after Clara showed herself to the world as Superwoman. They tried to exterminate all humanity, but Superwoman and the armies of Earth managed to defeat them. Their invasion caused 5,000 human casualties but could have caused complete extermination. The experience was traumatic for Clara because she had to send Zod and Faora back to the Phantom Zone where they would surely die. Zod, Faora and their henchmen had not yet developed the full powers granted by a yellow sun like Earth's and so several of them were killed by human bombs and missiles. The remains of some Kryptonians were stored by Russians and Americans. Superwoman managed to expel all Kryptonian technology and weaponry into space so that humans would not use it for warfare.

Doomsday: A truly near-indestructible abomination. Perhaps from Krypton's past? Perhaps created by mistake by human scientists?

ENEMIES TO COME IN FUTURE INSTALLMENTS

The Toyman: Winslow Schott, once a thriving entrepreneur and toy inventor of the 1920s, saw his empire crumble during the Great Depression due to bank actions and multiple betrayals. Following a series of horrendous criminal acts, he was incarcerated in 1933. However, he has recently broken out of prison, now utterly deranged and intent on using his inventive genius to exact revenge on the entire city…

Brainiac “The Eternal Traveller”: An android resulting from the abhorrent merger of a famous astronaut and an artificial intelligence which was used by the first civilization of Krypton to collect information from other worlds. It is more than 100,000 years old. With the passage of time, he saw himself as a perfect creature, became evil and phobic to any form of life that he considered imperfect or inferior. He caused the destruction of many cultures. He wanders through space visiting planets and analyzing life forms. He probably has no enthusiasm for humans, much less for a descendant of the House of El.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Smallville, Kansas, May 1948

On the veranda of a large but modest farmhouse a woman was enjoying the afternoon breeze. Martha Kent was an older woman in her sixties. Despite her austere dress she was still flirtatious. She still dyed her hair auburn and painted her lips. Her late husband Joe loved it when she did it...how she missed him. She pulled a newspaper out of a cloth bag and unfolded it. It was the Metropolis' Daily Planet, last Friday's edition. It wasn't the main headline, but one of the main lead-ins on the front page read "ARMY AND AVIATION INDUSTRY LAUNCH JOINT CORPORATION. TELCORP AND LORD INDUSTRIES MAIN CIVIL PARTNERS, a story by Clara J. Kent." How proud she was of her daughter. Not only was she an excellent reporter in Metropolis who had already made the front page of her paper several times, but, although no one in the world knew it except her and a couple of others, her daughter was Superwoman, the world's most powerful superheroine flying through the sky in her red cape helping others.

Her thoughts were a sort of premonition because from the sky came the sound of a kind of fast and strong breeze. Her daughter landed gently right in front of her.

“Good afternoon mother," Clara went over to kiss her mother, she took her hand.

“How was your day?” Martha asked tenderly.

“Great Scott, it was terrible! Among other things I had to intervene this morning in China in a train derailment. It turned out to be a prisoner train. They are in a civil war. I don't even know if the prisoners were from the communist or nationalist side. I refused to capture the escaping ones and stopped the guards' bullets. I have taken the wounded to Red Cross field hospitals... I have just heard that the head of our troops in Asia has asked me not to intervene in any country in the east without military authorization. Not even if it is a humanitarian emergency", Clara dropped into a rocking chair on the terrace and closed her eyes.

Martha held her daughter's hand.

“Well, you'll get by. You always do...”

Clara smiled.

“Mom, Can I bring Krypto to you this afternoon? You can keep him for a few days. The poor boy can't be alone all the time in the apartment, and I don't want to ask the neighbors for more favors for a few days.”

“Sure, he'll keep me company. Will you stay for dinner tonight?”

“No, I'm having dinner with Jimmy, my friend from the newspaper.”

“Is that the photographer?”

“Yes.”

“He's a very nice guy, he's funny.”

“Yes, he is.”

“You could invite him here to Smallville.”

“It would be complicated; it takes several days to get here and back if it's done the normal way. I'm not going to fly him here.”

“Will you tell him someday?”

“Mother, it is very difficult.”

“And Mr. Lane?”

“It's even more complicated.”

“He is a gentleman.”

“He is very good to me at the newspaper. He gives me the freedom to run my stories and makes sure our boss leaves me alone.”

“Clara, but he's a married man and...” Martha knew her daughter very well.

Clara remembered the last time she as Superwoman had spoken to Louis... It had been a few months earlier. After defeating Metallo, saving Louis' life from Luthor's henchmen and preventing the flood caused by the blowing up of three large dams, a catastrophe Luthor had used to blackmail her into confronting Metallo. She wanted to turn Luthor over to the police. Metallo had died of exhaustion caused by the very heavy armor Luthor forced him to wear. She had done everything she could to save his life, but John Corben, the man who had been Metallo, was poisoned and collapsed from the billionaire's bloody invention. Luthor smiled, "It was just an experiment, training."

She had no evidence to take him to the police despite all the chaos caused by Metallo and the blowing up of the dams. Still, she grabbed Luthor and lifted him into the air. The Woman of Tomorrow flew with him up to five or six thousand feet. Luthor knew Superwoman wouldn't do anything to him. And that she wouldn't take him to the police. He even laughingly threatened to reveal to the world the identities of Flash and Batman that he had already discovered. She accepted her defeat and then flew Louis back to the Daily Planet. They were both exhausted, Clara couldn't remember why she had been so reckless as to try to kiss him, he rejected her.

“Why don't you trust me Mr. Lane?”

“Well, Miss Superwoman...”

“Don't call me Superwoman please, call me Kala.”

“That's your alien name.”

“I can tell you my human name if you want, I can tell you who I am, were I do live, where I work...”

“I prefer not to, believe me.”

“Why don't you trust me?”

“Nobody with such a power can be trusted, nobody with such a power can be quietly accepted in our society. It is an atrocity to allow it.”

“You truly share Luthor's perspective, don't you?”

“No, Luthor would be capable of anything, and he also dreams of having absolute power. I don't. I just want everything to go back to the way it was.”

“Before when?”

“Before the last war, or the one before. And of course, before you and all the superpowered beings appeared.”

“You always claim to be a realistic and pragmatic man, but to the past we shall never return. I only tried to help. I don't want to be above anyone.”

“The best help you can give us is withdrawing from the scene.”

“If I didn't have the powers that terrify you so much, you'd be dead. And millions of people too...”

“Well, the first case you describe I don't consider it a great loss."

A month later Superwoman had to return to rescue Louis in Greece when he was kidnapped by a communist guerrilla. When she learned of the kidnapping Clara was in the office. She was so nervous that she threw herself out of her own office window, tearing to shreds the dress she was wearing. It took her only a few minutes to reach Greece. She found him quickly; she had Louis's heartbeat memorized like her mother's. She plucked him from his captors and flew him back to Athens. No words were exchanged, he mumbled a "thank you" and she neither looked at him nor answered him.

Clara looked at the rows of isolated crops and trees approaching the horizon.

“Mom, I'm going to see dad now. Don't you have any flowers around the house? If not, I'll pick some wild ones.”

***

“What do you think, Mr. Lane?”

Louis Lane was reviewing some color photos that Jimmy Olsen, dressed in a bow tie and green vest, passed to him. A handful of versions of the same photo. It was Fifth Avenue. Most of the passersby were not looking up, where a blurry figure was flying across the sky.

“I think it's interesting, Mr. Lane, because it shows most bystanders completely indifferent to Superwoman in the sky. We're used to her by now. It might be a good contrast to illustrate General McArthur's concern about Superwoman's early morning intervention in China,” Jimmy insisted.

“Olsen, the one with the best color and focus is this one, but here Superwoman looks like a blurry blob. Printed in black and white it will look like a bird or a plane. These photos are no good if we don't print them in color. Maybe these should go to the Sunday magazine.”

"Mr. Lane, I have these, too. Unoriginal, but they offer a contrast. They were taken this morning. Mrs. Grant told me these are the ones that are going in Sunday's edition."

Louis paused at the other set of photos. A smiling Superwoman, barely off the ground, was handing a cat to a little girl. In another photo, a kneeling Superwoman chatted with the girl, and in yet another, she petted the cat perched on a tree.

“Yes, these are the kind people love… Plus they can go in black and white in tomorrow's issue. We could use subtitles, maybe "PROBLEMS IN ASIA... NORMALITY IN METROPOLIS" or something like that. For my part let's go with these for tomorrow's edition and the others for Sunday. Talk to Bob Mailer on the phone, he is the one who wrote the McArthur story. Ask him if he would be ok with illustrating his article with this photo. Tell him I'll take care of it. Leave the others and see if they'll let you put them in Sunday's magazine.”

“Thank you very much, Mr. Lane.”

Louis looked at the pictures of Superwoman again, captivated by her smile and the way her hand moved as she spoke to a young girl in the photograph. With a heavy sigh, he sparked a cigarette to life. The striking similarity between Clara Kent and Superwoman haunted him—those eyes, those facial contours—every time the notion crept into his mind, he felt as though the ground beneath him was giving way. It was like sleeping perilously close to a cliff's edge, oblivious to the danger until a fleeting glance at the precipice below left him reeling, unable to face the potential void. The realization would shatter all his dreams, plunging him into profound deception. Yet, Louis reassured himself, it was merely a startling resemblance; their voices, their physiques differed. He had, after all, seen Clara and Superwoman in the same vicinity, nearly simultaneously, on numerous occasions. Clara's odd quirks and frequent absences didn't necessarily imply anything—there had always been plausible explanations.

He knew Clara well: an intelligent, hard-working, sweet, unassuming, somewhat naive and compassionate girl from Kansas, occasionally clumsy but always kind-hearted, determined, sensitive, stubborn, well-read, impatient, and easily provoked. Slightly insolent when something really mattered, indifferent to authority and hierarchy. To him, she was an ordinary, flesh-and-blood woman, cherished for all her imperfections and strengths. She bore no relation to the serene, authoritative, ethereal and formidable figure that Superwoman represented, despite the matching eyes, smile, and hair color. It simply was impossible.

His thoughts were interrupted by Clara's entrance. She was wearing a suit between tan and pink. Over time she had ended up dressing very elegantly. She gave them a shy smile and a sidelong glance at Louis.

“Hi Major Lane! Hello Jimmy!”

“What's up Clara?” The photographer answered.

Louis was somewhat disturbed and tried to feign normality.

“Where were you this morning Clara? I needed you with me at Congressman Marcantonio's press conference.”

“Krypto was very sick, I had to take him to the vet.”

“How is the dog, is he ok? The thing is, while you were at the vet, and I was trying to corral that commie... Superwoman must have made a big mess in China. She must have saved a train from derailment, and that train was filled among other things with prisoners from the communists, some of whom had fled. McArthur has requested that Superwoman shall not operate in Asian countries without authorization due to war escalation risks. Bob Mailer has the exclusive.”

“I don't want to hear again from McArthur or Marcantonio, at least for today.”

“Well, it's your work my dear Clara. Anyways Jimmy has some photographs of Superwoman saving a damn cat on South Metropolis this morning. I'll leave it up to you to decide which picture you like best to go with Bob's article.”

“Okie dokie, Louis.”

“Another thing, Cat Grant is looking for you, she wants to congratulate you on Friday's article. There must have been a lot of politicians who called to complain, and people from Lockheed and Lord Industries as well. That delighted Perry and Cat. Congratulations Clara.”

“It's odd that Cat is pleased with my efforts,” Clara blushed and looked down.

“Nonsense, deep down she loves you. The few girls in the newsroom are on her team at the end of the day.”

“Oh, Louis, stop talking nonsense.”

“Well, I'm off, I have a meeting at the Arkham Alumni Club for Republican Party affiliates and I'm going to take the opportunity to find out what the political temperature is over there. Phone me there if there is anything important. One other thing Clara, Lex Luthor has called Perry personally. He wanted to know why the author of the article didn't contact anyone at TELCORP. He has offered to be interviewed. Clearly you should go yourself.”

“Jeepers! Yes of course, for sure,” Clara made a surprised and nervous expression.

Louis bid farewell and shut the door as he left, just as Jimmy Olsen was presenting the photographs to a bewildered and distracted Clara. He had managed to shake off the troubling thoughts he had about Superwoman and Clara, turning his focus to far more pressing concerns... What should he do about Clara? About Patricia? About his daughter? He was unmistakably in love and denying it to himself was futile. Louis was aware that Clara knew of his feelings, even though he hadn't expressed them aloud. He admitted to his own fear, choosing silence to avoid complicating matters further. In his mind, unspoken truths held less power, or at the very least, they seemed less real.

The affection he felt was unmistakably returned. Why else would Clara accompany him everywhere, share countless hours together, and show such affection towards his daughter? Despite his inability to confess his feelings, limiting himself to expressing how vital Clara was to him, she, during his solitary visit to her modest apartment, had taken him to her room and pointed out a photo of him on her bedside table, remarking, "Well, Louis, there you are, always by my side". Her kindness knew his circumstances. He aimed to maintain the dignity of a gentleman, keeping their relationship strictly platonic. Louis recognized she was allowing him both time space, yet he knew he owed her broader consideration. A conversation with Patricia was imperative. His marriage had ended, in truth, it was never genuine. He had married Patricia out of obligation, knowing the absence of love between them, prompted only by her pregnancy. His daughter was the brightest aspect of his life, her happiness his foremost concern. Perhaps a mutual arrangement with Patricia could be made, allowing both parents to remain actively involved in their daughter’s life. If a Catholic annulment was unattainable, a formal separation might suffice. Louis was firm on not pursuing a divorce, a stance Patricia shared. Yet, given her past indiscretions, she owed him. A decision was necessary.

He couldn't keep Clara waiting for him forever. It wasn't fair. And he dreamed that Clara would one day be his wife and that it wouldn't mean being in sin. He had to decide now if he wanted that to be possible and stop making her suffer. Louis decided to stop by St. Ignatius Church, next to his house, before going to the Arkham Alumni Club and chat with Father Morris again about Patricia and Clara.

Almost three years earlier, October 1945.

The elegant Hotel room was a hive of people, about a dozen. Perry Weiss' very recognizable figure with his Cuban cigar, always inseparable from his mouth, stood in the center.

“Well, the little man you all know who lives inside my chest and regulates my intuition tells me that we are about to achieve something historic for the press and especially for our newspaper. No applause nor thanks until it's done. Major Lane and our young recruit Miss Kent have a hard night ahead of them. Everyone else back to the paper and to your posts. We must launch a special edition, and we have to inform our partner newspapers with whom we are going to share the exclusive. So, everyone out and back to the paper except Miss Kent and Major Lane.”

Clara smiled proudly at Louis Lane, but he was staring nervously at Perry. The reporter tied his mustache and turned to Jimmy Olsen.

“Olsen, again, I only have five photos and I must be very careful with the flash. Is that correct?”

“Yes, Major Lane, please be careful, it's the best color camera on the paper. If we lose any equipment, I won't make it through the trial period.”

“Well Jimmy, I'll be careful, but if Superwoman breaks it, there's nothing I can do.”

Clara intervened.

“Major Lane, why would Superwoman do anything to the camera?”

“I don't know, maybe she won't be amused when we try to photograph her, or maybe she will react badly or accidentally show her powers and do something to the mechanism without meaning to.”

Clara sighed.

“As far as I know, the so-called Superwoman has always behaved correctly and kindly She has allowed herself to be photographed without any problems. I think we don't have to be afraid of the camera,” Clara winked at Jimmy who smiled at her.

“Miss Kent, Superwoman has not allowed to be interviewed for three weeks so far. We can't know how she's going to react.” Louis countered sharply.

“Major Lane, I'm more concerned that we are trying to record her. She was nice to agree to the interview. Tell her first that we are going to record her. Don't try to do it in secret. I'm sure with her skills she can figure it out.” Clara insisted.

“Even if you don't believe me, Miss Kent, it was she who offered to be interviewed.”

Meanwhile, the rest of the team was leaving the room. Perry approached Clara and Louis.

“Good luck Louis my boy and dearest Clara,” He gave them a pat on the back and a huge puff of Habano smoke in the face.

When everyone had left Louis turned to Clara.

“Well, Miss Kent, are you at ease?”

“Perfectly.”

“You were right in the end about the whole thing. Are you happy?”

Clara pouted in affirmation and turned away.

“Shall we go over what I must do, please?”

“Yes. When it's ten past nine I'll cross to the other room. I'll wait for her on the terrace. We won't go inside the room unless it rains. I will try to have a friendly informal conversation while keeping my distance. I will try to lead Superwoman to the corner of the terrace adjoining this room, so that you can record it. Just put the microphone on the window and cover it with the curtain. We have already verified that it records, even at low volume, the conversations on the neighboring terrace.”

“I insist, Major Lane, that we should inform her as soon as she appears that we want to record the interview. That we do so in order not to misquote her. Let it be up to her.”

The reporter looked at Clara Kent with suspicion, but then relaxed his expression.

“Ah, you are right, Miss Kent, absolutely right, if she has any way of finding out we are recording her, we will lose her forever and this interview will have been a failure.”

Louis looked in the mirror and adjusted his dark tie. He wore an elegant but austere suit, dark blue double-breasted jacket, white shirt, and a dark brown tie. That and a crutch. Louis looked at himself in the mirror again. He had barely been back in civilian life for four months and too many things had happened since the end of the war.

“Miss Kent, when did you say you left the front?”

“In December 1944, after we survived the torpedoing of the USS Shuster. I was given six months leave but then the Navy never called me back to rejoin as a nurse.”

“You've been away from the front for a year, and you were there for another three. More or less like me.”

“Yes, Major.”

“A lot of changes for you: city, job, the end of the war... And now this madness of a wonderful flying woman.”

“I don't see it as crazy Major, it's fantastic and incredible... But I don't know, it seems like good news. From the looks of it she's just trying to help.”

Louis gave her a sidelong glance.

“Don't be naive, Miss Kent. You've read the note from the White House and the United Nations. She is an alien. We don't even know if her beautiful appearance is real or some kind of disguise. She has tried to present herself as an American girl born in outer space who just wants to help others with her fantastic skills, her red cape, and her big smile. It's all too fantastic and nice. It's a children's fantasy, it looks like something out of a comic book. I'm somewhat suspicious.”

Clara Kent also approached the bedroom mirror. Louis looked at her discreetly. She was a tall woman, almost as tall as any man, and very pretty. Perhaps a little broad in the back and a little too buxom for his taste, a brunette with deep blue eyes. She would have attracted a lot of attention in the office if she hadn’t spoken with such a small-town accent and always looking down at the floor. She dressed like a schoolteacher with those suits buttoned all the way up, thick round glasses and that old-fashioned straight bun. Gregor Katz had defined her as "Ava Gardner and Gene Tierney merge with Alice B. Toklas, tough luck." Louis had chided Katz for the definition which seemed ungentlemanly, but deep down he had laughed.

“If she agrees to be recorded, I understand I can go to the terrace with you, is that right?”

“That’s correct, Miss Kent.”

Clara had barely been in the paper for a month and a half. She had appeared two days after the surrender of Japan. Louis had received her still in uniform and on crutches, having rejoined the paper in July. Clara was still wearing her Navy nurse's uniform. She was highly recommended by a couple of small newspapers in California and Kansas that were associated with the Daily Planet, reproduced its major articles and distributed its publishing group's magazines. Clara Kent was an assistant elementary teacher before the war and then had been a nurse in the Pacific. However, during the war she had sent in two dozen articles about the concerns and thoughts of the wounded, the doctors and nurses, and their determination to win the war. Clara’s articles had been well liked. They were very well written. Perry had loved them "this girl has talent, she understands and likes people, she knows how to describe environments and sensations very well, she is sensitive but not corny at all, she can complement you in local and national reporting". Louis had been more skeptical at first. It was true that she wrote quite well, but too feminine for his taste, and he didn't see what she could bring to him. For the moment except for the Superwoman issue, he found her a bit naive and lacking in intuition. On the other hand, she was an excellent typist and translator. She translated articles from French, German or Spanish with astonishing ease and could type a page in less time than anyone else. Clara was very bad with authority and although she was gaining the esteem of the editorial staff, with Louis she brought out too much character. If he wasn't so tired and the girl wasn't really that useful to him, he would have recommended to Perry that Kent should be fired at the end of the probationary period.

But with Superwoman she had earned a place on the Daily Planet forever. Since the beginning of September there were strange rumors among the Metropolis police of a mysterious woman dressed in an aviator jacket and flying goggles who rescued people and captured thieves and criminals, and then disappeared. Lane, like everyone else in the newsroom took no notice, just some delusional rumor brought on by the end of the war. Kent had taken it seriously and had managed to interview some children, one of them rescued from falling into the void by the mysterious woman. Clara also leaked police testimonies acknowledging that they had found thieves and other criminals tied up for arrest and with their guns broken or bent by an incredible force. She wrote a couple of articles. Louis turned them down "It's end of war madness, people are exhausted and ecstatic. They are pulling your leg Miss Kent. They don't even know what they are seeing at best". So it went until the evening of October 1, when Louis was testing with reporters the new helium mini-dirigibles built by TELCORP. The mini dirigible hit the Chrysler Building and tilted too far. He fell but barely managed to grab hold of one of the outer bars. Louis could only hang on for a couple of minutes before plunging into the void. He had only just managed to pray the first few lines of the Lord's Prayer when he felt himself gently in the arms of a sort of angel with wavy black hair and blue eyes "I've got you, don't worry sir, you're safe" said a sweet but authoritative female voice. When Louis turned around, he saw that they were flying... "What the hell is going on, who's holding you?" "Please calm down sir, I'm grounding you now. Everything is under control."

By the next morning everyone knew how a mysterious and beautiful woman in red cape and blue tights, with a strange red and yellow stylized "S" symbol on her chest, had performed rescues and arrested criminals all over Metropolis, and even all over the world. Louis' own testimony about how he had been rescued went relatively unnoticed. Clara Kent appeared mid-morning with a series of interviews with witnesses and impressions of shocked Metropolis residents that ran in the afternoon edition. The Daily Planet baptized the woman as "Caped Wonder", the Herald Tribune as "Wonder Woman" and the Post as "Flying Beauty" but soon the name "Superwoman" was imposed. And so, to that day, not to mention the strange and brief encounter Louis had with Superwoman on the Planet's rooftop where the flying woman had asked him if it was true that he was the best interviewer on the East Coast. Clara Kent had the two articles she had written about the performances of the mystery aviator-clad woman published in the Sunday magazine with this entry written by Louis "Weeks before Superwoman's appearance, the heroine apparently made several rescues and arrests of criminals undercover dressed as a pilot. A young contributor to the Daily Planet, Clara Kent, tracked her down. The paper's editorial staff did not publish these articles believing them to be some sort of contagious craze. Today, as the unthinkable has become reality, we acknowledge our mistake and publish them as the testimony of extraordinary interest that they are."

“I'm going outside Clara, turn on the wire recorder please, be ready to go out if she accepts to be recorded.”

Clara nodded with a half-smile. Louis crossed into the other room, poured himself a glass of cold water, lit a pipe and went out onto the terrace. It was a little chilly, but the sky was clear. Louis set up a table, sat in a chair outside and began to draw spirals in the notebook, something he did whenever he was restless. Then he wrote down the date, October 21, 1945. Behind him he noticed a slight breeze and a soft noise, like a blowing or a curtain being torn. Louis turned around.

“Good evening, Mr. Lane.” Louis was overwhelmed by an aristocratic female voice.

Louis concentrated on looking at her coolly. She was looking down at him from above with a kind but regal expression. Her blue eyes were beautiful. The bright long red cape floated behind her. She was wearing some sort of one-piece tights that covered her entire body from heel to neck. Those tights were red from toe to knee, then blue down to stylized red briefs that had produced scandalous comments, and again blue all over her body except for a red and gold crest containing a stylized "S" symbol that was what had originated her being called "Superwoman". She was a tall and voluptuous woman, very muscular, but without being unpleasant. The tights-whose texture was strange, between metallic and leathered-were very thin and highlighted all the shapes of her body. "That thing she's wearing is absolutely scandalous and improper. Actually, it’s worse than a swimsuit" thought Louis trying to hide from himself the impression the woman had made on him.

“Mrs. Superwoman, good evening, and thank you very much for coming.”

She stood levitating. Her feet were at the same height as Louis' face, who had propped himself up, puffing on his pipe like smoke from a liner's chimney.

“Excuse me, Mr. Lane, I beg you not to smoke while I am with you. I resent smoking. It is a very unhealthy habit, and I don't think it will do you any good. I hope you don't mind my request.”

Louis felt that request was invasive, but he smiled at the superheroine and took off his pipe.

“Of course, it doesn't bother me. We smokers, because there are so many of us, sometimes transgress essential rules of politeness. I apologize.”

Superwoman landed softly and took a little walk on the terrace.

“It's a very nice place Mr. Lane You have had a very good taste in choosing it for this interview, it is also quite intimate.”

The tone of voice was kind but also aristocratic and distant. Louis felt dwarfed by her, he decided to regain his poise by being somewhat impolite and indifferent.

“I'm just going to drink water; I don't know if you want anything special...”

“I don't need anything, thank you very much Mr. Lane.”

Louis remembered the existence of Clara, crouched with the wire recorder in the other room. He was about to open his mouth when the superheroine, without losing an ounce of friendliness, turned around with a somewhat questioning smile and said to him.

“Mr. Lane, I can see there is a woman in the other room with a wire recorder.”

“Yes, madam, I was going to explain it to you now. Given the sensitivity of the interview we don't want to misquote you, not even a comma. If you say six words, they will be analyzed in detail including the order in which you pronounce them. My assistant is ready to record if you allow us to do so.”

"I'd rather not, Mr. Lane, let's have an informal conversation. I don't want a press conference or to be taped. I have every confidence in your journalistic skills and that I will not be misquoted. If so, I will ask to exercise my right of reply. Please, if you don't mind, ask your assistant to leave," the superheroine said politely, but it sounded like an order to Louis.

“Of course, if you'll excuse me.”

Louis entered the room, poured himself another glass of water and crossed to the next room. There in the corner under the window and covered by the curtain was Clara Kent, fumbling with the tape recorder and trying to adjust her glasses.

“I have not been able to turn it on Major Lane, excuse me. On the other hand, I believe she has asked me to leave.”

“Yes, that's right, Miss Kent.”

“You could have asked her to let me assist as a stenographer to take notes.”

“I don't think she wants more than one person at the interview. I'll help you pack up and walk you out. Can you look out and see if she's still on the terrace?”

“I can't see the terrace in the other room from this window. But I have seen her flying in.”

“I hope she doesn't leave… Anyways, bring that thing, I'll help you.”

Louis and Clara dismantled the wire recorder. Clara packed her bag and put a copy of the book "Wuthering Heights" in it. They hurried out of the room. Louis escorted Clara to the elevator.

“Go to the newsroom and prepare me a not-too-emphatic summary of everything Superwoman has done abroad these past two weeks. About a thousand words. I'll come as soon as I finish the interview.”

“Major Lane, I need to stop by my house, please. I just adopted a puppy and he's lonely, I must feed him dinner. Let me come to my house first. I'll be in the newsroom in an hour.”

“Well, whatever you want.”

Louis came striding back into the room and out onto the terrace. There she was, Superwoman, leaning elegantly on the terrace, railing wrapped in her red cape.

“I hope your assistant is not upset with me, but I prefer a more informal and briefer interview.”

“Don't worry, there is no problem. I understand that you are very busy.”

Louis sat down and pulled out the notebook.

“I don't want to waste your time, let's try to deal with some essential issues. The note from the White House and the United Nations reported that you are an alien from the planet Krypton. A refugee on Earth since almost birth and educated in the United States.”

“That is correct, Mr. Lane.”

“You grew up in an American home.”

“In an American family that gave me love and values. My values are theirs: love, freedom, justice, truth, and democracy. What the American Way should be.”

“Do you understand that it is strange for millions of people to see a flying alien identify herself as an all-American girl?”

For the first time Louis saw the superheroine somewhat uncomfortable or uneasy and smiled to himself.

“I am as American as you are, Mr. Lane. I am no different from any American citizen who loves his country but was born abroad. But I’m also Kryptonian.”

“May I ask you a question that may seem strange to you?”

“Of course.”

“Is this your true form?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Well, you're almost identical to any woman, any human being...I don't know if you've read Lovecraft or H.G. Wells but most of the public believed that aliens were terrible octopuses or lizards, not a fully human-looking lady.”

The superheroine tried to stifle a laugh and gave Louis a knowing look, which threw him off.

“Mr. Lane, this is the only appearance I have, I'm not a space octopus in disguise, you can rest assured. I imagine my parents sent me to this planet precisely because in Krypton we were identical to you. Perhaps we have the same creator. Perhaps the number of designs that all creatures in the universe have is limited.”

Louis smiled at her.

“What do you know about your planet?”

“There are many things I don't know, and others that are private. It was a planet that had been in decay for a long time, heading to extinction, and finally imploded. Before its core collapsed my biological parents sent me to Earth to save my life and save something from their culture.”

“Where was it?”

Superwoman approached him and held out her hand with a graceful gesture. Louis took it and stood up. She led him to the edge of the terrace and directed his hand pointing to Orion's belt.

“Do you like astronomy?” Superwoman asked tenderly.

“Not too much, but I know the skies, I often sail.”

“Do you see the Orion belt? Above the third star, somewhat above it, until 1893 or 1894 you could sometimes see, with a very good telescope, the faint glow of my planet. Although it was not really a planet but a very large moon, although smaller than the Earth. It is a very small galaxy. “

Superwoman smiled wistfully at Louis and let go of his hand.

Louis sat down again.

“The big question on everyone's mind is why have you appeared now? Where were you during the war? The world has been traumatized by the greatest calamities ever seen... Hundreds of thousands of our boys killed at the front, millions of Jews in the gas chambers, millions of Chinese killed, some by Japanese bacteriological weapons, even thousands upon thousands of Japanese and German civilians disintegrated by our own bombs...”

The question was direct and startled Superwoman. For the first time she let a pained and melancholy expression creep in and lowered her gaze. There was something familiar about her expression, Louis thought.

“Are you familiar with the parable of the talents, Mr. Lane?”

“Yes, I know about it.”

“I felt that way, Mr. Lane. That everything was my fault. I have not accounted for my...well...extraordinary abilities. I was terrified of the…powers I possessed; many I did not know. For most of the war I thought that if I used my abilities, I would cause far more harm than good, that I would destroy millions of lives. I was not in control of my powers. By the end of the war, I was too distraught, but I found a way to get some information, some knowledge of myself. How to use my powers. It was too late for many. I have seen the pictures of Auschwitz, Hiroshima, other cities and places…so many homeless children... I don't want anything like that to happen again.”

“Would you then participate in a new war if there were one?”

Louis could see a glint in Superwoman's eye, she was perhaps holding back tears.

“Not as a fighter. With my skills I could wipe out an army and raze a city to the ground in minutes. I'd rather die than do something like that. I could disarm our attackers and protect civilians.”

“It would be enough to tip the balance of a war. What are you going to do?”

“I will propose to the President as a personal initiative that I be allowed in case of attacks on any civilian anywhere in the world, to disarm the attackers and keep them away from the civilians, while I bring the latter to safety. Perhaps it will be accepted by the United Nations.”

“I understand. Aren't you concerned about the consequences of your actions in politics?”

“I don't want to get involved in politics. I will not reveal my political positions...or my religious feelings to you or anyone else.”

“There are people who are afraid of what you might do with all your superpowers.”

“I will obey all American laws, I will not interfere in politics and I will always submit to the United Nations. I only want to help people with my skills, prevent crimes and catastrophes.”

Superwoman seemed to have regained her poise and was once again speaking in a confident, sweet voice. Louis nodded.

“Let's get back to the subject of your skills. What are they? What is their origin? In your world did everyone have them?”

“As you know I can fly, it took me a long time to learn how to do it well. Probably my favorite skill. I can also, well...go to places fast. I can be very fast.”

“How fast?”

“I was able to fly around the world in fifteen minutes. But it was very hard and almost unbearable for me.”

“You also have extraordinary strength and well, human weapons can't hurt you.”

“I can lift, as far as I have been able to ascertain with a ship, up to fifty thousand tons without much effort. I don't know the limits of my strength, Mr. Lane. But I have spent a lifetime learning to control and conceal it. As for weapons, my tissues must probably require an attack with a speed and hardness that human weapons do not yet know... But I am perfectly mortal, and I age normally, at least in the years of my life.”

“I've never asked a woman her age before, and you won't be the first one I've asked.”

Superwoman laughed at the journalist's witticism, and the journalist insisted.

“What other powers do you have?”

“I can see through walls and bodies. And I can also hear things at a great distance.”

“Really?”

“I could hear you arguing with your assistant about whether or not to record me without my consent, and then I could see her through the walls as she was unable to start the wire recorder. I can also see the scars, I imagine battle scars, that you have on your chest and hips, and that your lungs would truly appreciate it if you would stop smoking, Mr. Lane.”

Louis blushed with embarrassment and tried to hide it with a half-smile. Superwoman smiled at him complicitly and took the glass of water from Louis. She blew on it gently and froze it, the water turned to ice and the glass frosted. Louis pressed his lips together feigning a lack of surprise. Then Superwoman's eyes lit up as if covered by a strange whitish light and the ice began to melt, until the water in the glass was boiling. Superwoman turned to Louis and then carefully blew again into the glass, which was again filled with cold water.

“Believe it or not, this kind of heat vision I have, and the cooling breath, has helped a lot of people," said Superwoman, returning to an authoritative tone.

Louis felt like a child who had just had a magic trick performed on him and cleared his throat.

“And what is the origin of these powers? Do you get them from your suit?”

“I don't know Mr. Lane, if I knew in detail its origin, I wouldn't tell anyone either. On Krypton no one had abilities...let's say extraordinary, like these. I probably acquired them on my journey to Earth due to some kind of radiation, or by the adaptation of my body to this planet.”

“What about your suit... your cape? You were the one who was secretly acting in an aviator costume a few weeks ago?”

“Oh yes, of course it was me. This costume is a ceremonial costume from my planet. It is very useful to me because it is extraordinarily strong,” Superwoman turned on herself and spread her cape like a model, “The cape is quite useful. Human clothing would disintegrate if I flew or acted in it constantly. Plus, it's a way to well, reacquaint myself with my Kryptonian heritage. It's recognizable by people and they'll know who I am and that I'm coming to their aid. It's like a police or nurse's uniform.”

“And that "S"?”

Superwoman traced with her finger the outlines of the red S on a golden crest shining on her chest. Proudly she replied:

“It's not an "S" Mr. Lane. And it certainly doesn't stand for "Superwoman." It's a Kryptonian ideogram. My family symbol, and my name. It means "hope."”

“You carry hope on your heart, it's poetic," Louis could not help but express a certain cynicism.

“Believe it or not, it is the most important value, after love and kindness. I am very proud that it is the emblem of my family and that it is my name.”

“Your name is "Hope"?”

“It's not my Earth name that I live by every day, but it's my Kryptonian name... I didn't discover it long ago.”

“What is it?" Louis asked gravely.

“Kala.”

“That's your name.”

“Yes, my Kryptonian name.”

“Can that be published?”

“Yes, Mr. Lane.”

“You don't like to be called Superwoman.”

“No, I'm not excited about it... But I think it will be hard for the public to forget it.”

“Mrs. Kala, do you have a title or patronymic?”

“No,” Superwoman laughed coquettishly, “I am not Princess Kala. My Kryptonian name is Kala-El.”

“Mrs. El then.”

“You can call me Kala.”

“Do you live in Metropolis?”

“I'm not going to tell you, Mr. Lane," Superwoman answered steadily.

The Superheroine paced around the terrace. Louis struggled not to gawk at her. Occasionally she would give him discreet glances that shocked or disturbed him.

“You spend a lot of time here, that's a fact.” Louis insisted.

“It's the largest city in America, the second most dangerous after Gotham, it's where the UN is…Moreover, is a gateway to the Atlantic, as well as to Europe and Africa. It's a good base of operations, but I could very well live and work hundreds of miles away.”

“I'm sorry we're giving you so much work in this city.”

“Don't worry, I do my bit as much as anyone else.”

“Not like anyone else...”

Louis was taking notes in his notebook and inadvertently resumed smoking from the Pipe. Superwoman stood behind Louis and gently took the pipe from his mouth.

“I have asked you not to smoke, Mr. Lane.”

Louis' heart was pounding at full speed. He turned to apologize but was met with an amused look from Superwoman.

“Mr. Lane, I will have to leave very soon... If you would like to ask me a few last questions.”

“Of course... How do you live normally? What is your daily life like? Do you live among us?”

Superwoman again approached the railing and looked to the horizon.

“As I told you, I'm just an American girl born abroad who wants to help. I live like an ordinary woman. I have my family, my friends, my job. Nothing that can be revealed. I wish to keep my life as it is. I have the right to live like someone else and to be happy. I can't be Superwoman twenty-four hours a day. I must pay the rent and go to the Grocery. And it makes me happy to have to do that. I wouldn't want to lose it in any way.”

“And no one realizes? No one realizes that you...well... That you're really you?”

“No, Mr. Lane, a couple of people know and no one else. I have my tricks.”

“I have no doubt. Can I photograph you?”

“Of course.”

Louis went to get the camera and came back. Superwoman was levitating above him a few feet. He took several pictures of her. Then she landed on the terrace and put her hands on her hips. Louis took another couple of pictures of her. He had no film left.

“What do you want from humanity? What do you expect from us?”

“I consider myself to be part of humanity, so I do not expect anything special, nor do I feel that anyone owes me anything. I would like, after what we have seen in the last few years, that we all work to put love, hope, respect, empathy, and truth at the center of our lives. I think most people do that, anyway.”

“Mrs. El, please don't speak lightly. Are you not aware of the enormous disruption that your presence and your powers are causing? The paradigm shift? The doubt, the fear it creates?”

Superwoman made a somewhat melancholy gesture of doubt that seemed strangely familiar to Louis.

“I have lived my whole life knowing and suffering that I am... quite different. That I am totally different. But I only want to be a good citizen...a good woman...to help others as far as my abilities and the laws I must obey will allow. I would like you all to give me a vote of confidence. I understand that my abilities are shocking… They have been shocking to me for a long time. Now I have hope and confidence that I can do something useful with my abilities by using them to serve others.”

“What if you turn out to be our enemy? What shall we do?”

“I’ll never be the enemy of anyone.”

“You don't have to worry about people's trust, almost everyone is ecstatic about you.”

“I hope they’ll give me a chance… And you?”

Louis was startled by the question and tried to smile at Superwoman, who had her back on him. A breeze had picked up and the long, bright red cape floated gently in front of him. “Mrs. El, like everyone else, I want to trust you. And I thank you for saving my life and for saving so many lives every day. I just feel, like millions of people, overwhelmed by something that is beyond us and seems like a fairy tale…”

“You have no idea, Mr. Lane, what an unsophisticated, small-town woman I am. Right now, I'm saving up to go to Radio City to meet James Stewart and get his autograph. Please do not publish that last thing.”

Superwoman turned with a rapturous look from those deep blue eyes that made Louis' legs tremble. Damn, what a woman, she's a born manipulator.

“Can you read minds Mrs. El?”

“Not by a long shot, I'm afraid telepathy has been denied me. In fact, I'm very bad at understanding people's true intentions and feelings. I am very outspoken and come from a very outspoken family.”

“Your human adoptive family, I understand.”

“Yes.”

“Then you lack psychic abilities.”

“Yes, Mr. Lane, I lack them completely.”

“I see.”

“If I had telepathy, I could know what you're thinking about me right now, which I won't deny I'm curious about.”

“Why did you choose me to interview you, Mrs. El?”

“I read you in your newspaper and listened to you on the radio, and most of all, I was surprised to see you fall out of a zeppelin. Yours was the first name that came to my mind.”

“If you want to know what I think, it's very simple, I think you go beyond what the human mind can understand and accept without resorting to the hand of God, and I think you seem to be on our side.”

“Thank you, Mr. Lane.”

“Thank you very much for this interview, Mrs. El. I hope it will soothe many spirits.”

“Has it calmed yours?”

“I still have to reflect on everything we have discussed.”

Superwoman approached Louis and stood just inches from his face. Louis felt a vague fear and stood up straight. “Mr. Lane...I may have been a little blunt in my conversation. The other day you also had a bad experience falling from so high and I think you must have a bad memory of our flight... Would you like to fly with me for a few minutes? To fly on my arm, so that you can see what a wonderful feeling it is and that you have talked to a lady?”

Louis was completely taken aback by the offer. It seemed absolutely improper. No matter how hard he searched his mind for several seconds he couldn't find a good reason. He wanted to say "No" but instead bowed and said: “It will be a pleasure.”

Superwoman slipped her arm behind his back and with a smile said. “Hold on tight, we're going to take off gently.”

Slowly they began to levitate, and Louis saw the Hotel under their feet. Superwoman gently leaned down and the two of them were lying horizontally in the air. Then Superwoman brought her other arm forward and began to propel herself gently over the buildings. They were flying very slowly. Although it was cold, the sensation was strangely pleasant. Louis couldn't believe it. He felt strangely embarrassed, and his thoughts ended up turning to his wife and daughter.

“Are you freezing, Mr. Lane?" asked the Superheroine.

“Just a little.”

“Stand under my cape," Superwoman wrapped him as they flew in her red cape that emitted a strange warmth.

By then they must have been more than three thousand feet above sea level. Below them they could see all of Metropolis, the dark sea and the lights of the liners and freighters.

“It's a very beautiful view, Mrs. El.”

“I will never get used to how absolutely wonderful flying is, Mr. Lane.”

They began a gentle descent and returned to a vertical position. The Superheroine's face was again just inches away from Louis'. She smiled but he looked down. They landed slowly on the terrace as her cape floated down, enveloping them.

“Well, you have seen that it is pleasant to fly, haven't you?”

“It is.”

“Thank you for the interview, Mr. Lane. I think there are a lot of people with a lot of questions. I hope to reassure them. I'm just an American girl who wants to help.”

“And who can fly.”

“And who can fly," repeated Superwoman.

The Superheroine extended her hand toward Louis with a remarkably elegant and old-fashioned gesture.

Louis leaned over and kissed her hand.

“Good evening, Mrs. El of Krypton.”

“Good evening, Mr. Lane of Metropolis.”

Chapter Text

Somewhere in Vermont, September 1948

Lex Luthor got out of the car, a black Studebaker, under the watchful eye of his chauffeur and bodyguard, and walked along the roadside. The forest almost closed over his head. The sun was shining brightly, yet it barely filtered through the branches. He walked briskly towards a clearing where a stream sounded and there was a wooden bridge. The summer had been very difficult for Luthor. The work with the Kryptonian pathogen had not ceased and was extremely complicated. Several scientists had died, as well as several people used as guinea pigs. The work with ICARUS continued, but the Kryptonian's corpse did not reveal all its secrets for the time being. Only a few months had passed. On the Island of Death, or whatever they called it in the Aleutians, they had drained the lake and were about to start digging up the capsule that emitted the strange signal. Twelve thousand years buried. All the last months of work of all the teams of the Rand Corporation were in his hands, and the most important of that work was to be found on six microfilms hidden in six fountain pens he carried in his jacket.

The summer was ending, the election campaign was in full swing. Luthor had obtained authorization to move ICARUS' body from Area 51 to an island in Metropolis Bay owned by TELCORP where a group of scientists were working with him. He had thus removed the dead alien away from the Pathogen. Maxwell Lord was still obsessed with the Pathogen but had suddenly regained interest in the capsule buried in the Aleutians and in alien technology. The Area 51 team seemed to have discovered some very interesting things in extraterrestrial technology concerning wiring and chips.

Luthor sighed and stubbed out a cigarette over the bridge railing. A young bald, well-dressed, priest-like little man emerged from the trees and approached Luthor.

“How are you, Colonel Luthor?”

“Colonel?" Luthor's expression was one of surprise, but he quickly understood.

“Congratulations on your new rank, Comrade Stalin is grateful for your services. The Russian atomic bomb and our extensive knowledge of extraterrestrial life would not be possible without you. I have nothing to give you, just shake your hand.”

The little man smiled. Luthor knew his name was Karla and that he lived in San Francisco, but he treated him as Tony. Luthor smiled and shook the other man's proffered hand.

“So Luthor, what do you have for us?”

“A collection of fountain pens,” Luthor took them one by one out of his jacket and held them out to Karla.

The little man smiled, “This is very generous from your side.”

“The last three months have been full of effort and hard work.”

“Won't the political change affect you?”

“No, I have subordinated myself completely to Maxwell Lord and I am his strongest supporter in the Rand Corporation, and to General Hardy. They now believe they are in charge, giving orders and counter-orders. I have gotten them to agree to move the Kryptonian's body away from the Pathogen and it is now on an island in Metropolis Bay. Research on alien technology and the Pathogen remains inconclusive. Perhaps your scientists can advance faster than ours.”

“Don't be confused Mr. Luthor, your scientists are not really “your” scientists, and mine are your comrades.”

“It's clear to me.”

“It's normal. Sometimes in these situations you get confused about what role you are playing, right?”

“I am very clear about which side I am on.”

“Don't worry.”

The little man smiled at Luthor with beatitude and understanding.

Luthor was besieged by the cynicism and suspicion of the Soviet agent. His political evolution had been anything but linear. Personally, he had always been upright—free of religious concerns, committed to progress, equality, and individual freedom. He believed in the scientific method. He had once believed in capitalism. In the early 1920s, as a staunch conservative, he began working with Nikola Tesla, and together they founded TELCORP, pioneering breakthroughs in broadcasting, aviation, electricity generation, and computing. But the Great Depression shattered his convictions. The orderly, conservative world he had trusted collapsed into corruption and poverty. Though still wary of communists and revolution, he found himself drawn to the Nazis and Italian Fascists, believing they could restore Europe's strength, curb American excesses, and halt the French and British exploitation of Africa and Asia. Yet his admiration was short-lived—he soon saw them for what they were: racist, violent, delusional, and reactionary.

Without quite knowing why Luthor began to study Marxist theory, he sympathized with them, they were historicists like him. Marxists believed strongly in the study of history to understand present and future processes, and in the progress of man. The brutalities of Stalin's regime were only an anecdote explained by history, perhaps a necessary evil. He began to correspond with university professors. Luthor was enthusiastic about the idea that conflict was the engine of progress.

When the Nazis launched their assault on the USSR, he experienced an unexpected fervor and took it upon himself to covertly deliver to the Soviet embassy confidential designs for computer systems being developed for the US military, along with a blueprint for enhancing clandestine radio communications. The Soviets, wary of his motives, instructed Luthor to keep his distance. They must have been watching him closely, as shortly after the attack on Pearl Harbor, Karla, the little man, enlisted him. He became the foremost industrial tycoon in America to align with the Soviet cause. Luthor quickly learned the value of decisiveness, finding solace in his partnership with the Soviets. His unparalleled intellect and capabilities were dedicated to the advancement of science, and socialism—or at least a socialist dominance—as the only future that could be a viable path for mankind and that could restrain the ambitions of the USA and old Europe. He was the rallying point, a bridge man, a demiurge confronting the pettiness of imperialism and capitalism while playing the role of the best man in American capitalism. His ego swelled with pride.

But that damn flying woman…Superwoman, meant a setback for Humanity. A terrifying and uncontrollable inhuman force, but that under the mask of kindness would subdue all mankind... And would also make the USA believe that it had the strategic advantage of a super-powerful woman, pushing the military conflict with the USSR. The impending threat of World War III loomed, orchestrated by an enchanting alien. This was intolerable. She had to be neutralized.

The little man sparked a cigar, “You would do well to have a more political profile in the months ahead, Mr. Luthor.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Be a hawk, you must be the most hawkish and the most anti-communist in the Rand Corporation. You must pressure the new government to use any scientific discoveries against us. If you succeed, we may be able to bomb Area 51 and the Death Island eliminating any dangerous alien remnants.”

“Have you made any progress with the small sample of the Pathogen I gave you last time?”

“I am not authorized to tell you. It is up to you to make as much progress as you can on your side. The only thing I can tell you is that we staged a nuclear accident to lure her into a trap… and it seems she can withstand the heat of the bomb.”

Luthor stared into infinity. He wasn't used to truly obeying anyone's orders, but the Soviets were the only ones he could trust to take down Superwoman and stop World War III. He had already gone too far. He himself had killed Nikola Tesla in late 1944. Tesla was mentor, his teacher, the man who made him rich... He had smothered him with a pillow in the hospital because he had discovered that Luthor was passing Manhattan Project information to the Soviets. He had done it with tears in his eyes, but he had done it, and he would do it again.

“How are your wife and daughter?” the little man asked.

Luthor's heart skipped a beat. He hated it when the Soviets referred to them. They were his weakness, what he loved most, what he could never sacrifice unless he then assumed his own death.

“They are very fine, thank you very much.”

“They are in the press a lot," the little man laughed, "It's good, it helps us a lot. No spy has such a famous and nice family. Do you think they would adapt to the Soviet Union?”

Luthor thought of his wife Aline, busy at the Tesla Foundation, the leading philanthropic organization in the USA. He thought of his daughter Leda with his little grandson. Leda was a lover of art, photography, fashion...always on the cover of magazines. No, they would not adapt to the USSR.

“What worries me, Tony, is what's in the capsule, in the Aleutians.” Luthor changed the subject

Karla handed him a lighter and made him put it in his jacket.

“These are the codes for when they open the capsule. If there is anything of concern you will know, contact me by phone in San Francisco and repeat those codes. In two hours, there will be a nuclear bombardment on the Death Island. Comrade Stalin will tell the world that we had to do it because the United States of America was playing with forces that could cause the death of millions of people, and that we don't want any war nor disturb American civilians. We will get you out of America in 48 hours and you will go to Leningrad as our greatest scientist.”

Luthor looked at Karla/Tony with distrust. He would never accept an extraction; it would be a noose around his neck. The Soviets would never trust him, and he would fall into any purge. If discovered, he would take his own life. He would leave a detailed written explanation for his family and History itself to absolve him.

“And think about how to use ICARUS and the Pathogen against Superwoman as soon as possible. I have been told that Comrade Stalin is very uneasy about her. Believe me, Comrade Stalin is in more of a hurry to take down that alien than your Rand Corporation comrades, who I see as somewhat confused and greedy, Colonel Luthor.”

The little young man smiled and plunged back into the forest.

Metropolis, Harry's bar

Clara Kent looked at Louis Lane with some concern as he sipped his whiskey. She adjusted her glasses and faintly smiled.

“So, Saturday we go to the movies?”, Clara asked tenderly.

“Yes, but to see Tom&Jerry or Donald Duck. I’m afraid we can't take Emily to see McBeth," they both smiled.

“I can't wait to go see Hitchcock's "Rope" with Jimmy Stewart.”

“That's one thing you have in common with Superwoman, James Stewart.” Louis said humorously.

Something else I have, my dear…

“How do you know?”

“She told me when I interviewed her.”

“It's nothing unusual; everyone loves James Stewart.”

“I think he's a great actor too...along with Laurence Olivier.”

“I'm disturbed by Laurence Olivier Louis, he reminds me so much of you physically, he's like an even more snobbish version of yourself.”

Louis laughed and then looked down at the table, suddenly pulling himself upright and putting on a holier-than-thou expression as he threw his shoulders back, something Clara had learned to identify as a sign of nervousness in him.

“As soon as the elections are over, we should talk, Clara.”

Clara was startled and blushed a little. “We should talk?”

“Yes, we should talk about our friendship, our career... you have been working with me for three years at the newspaper. We could go away for two or three days. Nantucket, Innsmouth or some discreet little town. Walk, talk, make decisions.”

Speak clearly, please, silly man, Clara thought.

“Are you going to quit the paper if Dewey wins the election, Louis?”

“No, I don't think so, I just want to talk to you calmly, with time. Just you and me.”

Clara's heart was racing, Finally, finally it can't be true.

“I would love to, Louis.”

“Two rooms, some books, a lot of walking.”

“You're putting too much emphasis on walking, if you want, we can take a walk from Battery Park to Riverdale today.”

Louis laughed, and grabbed Clara's hand, squeezed it tightly. “There are many things I want to tell you, perhaps I should have said them before. My situation needs to be clarified. And you are a woman with great potential, you are a much better reporter and writer than me.”

Don't beat around the bush, Louis.

“I think the same thing... About the fact that we must talk about many things... I don't agree with the other thing you said.” Clara's voice became graver.

“Oh Clara, you're always competitive and stubborn, and you didn't like me as a columnist. Don't play docile now.”

Clara ignored the joke. Louis had proposed a trip together for two months from now, just the two of them alone. At last everything could start to become clear, maybe at last she could tell Louis the whole truth about her. She felt anxious.

“Louis, why two months from now and not now? I would "walk and talk" with you for as long as it takes today.”

“I have a few things to do first, and I can't get too distracted by the election campaign. I'm sorry. It's just that I need to go without any burden on my back to "walk and talk".”

One more euphemism in their relationship full of shadows, lies and misunderstandings, "walk and talk". Playing the cat and mouse. But who was the mouse and who was the cat? Was Louis really going to separate from his wife Patricia? Clara thought back over the past three months as Louis rambled on about polls and the chances of Dewey's victory over Truman. Since Superwoman had been busier than ever, she spent half the day with her red cape unfurled, barely getting one hour of sleep. Still, it had been a very happy and hopeful few months. People were very appreciative and Superwoman felt so much affection whenever she helped someone, whether it was the victims of a typhoon in the Philippines or a robbery in Dallas. With Louis it seemed that things were moving forward, even if it was so slowly. She had spent a hot summer in the city with Jimmy and Lucy, and the three of them had often escaped to the beach. She had seriously thought about confessing at last to the two photographers that she was Superwoman but at the last moment she had backed out.

“The Superwoman issue has inexplicably faded from the campaign,” Louis complained.

“Truman and Dewey agree that Congress should put limits on her, but then you talk to Congressmen and Senators and none of them know what limits. Superwoman already complies with UN protocols,” Clara smiled, thinking that the criticisms of Superwoman from few months ago had begun to fade from public memory.

“It's anti-communism... I'm anti-communist as the most, but the temperature rises with that damn Berlin blockade. That's to be expected. Superwoman is apparently on our side.”

Clara thought about the Berlin blockade. She had flown containers and containers of medicine and supplies into the blockaded city throughout the summer and continued to do so. She hadn't meant to, but the pressures on her from the army and politicians had stopped after that. She didn't know whether to be annoyed or relieved. Only Luthor was still a problem.

“Out of curiosity Louis, how many times has Superwoman saved your life?”

Louis was startled by the question and his expression turned icy.

“Two, in my fall from the airship, and in Greece from the guerrilla. But I don't think my life was in danger in Greece.”

Clara put on a funny look at Louis' lie. She had saved his life six times already: from his fall of the airship, from John Corben who wanted to assassinate him, twice from Zod and Faora who threw him through the air, from Metallo and Luthor's henchmen, from the guerrilla war in Greece...

“Twice is enough Louis, she must be worried about you.”

“I trust she is not very clear about who I am and what my name is.”

Oh, she knows who you are, I'm afraid it's quite clear for her, Clara thought. She looked around, Harry's Bar was a sleek, modern bar full of famous people, she felt a little out of place.

“Clara, what are you going to do about Luthor and the Rand Corporation issue?”

“I’m somewhat blocked.”

“Don't get obsessed with it, keep an eye on it, but don't look for the sake of looking.”

“I'm not looking for the sake of looking, I think Luthor and Lord have cowed everyone, and no one wants to talk. And there seems to be a fairly bipartisan consensus that everything the Rand Corporation does is wonderful science and progress.”

“Did you get the interview with Luthor?”

“I don't understand anything. He calls me for interviews and then cancels them. He has invited me to a bipartisan Tesla Foundation fundraiser.”

“That's because he doesn't want to talk too much and he wants you to see how good he is. Obviously you should go.”

“Of course I'm going. I'll have to rent a new dress and a pearl necklace but I'm going to stand up at that party and I'm going to stay until Luthor speaks to me.”

“That's right. Don't let the prey escape.” Louis winked at her.

“Louis, you used to like Lex Luthor... When did you change your mind?” Clara asked, trying to sound naïve.

“I don't know, he started to seem megalomaniacal and dark to me. It's an intuition. I honestly believe that he is a shady person.”

Another lie, Louis, another shadow play. Clara knew perfectly well that Louis' opinion had changed as soon as Luthor kidnapped him to lure Superwoman to fight Metallo. Luthor...Clara was locked in with him and the Rand Corporation. Clara had run into a wall of silence in her investigation as a journalist. She had flown to Area 51 as Superwoman, but it was hellish. The army had lined all the buildings with lead, her x-ray vision couldn't see anything. Loudspeakers emitted an unbearable radio frequency, inaudible to a human but intolerable to her. At superspeed neither she nor Flash had been able to enter discreetly. All the entrances were coated with carbon and lead dust that made movement almost impossible. The only way in was to break in openly from the roof, but Superwoman couldn't attack a U.S. base. Whatever Luthor and the Rand Corporation were planning would remain a secret. Batman was devising a plan to quietly break into Area 51, but she knew that, if they did that and were discovered, Luthor would go public, and events would be unpredictable... And people like Louis would turn even more against Superwoman. She had to be patient, something she was very bad at.

“Have you seen the pictures Life has published?”

“What pictures Louis?”

“Several photos have been declassified of the fight between the Army and Superwoman against the Kryptonians...from the battle in Hudson Bay two years ago.”

“I didn't know there were any photos.”

“They must have been leaked, I don't know by who and why.”

Well, my dear Louis, you were there, and I was there. Clara's memory slipped back to those days.

***

A beep.

Just a beep.

A deafening beep. That's how Clara and everyone on earth who was near a radio or telephone knew something was wrong. It was a hot July in 1946. She had barely been working at the Daily Planet for nine months and hiding her red cape under her office clothes. Everything was new and exciting. The world was in love with Superwoman, and although she felt overwhelmed, the fact that she could finally use her powers and help others, without having to hide, made her extremely happy. The moment when she had to sneak out of the office or discreetly enter a phone booth to open her jacket and shirt and show off her Superwoman costume was exciting and exhilarating. The world was complicated. The ruins and horrors of war were still present, but Superwoman gave hope to the world, and being Superwoman was at that moment more of a relief than a challenge for Clara. At the paper she was making rapid progress despite Cat Grant's horrible character, and although she was sometimes intimidated by Louis, she was happy to work side by side with that handsome, gentlemanly, serious, ironic and sometimes annoying man. She did not yet know that she was in love. Then, on July 16, 1946, a deafening beep interrupted every radio and telephone in the world, and a rough, dry voice with a strange accent broke over the airwaves in almost every language.

GREETINGS APHTERIS, THIS IS HOW WE KRYPTONIANS KNOW YOU EARTHLINGS. WE ARE GENERALS ZOD AND FAORA.

WE ARE THE III DIVISION OF THE KRYPTON ARMY, BUT WE DON'T COME AS SOLDIERS, WE COME AS REFUGEES. OUR PLANET HAS BEEN DESTROYED. WE ARE ITS LAST SURVIVORS.

APHTERIS FRIENDS, WE SHARED A FRIENDSHIP THOUSANDS OF YEARS AGO, THEN THE STARS SEPARATED US.

WE ARE AWARE OF THE PRESENCE OF A KRYPTONIAN WOMAN ON YOUR PLANET. IT IS CRUCIAL THAT WE ARE ABLE TO MEET WITH HER.

WE CANNOT SETTLE ON EARTH. WE ARE TOO DIFFERENT. WE WANT HELP FROM YOUR GOVERNMENTS TO CONTINUE OUR JOURNEY AND FIND A NEW HOME. WE NEED FUEL AND FOOD.

KRYPTONIAN LIFE IS INCOMPATIBLE WITH APHTERI LIFE. THE KRYPTONIAN CITIZEN YOU CALL "SUPERWOMAN" MUST LEAVE WITH US. WE ARE HER PEOPLE.

WE NEED YOUR HELP.

PEACE FOR ALL.

Despite its words the message was not reassuring. Clara jumped out the window as she stripped off her clothes full of confusion and giddiness. Flying as Superwoman quickly arrived at the Fortress of Solitude, begging her assistant robot Kelex to explain who Zod and Faora were. Kelex had been sent folded up like an iron ball in the pod in which Clara arrived on Earth. He didn't deploy until 1939, when to Clara's surprise he revealed himself as a robot guide and showed her the holograms of her parents, who loudly explained who she was and what she was doing on Earth. They also told Clara which was her birth name, Kala-El. Kala meant “Hope” in Kryptonian language. It was all too confusing for Clara. She wept bitterly on Martha's, her adoptive mother, shoulder.

With the outbreak of the war, she took the opportunity to try to forget and serve others as a nurse, but the horror of the war and the fear of making things worse with her powers was lacerating. In 1944 she single-handedly kept the hospital ship USS SHUSTER afloat and managed to beach it after it was torpedoed by the Japanese. There were more than 3,500 wounded American soldiers and Filipino refugees inside. Clara had never been able to use so much strength for anything. She didn't realize it because of the adrenaline and tension, but as she strained to lift the thirty thousand tons of the ship and propel it to keep it from sinking, she lifted the ship out of the water and levitated above the sea with the ship on her shoulders.  After that, Clara decided that she had to talk to Kelex again and use her powers to help others. Together they searched for weeks in Alaska for a glacier where there was a large Kryptonian ship that had been buried there for thousands of years. They could use it as a discrete sanctuary and a learning space. Clara named the place melancholically as the "Fortress of Solitude".

Her father's hologram revealed to her that the Kryptonians had initially caused a lot of good to humans but later had tried to destroy them, fortunately failing in the attempt. All that had happened 12,000 years ago. On that ship Clara put on for the first time the ceremonial female costume of the House of El that also came in the pod in which she arrived on Earth. In the future that ceremonial costume would be recognized as the uniform of Superwoman. Clara first found the costume to be a strange piece of bright blue and red tights with a very long red cape that looked very outlandish to her. But she felt a sense of pride. The costume was soft and comfortable, it was warm and seemed unbreakable. To the touch the tights were metallic, and they adapted to her body like a second skin. The hologram of her father told Clara that the suit had been worn by her great-grandmother when she confronted the High Council of Krypton asking for the end of the caste system.

She began to train her powers. She had little time. The world needed her. Clara flew there for the third time. Earlier that day and before the day she lifted the USS Shuster, she only had managed to fly briefly in Kansas when she was a teenager. That day she was able to fly a few thousand feet before crashing into a tree and splitting it in half, to the horror of Joe, her adoptive father. Thanks to her Ballet days, she could levitate slightly and move almost floating for a short time. But flying was something else. At first, Clara only knew how to make big jumps and fall hard on ice and rocks, which she reduced to frost and dust. But the jumps got longer and longer. She learned to use the air currents to propel herself. Later, Clara was able to get horizontal after propelling herself into the sky. Soon she began to glide and use her super speed to extend her jumps. One day she realized that she was not falling to the ground, that she could propel herself permanently, that she could stand up and float. Her jumps no longer resulted in a parabola, but in a seemingly endless flight to her destiny. Clara flew upward, to a height where she could begin to see the contours of the continents. She could fly. Yes, she could fly. She descended with speed and tears of joy and was able to land softly... It was a miracle! Her powers did not seem to her anymore to be a punishment or a heavy burden, but a wonderful gift that she could put at the service of others, a gift from God and her biological parents. Clara also learned to use her x-ray vision, which no longer gave her migraines, and to control without fear her heat vision, which had terrified her so much in the past. To blow a hurricane wind or a cooling breeze without drowning. And to run and fly at super speed without becoming exhausted and almost suffocating.

It had only been a year and a half from when she first flew over the Alaskan skies in her red cape to the arrival of that deafening beep, but it seemed like an eternity. The hologram of her father and mother was clear, she couldn't trust Zod and even less Faora. They were fanatics and monsters. They had been willing to kill millions of people on Krypton. Her parents had sent them into the phantom zone, a wormhole, sabotaging their ships. Somehow, Zod and her minions had managed to escape and reach Earth. She couldn't trust them. She was already human, even if her physiology was Kryptonian. Kala-El, also known as Clara Kent and Superwoman, had to defend Earth and the Humans. She couldn’t allow the Kryptonians to try to destroy Humanity again. Superwoman flew quickly to the White House to explain President Truman that he should not trust the aliens and that they should be expelled. Superwoman would be responsible for expelling the invaders, but she needed help. She did not know how, but she had to do it. Kelex informed her that without having spent so many years on Earth to receive enough radiation from the Sun, the Kryptonians would probably be mere hulking humanoids and that Superwoman could subdue them. She didn't doubt. Clara was human, believed in God, adored her adoptive mother as much as she missed her father, adored her few friends, dreamed of being a mother and writing a biography of Mary Shelley. She was also Kryptonian but her biological parents or at least those holograms that repeated their thoughts were clear: Krypton had failed, its culture had become cruel and insensitive, they had destroyed the nature of their own planet. Earth did not deserve the same fate.

***

“Some polls just came in from Rufus, Dewey down in California and Ohio but up in Illinois, here we are at least ten points up on Truman. It's going to be tougher than expected for us.”

“Hmm…” Clara answered distractedly.

“Am I boring you with politics? Excuse me.”

“What will you do if Dewey loses Louis?" Clara looked at Louis in frustration, they had been so close to a heart-to-heart conversation, but it had all come back to the present day, the damn election campaign.

“I won't do anything different than what I do unless McArthur calls me.”

“Would you leave journalism to work on a McArthur campaign?”

“Probably.”

Clara looked disapprovingly at Louis.

“Maybe I don't like journalism anymore Clara, I'm tired of it. You have it in your blood, you love it. I want to teach history. I would like to write about the Peoples of the Sea and the end of the Bronze Age, or about the High Middle Ages. I've always wanted to get a doctorate but marriage, war... In a couple of years I'll probably be doing that.”

“Or inflating elephant balloons for McArthur.”

Louis laughed.

“Would you find it too unbearable? Let's forget politics Clara, I knI ow you could never vote the same as me... What about the article you told me about last week for a literary magazine? And your children’s stories? The two publishers I introduced you to told me your stories looked promising.”

“I don't have time, Louis.”

“I can cover all the time you need Clara, you are a walking writing machine, I have enough articles for three weeks. Go on vacation. I'll say it was my order. Only Cat can be bothered, and it really doesn't matter.”

I wish you could really understand, Louis.

***

The government distrusted her. The military mobilized, all the armies of the world. Superwoman did not know whether to fly towards Zod's three ships that hovered barely a five thousand feet above the waters of Hudson Bay or to wait, she did not want to disobey the President. The U.S. government then prepared a secret embassy to meet the Kryptonians within hours of the message. Military and scientists led by General Hardy, two senators, Lex Luthor was invited, but declined...and Louis. Even she didn't understand why the government immediately went after Louis. Perhaps because he had interviewed and conversed with her for so long... Or perhaps because she was being followed and had shown some unwitting display of affection for him while acting as Superwoman. The government ordered Louis to join the embassy because of his supposed experience dealing with Kryptonians. Clara waited for an order or a message to report to Zod, knowing that what awaited was likely to be terrible, but she had to fulfill her duty.

***

“You seem distracted Clara, you really should rest. I insist that you should take a vacation. If you want, I'll leave you the keys to Oyster Bay and you can take your dog with you for a week to rest and bathe and write about whatever you want. I don't want to see you like this.”

“How so?”

“Clara, you are very unfriendly today.”

“Not true, I am as usual.”

“I doubt it very much. If you were always like that I would prefer to eat with Adolf Hitler, or worse, with Cat.”

Clara looked down at her plate, she was angry, she didn't know why.

Louis insisted. “Clara, please go to Oyster Bay to my house for a week. Forget about Luthor, the election, me, Cat, everything. No one will bother you. Not even me.”

Clara changed the subject. “What were your favorite adventure novels as a child, Louis?”

“Julio Verne, Salgari, Stevenson... Anything that had to do with the sea.”

“I wanted to be the Scarlet Pimpernel but as a girl, of course. I wanted to go with a mask and a sword helping those who needed it.”

Louis looked at her with a glance that seemed to Clara to be one of suspicion or vague distress.

***

Clara Kent simply did not show up at the office the day after Zod's message. Many other employees didn't either, staying home with their families. People assumed Louis had done the same. He telephoned his wife and said he was wanted by the Army. In a few hours he was standing with the rest of the human embassy and his escort beckoning on a military barge in Hudson Bay. Superwoman had been flying around the world doing rescues and reassuring people, waiting for Zod's next move. She went to talk to the Soviets themselves, but they had no intention of listening to her, she was the Super-Lackey. She returned home to ask her mother Martha for advice.

You will do what you must do my love; you have a big and clean heart. I can't imagine there is anyone stronger than you. You have always thought of others. Do the same now. I will pray for you. Perhaps it is true that they come in peace.

No, it was not true. Through a painful frequency inaudible to humans came a constantly repeating message from Faora and Zod, both of them alternating every sentence.

Why don't you come to us, Kala El? Are you afraid of us? How can you live among these busy and ridiculous apes? Do you hide among them? Why do you play the role of a Goddess who protects them if you don't live in a palace and you live like one of them? How much has it cost you to adapt to these stupid animals? Do you have esteem for them? How is it possible? Right now, there are several of them that we've just thrown off our ship and they have crashed into the water. Too noisy. The others are our prisoners. Report to us, reunite with your people. There is no logic in your servitude to these monkeys. We are waiting for you. If you do not come, we will throw out the rest of this ridiculous embassy sent to me by the Kingdom you serve, and we will begin my task of sanitizing this planet without you. You will lose your chance.

Superwoman flew at full speed into Hudson Bay. The Anglo-Canadian and American armies were taking up positions along the coast of Ontario and Quebec, warships of all nations were entering the bay through Hudson Strait taking advantage of the thaw. Generals Patton and Montgomery were deploying tanks and barges. Superwoman had no time to meet them. Above the waters, thousands of feet above, floated among clouds three huge black ships, each much larger than the largest ship she had ever seen. One was huge and was a semicircle, another was seed-shaped and seemed to rotate, and the other was a strange flat rectangle with some sort of masts on either side and strange folded metal sails. Kelex and her parents' holograms had explained to her that they probably had no fuel either to continue the journey or to establish force fields. And what was she going to do? Kill them? Push them back into space without weapons so that they could continue their journey, although perhaps without any chance of survival? Her heart was pounding. With her X-ray vision and her super-hearing she detected where Zod and Faora were, and where the prisoners were held. The Woman of Steel’s heart skipped a beat when she recognized Louis among them. She flew with determination and with her fist she attacked what seemed to her a hatch, but it was not a normal metal, it was much harder. She felt pain, she barely dented it. The hatch opened.

 ***

“Emily wants a Superwoman doll.”

“Really?" Clara felt some pride and happiness, despite Louis' negativity towards Superwoman, his daughter was now a fan of the superheroine.

“I'm afraid it's true. She had her Cinderella phase... Now it's time for the Superwoman phase.”

“What did you say to her?”

"That she's an alien, that we don't know if she's good or bad, that we can't control her... That we always have to doubt people with such extraordinary powers and hold them accountable."

“What does she think?”

Louis shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “She sees her as some kind of angel or space princess. She just sees a pretty, smiling woman flying around in a red cape rescuing people and with wonderful abilities... She's been bouncing around the house in a cape for a week. I preferred her playing a princess or Daisy Duck.”

Point for me, Louis.

“Louis, if you don't give her a Superwoman doll, I will.”

“You've never been particularly enthusiastic about her”, Louis lit up a Cuban cigar.

“Are you going to smoke that stuff?”

“I don't swallow it, it's healthy. I quit smoking thanks to you, but I think I can smoke a cigar.”

“Whatever...No, I've never been particularly enthusiastic. The media focuses too much on her. She's just a woman of extraordinary background and abilities doing her duty. She does what she must do. No more, no less. And I'm fine with her being regulated and subjected to laws, as long as she always has a free hand to help civilians. I neither hate her nor am I a fan.”

“What would you do if you had her powers, Clara?”

“The same thing she does. Do you, Louis?”

“I would hide underground or fly into the sun to disintegrate myself or something like that. Such an existence is ineffable. Such a being cannot exist. It goes against thousands of years of human existence. It is not controllable. We are simply at her goodwill. It is not bearable.”

Oh, Louis please don't, don't, don't say these things...

“You don't think she could be a normal woman?” Clara asked.

“A being with those capabilities will never be able to share, understand, feel...our values, our way of life, our feelings. It will have tried to adapt and even tried to feel and behave like one of us, but it is not possible. And as the years go by, she will realize it more and more, and she will become a kind of empress or sovereign, not a kind of flying nurse or policewoman.”

Clara felt very hurt and very far away from Louis. How could he be so close and yet so far away. How could she ever make him see how wrong he was. She felt like crying, but she pulled herself together.

“You know her, you've interviewed her, she's saved your life twice, you said... Do you really see her like that?”

“I see an abysmally superior and different being, trying to behave like a human, but failing.”

You are blind, Louis, blind, completely blind my love...What are we going to do?

***

Zod and Faora did not convince her. They greeted her with almost friendliness. The ship was very strange, it was different from the one in Alaska and her pod. It looked like a cyclopean metal temple. Only a few holograms and panels with buttons appeared discreetly. There were no more than thirty or so Krpytonians on that ship, and as many on the others on the other ships. She and a hundred other lives were all that remained of Krypton. They were all dressed in strange metal armors that looked electric.

Zod and Faora were very clear, there was no need to deceive themselves. They were coming to take over Earth and transform it using the planetary machines they had brought with them, all of humanity would perish. Their father Jor-El had betrayed them, but they were willing to forgive her if she would help them refound Krypton.

Clara heard silently her abhorrent explanations and answered with her mightiest voice. “The only thing I can say is that you must leave immediately, or you will regret it. You have no business here. You cannot adapt to living on this planet, so leave. I will not allow you to...”

“Where are we going to go?” Faora laughed gruffly, Zod hardened his gaze and spoke serenely.

“Do you really appreciate them? What about your people? Your legacy? A million years of Kryptonian civilization, the most advanced and perfect the universe has ever seen. Do you live in love with these apes? Have you been able to integrate among them? That's crazy. You're mentally ill. You suffer from a mental disorder that many Kryptonian explorers had in the past when they spent too many years marooned on distant planets.”

“There is nothing left of those million years. Wars and the permanent erasure of works of art and texts have destroyed everything. My father told me. Kryptonians fought to erase its own memory as hard as it fought to destroy their own planet. You will not do the same here.” Clara answered with her most commanding tone.

Zod tried to explain himself in a friendly voice. “Your father…your father… You shouldn't listen to those ridiculous messages. Your parents were wise, but they were fanatics and they hated Krypton. I'm sure they longed for its destruction.”

Superwoman decided to perform a demonstration of her powers to intimidate Zod and Faora. She stiffened her Kryptonian muscles which were marked on her blue suit and launched a series of heat rays on what she thought was a control panel, but it wasn't as easy as on Earth, the panel took time to melt. The ship's light flickered.

She had barely been trying to melt the panel for two seconds when Faora angrily grabbed her by the cape with a strength Superwoman didn't expect and threw her to the ground.

“Ridiculous stupid bitch!” Faora shouted in Kryptonian.

Faora started punching Superwoman, who was struggling to defend herself. One of Faora's blows broke her a tooth. Faora's fighting skills soon overpowered her. Clara did not understand how this was possible. Faora grabbed her by the neck and slammed her to the ground.

“Stupid, stupid, you are a genetic aberration... You think we are fascinated by your little tricks! But we have been traveling through space for years and we have received all kinds of radiation! This ship is made of metals that carry Kryptonite and it is an element that is deadly to you. We can kill you whenever we want!”

Zod stepped forward and gently kicked her back, Superwoman was bleeding but trying to stay calm and regain her strength.

“I can stab you here and now, daughter of Jor-El, but we need you. Where we are now was the North Pole of this planet before. 12,000 years ago, we decided to modify it and erase Humanity. Beings so much like us, but so inferior. We do not understand how they got here. Perhaps descendants of some degenerate Kryptonian explorers. This planet has an eternal curse. At first many Kryptonians settled here and sympathized with those apes that looked so much like us, just as you have done. We taught them and also enslaved them. But as soon as we moved a few centuries away from them they dared to rebel and despise us. They even found ways to kill us, these damned critters. We should have finished the job and wiped them all out then, but there were too many Kryptonians like you and we left the job half done. It's a ridiculous and pathetic reverse of Krypton. It must be sanitized and repurposed into something else. So that Krypton can be reborn. The poles will return to where they were before. I have already sent a planetary machine to the antipodes of this place, where the action will begin. The eternal curse of these beings is to be fulfilled. They will be erased. To be frank, we believe we are exposed to some of their weapons, and we need to work calmly. I am willing to spare your life, and even let you have some sterilized humans as pets or toys, if you help us destroy the armies of the Earth kingdoms while we activate the planetary machines. This would be an eternal course for Kryptonians, reach the stars of our potential, be the master race, and cast an eternal curse on the indecent animals of this planet.”

Superwoman tried to hold back the pain and the dizziness. She thought of her adoptive mother and father, she thought of the people of Smallville and the Daily Planet, of her neighbors, of Louis... She thought of the people she had seen die in the field hospitals in the Pacific islands where she was a nurse, of the refugees and wounded of the USS Shuster she saved from the torpedo, of the pictures of the Nazi concentration camps, of the images of Hiroshima... No, she would never allow it. Maybe it was too much for her, it was unfair, but she would never allow it, she would fight to the last consequences. Despite the pain of the blows, she moved at super speed. The Kryptonians were also moving fast but not fast enough. She grabbed Zod by his electrified boot and threw him with all her might against Faora. The two crashed into the wall and were stunned. Their guards were firing strange beams at her, but she could more or less dodge them. There was a large domed glass, a kind of visor or window, Superwoman threw herself towards it with all her strength and broke the glass into a thousand pieces escaping from the ship. That kind of glass wounded her and cracked her suit and cape. Oxygen flooded into the ship as Zod and Faora gave orders to their guards to fire their cannons at Superwoman and to expel what was left of the human embassy from the ship.

The dozen or so remaining embassy men were thrown from a hatch while Superwoman super-speed-dodged the beams and projectiles. Enduring the pain, Superwoman using her super-speed rescued all the embassy members and deposited them on land or on nearby barges as best she could. Louis was the last to be thrown through the hatch and the last to be rescued, Superwoman flew towards him at a speed she had never had before.

“God bless, what are you doing here Louis?” Superwoman didn't realize she spoke in Clara Kent's voice; Louis was too nervous to notice.

“Kala, thank God. Who are they, what do they want? They have killed half of the embassy…”

“I couldn’t get here in time... they're the worst thing you can imagine.”

“The army forced me to come...they thought I would know how to deal with the Kryptonians because I was the first human to interview you.”

Louis touched her face affectionately as he inspected the wounds on her face.

“Kala-El...you look awful.”

Thank you, Louis.

“I feel fine. You must get away from here, get as far away as you can, I must warn the President, their plans are terrible.”

She repressed the urge to kiss and hug Louis and took off at full speed as she watched the seed-shaped craft launch a strange bluish beam over the sea that caused an explosion. The shockwave was approaching a British battleship that was too close. Superwoman did not arrive on time, the shockwave burst the battleship. Nearly eight hundred men were killed. With almost her last breath Superwoman lifted the other 40,000 tons of another battleship and pulled it away from the blast wave and carried away the other barges. Then she lost her breath and was left floating on the water. She didn't know how long she was like that, maybe barely an hour, she was awakened by the pain and the roars of polar bears around her. She saw how the seed-shaped ship kept shooting a blue lightning.

She was to fly to the Fortress of Solitude and get more information from Kelex and her father, then inform the military and try to destroy the invaders. A complicated plan against Zod came to her as she flew to Alaska in desperation.

***

“Will you come to the boys' orchestra concert on Thursday?”

“Yes, If I'm able, I'll go.”

Louis had assembled an orchestra of boys from an orphanage and reform school in South Metropolis. It was actually a long-standing project of Louis' father, who, although a wealthy man, came from the area. The journalist knew how to communicate with young people and was not a bad conductor. He put in several hours a week and took his daughter with him to rehearsals. It was one of the things about Louis that amazed Clara when she discovered it.

“Do you have any of your special appointments, Clara?”

“In this job, you never know...”

Louis looked at her fondly.

“We don't sound bad.”

“Not at all... You sound wonderful.”

Louis smiled.

“Don't give me a hard time, but the kids manage to get noise out of the instruments. And I manage to make sure that nobody notices that I'm not really conducting anything... just like in the newspaper.”

Clara grabbed his hand across the table.

“I will do my best to be there.”

“South Metropolis is not the Himalaya, you'll get there on the subway 4th line, my dear.”

***

Twenty-four hours had passed. Superwoman had flown to the Fortress of Solitude and had argued for hours with the holograms of her parents and Kelex. Then she had flown to Kansas and brought her mother to safety in the Fortress of Solitude. Now she was in a White House office in front of a group of military men, politicians, and President Truman. In Hudson Bay the seed-shaped ship was still casting a blue beam on the water that made it boil. A swarm of small Kryptonian ships orbited around the beam and a giant humanoid robot walked around the beam and launched projectiles at any ship that came near them. The small Kryptonian ships attacked the Anglo-Canadian or American troops but could be shot down. Large caliber shells could injure and even kill Kryptonians. Even so, casualties numbered in the hundreds, perhaps thousands, not counting the casualties on the British battleship, HMS Manchester. Superwoman had flown there several times to help shoot down those ships and to discreetly protect Louis, but the important thing now was to talk to the President and the army leaders.

Superwoman was still wounded and almost disfigured, even though she had been able to regain strength and heal largely with sunshine.

“They must not have much fuel. Their small ships can be shot down by heavy artillery. There is a possibility of destroying their big ships, using the small ship in which I came to Earth.” She started to explain herself.

“We have received word that there is another ship in the Indian Ocean, very strange, also sending out that strange blue beam and an electromagnetic pulse. American, British, French, and even Soviet ships are heading there. It is also being protected by a swarm of those small ships; we call them "fly" ships, that are easily shot down.” An admiral informed

Truman's voice was broken, and he raised his voice again.

“Can you tell us again what these things are, Mrs. El?”

Superwoman gulped at the many hostile stares.

“Planetary machines... These machines alter the electromagnetic pulse of the Earth and the tectonic layers. They need days to do it. They change the continents, the poles...then the Atmosphere... Total destruction. In order to...well...design another planet. The one in the Indian ocean is the most important machine.”

“Why should we trust you if during the worst war mankind has ever seen you were missing," said a foreign prime minister present at the meeting over the intercom.

Superwoman was hurt by the question but pulled herself together.

“I ask myself the same question every day,” Superwoman answered with sincere grief.

Truman spoke again.

“Do you think you can finish off the Indian ocean ship…if it's the important on, before you help us with the Hudson's Bay ships?”

“I'm going to try.” The Maid of Might answered with determination.

***

“It's been a long, hot summer Clara...with the campaign in the middle.”

“The campaign…”

Louis gave her a cold look, but then that look turned into one of affection and almost pleading.

“It doesn't matter what I do or say because it looks like I'll end up hurting you...I don't want to waste your time.”

Clara was trying to hold her breath and hold back her tears…Why does everything have to be so difficult?

“You do me much more good than harm, much more good… Louis you have no idea how you brighten my days. Maybe you don't understand, but my day-to-day life is very complicated.”

“There are many things we need to talk about.”

“There are a lot of things we need to talk about and explain about both of us, but I am hopeful… Everything will come to terms.”

“Me too Clara.”

*** 

Superwoman was flying at full speed around the planetary machine in the Indian Ocean. It was very different from the seed-shaped ship she had seen in Hudson Bay. It was a sort of perfect golden sphere that constantly shot out a blue beam that made the water boil. It was surrounded by two strange huge metal rings, perhaps a thousand feet in diameter that were constantly spinning and emitting an unbearable buzzing sound.

The small Kryptonian ships protecting the planetary machine fought against the cannon fire of human ships and planes. They launched projectiles and rays, but human projectiles could shoot them down. Superwoman interrupted the beams with her heat vision and exploded the projectiles with her superstrength, protecting the planes that managed to shoot down the small ships. It weighed heavily on Clara's heart to know that there were thinking, sentient beings in there too. Very similar to her, very similar to humans. She had flown past each small ship begging the Kryptonians onboard to surrender in her rudimentary Kryptonian speaking, but she had not succeeded. The small ships were reduced to none. 

Then Superwoman placed herself between the two giant metal rings that were spinning and began to spin around the large sphere in the opposite direction, faster and faster, and throwing her heat vision at the same time. Soon she reached her maximum speed. The heat and exertion were unbearable for her, but she continued for several minutes until she heard popping and cracking noises... She ceased and closed her eyes. All around her the rings were exploding and falling to pieces into the sea... Those rings, hundreds of feet wide and tall, could not overcome Superwoman's strength and speed in the opposite direction. Soon only the great golden sphere remained. The blue beam it was throwing had been reduced to almost nothing. Superwoman prepared to lunge at the sphere at full speed and with full force. She couldn't see if there was anyone inside. She slammed into the sphere at full speed and smashed through it. The pain was unbearable, she felt burns, brief but painful wounds and tears appeared on her hands and chest, metal melting around her... The Kryptonian materials were too strong for her, but she managed to reach the other side. Badly wounded, she could see how the sphere exploded and fell into the sea as well.

Superwoman could no longer fly fast, she was too exhausted and injured, her suit was in tatters. She waved to the pilots she distinguished as British and Soviets and shouted, "Thank you very much, guys!". She needed to fly into space and get some sunshine, she didn't know if she would have time to recover. She cried and prayed, then she stood still under the sun, I can do it, I must do it… The Woman of Steel rose to the sky directly towards the sunlight with the highest speed she was capable of at the time.

It was time to take on Zod and Faora and wipe out the Kryptonian detachment in Hudson Bay.

***

“Maybe the world was about to end in Hudson Bay. It was just over two years ago, and one has the feeling that it has been almost twenty.”

“Louis, I believe that for sure the danger was real... Who knows what horrible weapons the Kryptonians had.” Clara insisted on her fake naivety.

Both had left Harry's Bar and were waiting for a taxi. The sun was fading, and nightlights were on.

“Whether we like it or not, we are indebted to Superwoman. Without her we would all be dead...  The whole world... it's crazy.” Louis sighed.

“What did they tell you about what happened?" Clara feigned curiosity.

“My sources told me that Superwoman seemed to manage to destroy several of the ships and then disappeared into the largest one... No one knows exactly what happened, but apparently there was a very strange blue electrical explosion and some kind of absorption. The main ship disappeared, and Superwoman descended from the sky like a goddess. Real madness. If the Kryptonians were here in the past and did such crazy things, it's only natural that the Indians wrote the Mahabharata.”

“The point is that Superwoman came back to save the day again,” Clara said with a laugh and an almost mocking tone.

“You take Superwoman's existence too lightly.”

“Louis, I'm not  impressed by people in capes... I'm from Kansas. I was told I'd see some strange things in the big city.”

“Clara, Bob Mailer has a strange, rather sinister theory about the whole Kryptonian invasion and the Superwoman thing... He told me about the other day in a social dinner.”

“Mailer...”

“Hahahaha, I know you don't like him. He's professionally rude, but he's a very witty and intelligent man. For me he's the best head in the paper.”

“And what is his theory?”

“That the Kryptonians were called by the Nazis. That they were the famous secret weapons that Hitler and Goebbels talked about. They managed to contact the aliens and offered them the planet thinking the Kryptonians were aryans but they arrived too late for the nazis. And that Superwoman is an alien or an android discovered by us or by the Nazis, whom we have brainwashed or programmed to obey us.”

“What a horrendous crackpot... Do you believe it?”

“No, but it's a curious idea. There might be something real in between.”

Sometimes, you are really the dumbest man in the world, my dear Louis.

“Are you coming by taxi with me Clara?”

“No, I'll walk to the office, I forgot my watch there.”

“You are incredibly absent-minded. If you continue like this, on the day you least expect it, your head will be far away from the rest of your body…” He laughed at his own joke.

Louis took her hand and kissed it. She blushed, and as many times when Louis did that, the electric lights around them flickered from the invisible energy emitted by Clara. He didn't seem to notice.

“I'll see you tomorrow, Clara.”

“See you tomorrow, Louis.”

When the taxi left, Clara discreetly looked for an empty alley. Surely Superwoman has work to do. Under an emergency stair, she took off her glasses and jacket, opened her shirt revealing the El's house crest, pulled down her skirt and stockings revealing her almost unbreakable blue tights and unfolded her red cape. Up, up, and away!

The younger or more impressionable passersby pointed to the now recognizable red and blue blur flying overhead…

Chapter Text

A DAY IN SEPTEMBER 1948

04:20 (GMT-5) SUMATRA, INDONESIA

Diah didn't know what time it was in Metropolis. She thought about it every time she came back from the typing school while she checked again and again the Dutch magazine that had fallen into her hands. She was truly fond of that magazine, which featured the remarkable adventures of Superwoman—the incredible woman in a red cape who performed countless rescues and marvelous deeds. Her parents did not like the clothes of the flying lady. Aditya told her that Superwoman could shoot lightning and fire out of her eyes. Several people in Jakarta had seen her. Her friend Endah thought that she was a lying demon, and that demons liked nothing better than to take the form of a lovely woman. Kusno, the doctor's son, claimed to have seen her flying through the sky as he traveled by boat between Java and Sumatra. For a long time, she had wished to cross paths with Superwoman and see her at last, knowing that the superheroine had been to many places in Indonesia to aid people during fires, typhoons, or outbreaks of violence, but nothing had ever happened in her small town…until now that Diah prayed and prayed that the Woman of Steel would appear and help them.

The typhoon hit hard and unexpectedly. Her parents had invited their neighbors and cousins to stay in their brick house, which was raised slightly off ground in case of flooding. There were nearly twenty people in their small house. If the storm continued, there would soon be none. The wind had taken away the second floor with its tin roof, and bricks had poured down the stairs. Outside they could hear a terrible wind and a steady rain. Water was coming in through the doors and boarded windows, up to their knees. About twenty people, including eight children, were shivering, and sitting on the table or sofa. Diah and her father struggled to keep boards nailed to the window. Through a crack, even though the wind and water hurt her, she could see the water from the river overflowing and the tide outside the house almost reaching the windows. As soon as the water level rose a little, it would knock down the boards and the wall would give way. It would be the end. Diah tried to hold back her tears and continued to help her father.

From the stairs, which they knew would lead nowhere, water continued to fall in torrents. And a howling wind that sounded like the roar of a monster. That's why Diah didn't hear the footsteps. She didn't turn around until she heard a murmur of astonishment and a muffled scream. It couldn't be her. There she was. It was her. The wonderful woman came down the stairs almost sheepishly, smiling. Her hair was soaked, but she was much prettier and stronger than in the pictures in the magazine... which had now flown upstairs with all her stuff, along with the typing manual. Her outfit was bright red and blue, it didn't look wet. She looked like a goddess from ancient legends. And there she was, on her house’s stairs.

She spoke to them in knotty Dutch that no one understood but Diah and her father a little.

“I Help...I take you shelter in hill!”

Diah nodded; her eyes were filled with tears of emotion. The wonderful woman in the red cape smiled back at her and walked over to the children, picking two up in her arms and disappearing in a second, leaving a red and blue blur. She appeared and disappeared, picking up Diah’s siblings and cousins, her grandmother and aunt, then her.

“Hang on!”

Diah felt herself wrapped in a red cape and transported through a kind of blurry tunnel that hurt her eyes. Suddenly she felt herself being set down on the floor of the school on the hill, which was brick built and far from the river. The building was crowded with people. She looked around for all her family members, and there they were, still surprised and relieved. Then the wonderful woman appeared with her father. Diah ran to her with one of the five sentences she knew in English.

“Thank you! Thank You! Thank you!”

The woman in the red cape smiled at her and squeezed her arm affectionately before disappearing.

“Look!”

Through the window they could see the wonderful woman in her red cape flying through the air, bringing tin roofs and metal plates that she placed on the windows to protect them from the wind. Diah managed to gaze through a crack in the window. The woman flew into the sky and seemed to be flying in circles at full speed, creating tornadoes high above them, something she had never imagined. Diah saw red lights and fire in the whirlwinds. She could see them near but also far away. The spectacle was incredible, it lasted for a few minutes…then the rain began to subside and so did the wind.

She proudly approached Endah, who was frightened and covered up with a blanket next to her parents.

“See, Superwoman is no demon!”

06.33 (GMT-5) METROPOLIS

Clara landed on the roof of her tenement and opened the glass cellar door. It was starting to get light. She had chosen to rent that specific apartment, despite its small size and outdated style (and a barely functioning shower), because it was the only place within her budget that also had a roof opening she could use discreetly.

The Maid of Might descended gently. Krypto woke up, gave two soft barks and jumped on her. Clara stroked him lovingly. The dog went back to sleep on his pillow. She went into the bathroom and looked herself in the mirror. Her Superwoman outfit was spotless and shiny as ever. Any dirt that fell on her suit came off easily as it flew off at the slightest speed, but she was a mess. Her naturally slightly curly hair was all tousled and dirty. She had sand and mud behind her ears. How much work the hurricanes and typhoons were giving her! She took off her Superwoman outfit, which looked like a strange and colored second skin, and had a quick shower. In just a few seconds, she prepared her office attire: a light pink suit, a white shirt, a light blue silk scarf, and a small pink hat to match the suit. The beige coat didn’t quite go with the outfit, but since she only had three coats, she had to be mindful of her wardrobe.

The truth was that Clara Kent had lost many clothes since becoming Superwoman, especially considering how expensive it was to dress like a serious journalist in Metropolis. At the very least, she had lost a dozen office outfits, four pairs of glasses, three coats, including an expensive light blue one Louis had given her, and two or three purses. But considering that she changed from Clara Kent to Superwoman twenty or thirty times a day (she once counted fifty in a single day), perhaps her clothing retention rate was a success. Still, it was a lot of money. Usually, when the call of duty caught her at home or on the Daily Planet, Clara could take off her clothes and store them in a safe place. At the Daily Planet, she often used the file or storage rooms. But when the urge to become her alter ego caught her on the street or in a less familiar place, things were more difficult. First, she would leave her clothes and purse in a mess, hidden anywhere: in the false ceiling of a phone booth, on a ledge, on a rooftop, on a fire escape, behind a toilet cistern, even under a car. She had lost many clothes in this way. Other clothes she had lost because of her nerves, her fear, or her carelessness while transforming: she had torn them with her super-strength or disintegrated them while flying at super-speed. A year after Clara started flying as Superwoman, she found a system: she always carried a stretchable military canvas bag in her purse, in which she put all her civilian clothes and her purse when she transformed, then hid it discreetly at super speed on the nearest rooftop or in any corner she could think of. Since then, she'd lost fewer clothes, except for the light blue coat she loved which she couldn't remember how she'd lost. She rarely carried cash, and as Clara Kent she always hid her identification documents in a discreet, barely visible compartment on the right leg of her Superwoman costume; if someone found the bag with all her things, they could never link it to Clara Kent, but so far that hadn't happened.

Clara always wore the Superwoman outfit under her everyday clothes. It was so thin and comfortable that she hardly noticed it. And the sleeves and cape could be folded up perfectly with almost no bulk, so no one would detect she was wearing it underneath. If she wanted to wear a short dress, all she had to do was fold it up and wrap it around her stomach and waist. Sometimes she fantasized about Louis ripping her shirt apart with a snap, revealing the red and gold crest of the House of El on her chest and her blue tights.

Oh Louis, you stupid, stupid man…

Clara lay face down on the bed, aiming to get half an hour of sleep. She typically needed an hour of rest each day—sometimes more, sometimes less. That night, she had been busy with work across the globe. Clara estimated that she spent nearly 12 to 13 hours of her day as Superwoman in her red cape, an hour sleeping, and the remainder she tried to dedicate to her job (though she often lost half of that time to her superhero duties). Whatever time was left, she used it for company and reading, whether with Louis, visiting her mother in Smallville, walking Krypto, or grabbing a quick tea after work with Lucy and Jimmy.

With half-open eyes, Clara glanced at the four photographs on her bedside table. One was of her with her parents, taken when she was a tall, gawky teenager with awful glasses, standing on the porch of the Kent farmhouse. Another photo was from the newspaper, capturing a Christmas celebration in 1946. In it were Lucy, Jimmy, Ronald Troupe, Steve Lombard, Louis, and much to her annoyance, Katz and Cat Grant—but she liked the picture because she and Louis were looking at each other. There was also a picture from her graduation at Mary Ann Day Brown High School in Smallville, with Pete and Lana. Sometimes she felt a touch of melancholy or a hint of resentment that they ended up together, but they were both good people who had helped her a lot. Even though Pete never fully understood her origins and superpowers, Clara still considered them her friends, though they hardly spoke anymore. The largest photograph was of Louis, dedicated to her. They had exchanged signed photos at Christmas in 1946. She had given him a small studio portrait of herself in a hat and mink coat, though she didn’t like it much—her glasses were a bit foggy, and she thought she looked silly. She had dedicated it: Gratefully for everything, Clara Josephine Kent to Louis Lane, December 1946. Louis had given her a picture of him in a tuxedo smoking a pipe: From Louis J. Lane to Clara J. Kent, wishing many years of absurd arguments along with you.

What am I going to do with you, Louis, how difficult everything is.

She postponed the alarm to sleep, even if it was three-quarters of an hour instead of thirty minutes. Another day of work awaited her.

07.50 (GMT-5) METROPOLIS

Frankie "Consti" Costanzelli sighed in the elevator as his colleagues discussed the strike with the building surveyor. It was inevitable that a strike would be called against the construction company for failing to comply with arbitration awards and for being almost five months behind in wages due to inflation. It wasn't stupid, $20 or $30 more a month would change a lot of things. Consti did the math in his head, the cost of his daughter's wedding, the car payment...the car that his idiot little son was driving too much of... Well, he had survived the Great Depression, those times were really terrible. A whole year and a half out of work, doing odd jobs. He and Sarah almost emigrated to California.

The surveyor went on.

“If there's a strike, even though I'm not unionized, of course I'll go on strike with you, but I know the company's numbers. A two- or three-day strike will force them to negotiate. But you can only ask for half of the back pay because the company has no more. The whole labor budget is out of balance. They told me upstairs.”

“This is the company's problem, not ours," Sabisch insisted. To Consti, Sabisch was a bit of an agitator and too young to understand how the union and negotiations worked.

The elevator doors opened, and they found themselves facing the ramshackle floor of the skyscraper, the bare beams, the fences... They were building the Hudson Tower, which would join the Empire State Building and the TELCORP Tower on the Metropolis podium. Consti had always been proud of the buildings he had worked on as a foreman.

The surveyor stood beside him.

“I still don't understand how we managed to keep these things standing.”

Consti squealed.

“Chief, if you don't understand, we're in bad trouble because you're the construction manager.”

The surveyor laughed.

“I mean... I understand the laws of physics, but sometimes they seem crazy to me.”

“I feel sorry for you. I couldn’t care less about the laws of physics. There's a flying woman who defies them a little bit.”

Every day they saw Superwoman flying back and forth. Sometimes she looked like a bird or a plane, sometimes she was just a red and blue blur, many other times they had seen her pass by very close and she had waved back at them effusively. Consti couldn't get used to it. It seemed like something completely magical and crazy. But whoever she was, she was a good girl, and she was helping, even if Sabisch said she could become a "tool of oppression”. Get back to your books, Sabisch, kiddo.

Ollie Bruce approached him. They had worked together on the same work crews for over twenty years. They were good friends and neighbors. When they first started working, they were put on separate crews because Ollie was black and he was white, but fortunately that was a thing of the past. At least on Metropolis.

“Consti, it was very windy tonight, the new beams were half riveted. I think some bracing needs to be done. I'll tell the surveyor.”

“It's still a little windy, but no big deal. I agree it's what we must do. We've seen worse things.”

Consti, Ollie, the surveyor and four other workers put on their helmets, harnesses and approached the last beam. Consti and the surveyor made a small jump, and the beam vibrated.

“This is a piece of shit.”

In front of them, the crane was manipulating another beam that was swinging too much in the wind.

“Hey, what's that idiot doing?” Consti shouted.

“Thompson, who's on the crane? Harris or Snopek? Tell him to stop being an asshole. You can't use the crane in this wind,” The surveyor's voice rose in anger.

The wind had picked up, drowning out the voices. The beam supporting the crane swung closer and closer.

“Idiot! Move it!”

“Let's get out of here.”

The six men tried to cautiously file back to the safety of the platform, but the dangling beam struck the corner of the beam where they were standing. The beam shook and creaked. Consti watched in horror as the surveyor and Ollie fell into the void. Barely a second later, the beam gave way and he and the others fell to the ground.

Consti fell face up, for a split second feeling a strange relief at not seeing the ground, and for another he thought of his daughter and her wedding. Then he saw, or rather felt, a flash of red and blue light and soft arms that also only lasted a split second. He felt a huge tidal sensation, as if the world was spinning, and then he was gently lowered to the cold ground. Above, he saw the huge metal beam falling towards him at full speed. But then a figure wrapped in a shiny red cape seemed to slow it down and grab it. The beam gave off a huge metallic vibration and seemed to bend. The figure in the red cape began to descend, holding the huge beam with a single arm. She landed a few feet away from them and set the beam on the ground. The caped woman let out a huge sigh. For the first time, Consti looked to his sides; his five companions, including Ollie and the surveyor, were all safe and rising from the ground.

Superwoman approached them.

“Are you all okay?”

They all nodded shyly.

“Thank you, Superwoman," Ollie muttered.

“No one needs a ride to the hospital? I don't think anyone's broken anything. You shouldn't be working with the crane in this weather," Superwoman said seriously, but with a slight smile.

Consti kept feeling his chest to make sure he was in one piece. Superwoman approached him and held out a helmet in a very friendly voice.

“I think your helmet came off Sir, here it is.”

Consti looked at her. She was an enormously kind, blue-eyed beauty.

“Thank you, Miss El.”

“Thank you for calling me Miss El! I really don't like being called Superwoman at all...,” the superheroine lowered her voice and told him in an accomplice voice. Then she walked away.

“Be very careful, I always try to be around, but please be careful and have a nice day," the woman in the red cape shouted as she slowly levitated...then she soared into the sky at full speed, making a deafening noise like a balloon popping.

08.45 (GMT-5) METROPOLIS

Jimmy Olsen was pouring coffee from a thermos to the people around the table where sports reporter Steve Lombard III, twirling his mustache, was describing a baseball game.

“And the idiot batter screwed up his last strike by looking up while Superwoman was flying…”

“OK, now we know Superwoman hates the Mets," Ronald Troupe joked.

“I don't think Superwoman has ever thought about the Mets," Lucy Weiss countered acidly.

“Have you seen the new joint defense organization of France, England, Netherlands and Belgium?" Clara Kent interrupted the conversation.

“I'm sure Mailer and Cat would be happy to discuss it with you, Clarybelle," Lombard replied dismissively.

Clara glared at Steve Lombard from behind her thick round eyeglasses. Lombard stubbornly kept calling her Clarybelle and trying to take her out to dinner. She always refused, except one time when she wanted to make Louis jealous, but it was a disaster. Lombard was a presumptuous idiot.

“Now that you mention them, they also want to discuss your friendships with you," Clara inquired mischievously.

Lombard laughed loudly.

"Clarybelle, my dear, people make friends in baseball or football without having the slightest idea who they're talking to. Mailer, in just one evening in his neighborhood, has probably sat with more mobsters than I have in my entire life."

Jimmy noticed Clara's hostile look and smiled at her. She smiled back and rolled her eyes as if to say, "I know Lombard's an idiot”.

Louis Lane walked out of the office he shared with Clara and leaned against the door. As always, he was impeccably dressed in a blue-gray double-breasted suit and a dark green tie. Jimmy noticed Louis and Clara searching each other's eyes.

“Lombard, be careful, every day you sit with these people you are closer to being victim of a police raid...or worse, a Superwoman raid,” Louis said in a jovial tone.

“I would love to be arrested by that flying beauty, Louis, I should learn to put myself in real danger like you do,” Lombard replied.

Clara continued to look at Louis, whose expression had become more somber.

“I stumbled only once," Louis replied, now with false sympathy.

Jimmy could see Clara's eyes narrowing as if in disbelief at Louis' words. Lombard took a sip from his coffee cup and continued to ruminate.

“She's a beautiful, Superwoman, but she's still a woman... Imagine a being with that much power during a period of hysteria or with the ups and downs you ladies have," Lombard tried to give Clara an attractive smile.

“For whatever reason, Superwoman saves the world every day without a problem, and she is a woman while Adolf Hitler was a man," Lucy Weiss replied playfully.

“You can do better than that, really it was a poor answer," Lombard countered.

Louis sighed.

“She's not a human woman, so whatever her feelings, desires and faults are, they won't have much to do with ours. Don't worry...or rather...worry very, very much,” Louis began to laugh at his joke, but Clara looked at him almost angrily.

“Coffee, Mr. Lane?” Jimmy asked.

“No thanks, just cold drinks as usual,” Louis smiled.

“Can I get you a nice scotch? Lombard joked.

“Give me an hour and a half to acclimate.”

Louis approached Clara and gently took her arm in an affectionate gesture. Everyone watched the scene with some surprise—Louis was never affectionate with anyone. Yet, with Clara, he always showed an unusual closeness, and she responded in the same way... although that day, she seemed upset.

“When are you leaving for the orphanage?” Louis asked.

“In half an hour,” Clara answered in a low voice.

“Are you going to adopt a child?” Lombard asked, amazed.

“No, I'm going to write an article on a real estate developer who wants to evict an orphanage with seventy children.”

“Classic Clara Kent piece," Lombard replied.

“Do you have time for us to look at something from yesterday's bum raid that Jimmy photographed?” Louis asked.

“A bum raid?”

Jimmy interjected.

“Yes, Miss Kent, last night, surprisingly. They hadn't done that in five years. They took homeless people off the streets.”

“Someone from the newsroom should accompany you on your nightly forays, Jimmy, it can't be that no one can write about last night’s story now. Can you tell Clara briefly what you saw so she can type it up? Clara, if you can please stop by the police station this afternoon and confirm the story… We should get an article out for tomorrow.”

“Of course," Clara said, adjusting her glasses.

“This mayor doesn't know what to do to win the elections, he's unbearable,” Louis sighed.

Jimmy watched as Clara affectionately took Louis' arm and whispered tenderly in his ear, "You're not going to have a whiskey now, are you?", "No, don't worry, it was just a joke," Louis replied. "Okie dokie, a joke... But don’t even think about touching a glass," she added, her tone playful yet firm.

The three of them entered Louis and Clara's office. Louis took off his jacket.

“Well Olsen, unwrap your story… Clara after lunch you must go to the police station. This takes priority over the orphanage, at least for this week.”

Clara sat down at the typewriter and winked at him.

11.20 (GMT-5) OUTSKIRTS OF CHICAGO

The criminals were getting more and more fucked up and original. Agent Hallam thought about it as he readied his weapon. The road narrowed. Five police cars were chasing two vans, now several hundred yards ahead of them, from which occasional shots were being fired.

The Bat seemed to be a Gotham thing, though he occasionally appeared elsewhere. However, ever since Superwoman, the woman in the red cape, and Flash, the scarlet speedster from Chicago, had arrived, crime had dropped dramatically. Yet, those criminals who remained had become more violent, more cunning, their plans more intricate. The new breed of criminals operated quietly, using guns with silencers, planting bombs at one end of the city while carrying out their schemes elsewhere. They took hostages and used human shields in eerie silence. Their methods were always about avoiding noise, evading alarms, and sometimes resorting to extreme violence. The police and the three superheroes had filled the prisons, but every now and then, real madmen—like the ones they were now pursuing—would emerge.

Hallam wasn't entirely sure what the story was, but apparently, some bastards had been quietly taking civilian hostages, one by one, in different parts of the city early that morning. They had posed as gold or diamond buyers and lured the hostages into Chicago's main bank. Using pistols with silencers, they managed to either get the guards to surrender or shoot them. Not a sound, not a scream, not a loud shot. Whoever they were, they knew the bank's alarm system. Two tons of gold. They fled, leaving two dead, six wounded, and taking five hostages. The police found out too late. Superwoman and the Flash hadn’t heard about it, or they were otherwise occupied. By some miracle, the police spotted the vans and were now in pursuit.

Hallam preferred the speedster, Flash. He seemed more normal. In the end, Flash was a friendly man who just ran incredibly fast and was somewhat strong—but not too strong—almost human. Hallam distrusted Superwoman. Too powerful, flying, too many superpowers. His partner, Kowalsky, laughed and claimed Hallam mistrusted her because she was a woman. That wasn't true. If there were such a powerful man, Hallam thought, he would feel the same way.

Hallam was in the car closest to the vans. So far, they hadn’t taken any bullets. Carefully, he drew his pistol and began firing at the vans’ wheels ahead of him. He had no idea how they were going to rescue the hostages. Lieutenant Morrison’s car passed them. The lieutenant, their boss, had opened the door and was standing on the running board, firing at the vans non-stop. To their shock, the back door of one of the vans burst open with a bang. Two gangsters appeared, loading a heavy machine gun, while a third gunman held a pistol to the head of a woman—a hostage. What in heaven…

The machine gun roared to life, spraying bullets as the police cars swerved wildly to avoid the fire. Hallam ducked beneath the dashboard just as the car window shattered, shards flying everywhere. A scream of pain cut through the chaos—Lt. Morrison. Hallam saw him thrown from the running board, tumbling onto the asphalt. Panic surged through him. Was Morrison dead? One of the gangsters grabbed a megaphone, his voice booming over the gunfire. "Stop, or this woman dies!" More bullets from the machine gun tore through the air, and two police cars skidded to a halt, disabled. Hallam had no idea if the lieutenant was still alive. Beside him, Kowalsky hunched low, barely managing to steer with his head ducked beneath the wheel. Hallam risked a glance, lifting his head just enough to take aim. He fired at the van as the gangsters hurried to reload their machine gun. "Fucking bastards," he muttered through clenched teeth.

Suddenly, a red and blue blur flashed across his vision, faster than he could comprehend. The woman hostage vanished from the van in an instant, and the gangster who had held a gun to her head was flung violently to the roadside. At nearly the same moment, the machine gun disintegrated mid-air, shredded by a searing heat beam. The two vans were now engulfed by a whirlwind of red and blue—a blur moving too fast to track. The drivers were yanked from their seats and sent flying. Two more men with rifles tumbled out of the van, scrambling to their feet. They raised their weapons, aiming at Hallam’s car, but before they could fire, something unseen slammed them into the ground. Kowalsky fought to regain control of the car, desperately trying to brake before they collided with the now driverless van, which careened wildly, spinning out of control.

“We're going to crash!!!”

Hallam opened the door and was about to jump out when something slammed the door shut, pushing him inside. The car seemed to levitate swiftly just a couple of feet away before slamming into the van. Then it descended gently. A woman with tousled jet-black hair and deep blue eyes, wrapped in a red cape, appeared beside them.

“Are you all right, agents? I sincerely apologize for the delay.”

Superwoman's voice sounded afflicted. From the rest of the police cars, the other agents got out and ran to the vans. The criminals writhed on the ground as the policemen slapped handcuffs on them A couple of robbers tried to flee across the fields near the road, but Superwoman brought them back and threw them at the feet of the police. One criminal, who had been hiding in one of the two vans, tried to open fire, but Superwoman instantly snatched his rifle and split it in two before his eyes. Then, the Woman of Steel pulled the hostages from the vans and comforted them Two officers lifted Lieutenant Morris from the ground, bleeding profusely from one arm. Several gold ingots were scattered across the road. Hallam ran to his lieutenant.

“Lieutenant... How are you?”

“Damn it! I got two or three bullets in my arm,” groaned the lieutenant.

Superwoman levitated gracefully upon them, her cape rippling as she hovered just above the ground.

"I'll get him to the hospital right away!" she announced. "Lieutenant, let me apply a tourniquet, and I’ll take you to Chicago. I can have you at the hospital in two minutes... Please, hand me your ties."

Without hesitation, Hallam pulled off his tie and handed it to the superheroine. She gently removed the lieutenant’s tie as well, her hands moving swiftly yet carefully as she fashioned a tourniquet around the officer’s wounded arm.

"Is anyone else hurt?" she asked, her voice filled with concern.

One of the hostages, a woman, was sobbing uncontrollably. An officer knelt beside her, trying to console her, but her grief was overwhelming. Superwoman's eyes softened as she approached.

"What is it?" she asked, her voice low and gentle.

The officer spoke up. "Her son... She’s terrified for her son. He was in the bank with her during the robbery. She fears he’s hurt."

Hallam stepped in; his tone steady. "We haven’t received any reports of injured children. I’m sure he’s fine."

Superwoman knelt beside the crying mother, her presence exuding calm reassurance. "I’ll take her to Chicago now, along with the lieutenant. She needs to be with her son as soon as possible."

Without wasting a moment, Superwoman gently took the woman's arm, then moved to the lieutenant, carefully grabbing his uninjured arm.

"I'm sorry I was late..." she said, her voice tinged with regret. "I had no way of knowing... Please, forgive me. I’ll do everything I can to ensure this doesn’t happen again."

With that, Superwoman lifted them both effortlessly into the air, soaring into the sky. Within seconds, they were gone, vanishing into the firmament at unimaginable speed, leaving only a faint gust of wind in their wake.

Hallam looked at the two vans with the doors open and the gold scattered ingots, the four hostages still terrified and eight criminals in custody, some slightly injured.

What a hellish morning.

Kowalsky tapped him on the shoulder.

“It could have been a lot worse; we got them... And the hostages are safe.”

“Fucking crazy bastards.”

“Thank God for that woman.”

Hallam nodded with a sigh.

13.00 (GMT-5) METROPOLIS

Louis drummed his fingers on the table as he drained his glass of Spanish white wine. The Chalet Suisse was an elegant but discreet restaurant. An elegant couple, whose names Louis couldn't remember but who were very close to Senator Ives, greeted him by raising their glasses and Louis returned the gesture.

“PARDON ME, LOUIS”

Clara's almost shouting voice startled him. He stood up immediately. There was Clara, almost sweating, with her handbag, her everlasting notebook, and her foggy glasses.

“Don't worry, my dear.”

“I'm half an hour late! Forgive me, my morning schedule has collapsed.”

Louis smiled warmly at her while he noticed a tender look on the journalist's blue eyes. Louis took off her coat and told the waiter to take it to the checkroom.

“Wine?”

“Louis... I never drink.”

“Well, I hope you'll try a drop sometime.”

“Sparkling water.”

Louis motioned to the waiter and ordered another glass of wine and a sparkling water.

“I'll have a Wiener schnitzel with truffles, and you?” Louis started.

“I don't know, I think I'm in the mood for some fried vegetables.”

“Whatever you prefer. How was the orphanage?”

Clara twisted her face.

“Too emotional?” Louis asked again.

Clara sighed and looked wistful.

“They're great kids... And their teachers and caretakers do a great job with them. It's a dirty trick what they want to do to them, a real dirty trick.”

“The mayor's office says there are plenty of slots in other orphanages and it's okay to kick them out.”

“Louis, they are used to this place, they have their teachers, their routines... It is their home for most of them, unfortunately. It's a shame they want to kick them out.”

Louis took her hand.

“Let's go after the mayor for this. The developer they gave the building to is Bert Allen, a historical donor to these people's campaigns.”

“I did a little research... Bert Allen's partner is a donor to the other party and a classmate of Norris, the opposition candidate.”

“Don't look at me, I'm voting for the maverick conservative who's barely getting 15% in the polls. Both the mayor and Norris look like a pain in the ass to me.” Louis shrugged.

Clara sighed again.

“Poor kids...”

Louis took her hand again.

“Write a good article, it's the best we can do for them. Let's scare the mayor and the donors. One of the two candidates would have to promise not to touch the orphanage, and the election is close.”

“The kids asked me if we could contact Superwoman.”

Louis laughed cynically.

“Clara, dear, regarding this issue we can do a lot more for them than Superwoman can.”

Clara smiled at him.

They ate in silence. Clara looked at him out of the corner of her eye.

“So... How is the campaign going?”

“Mmm... It's going to be close.”

“Are you tense, Louis?”

“Quite.”

“In a few months it will be over, fortunately...”

“You look a little sad, Clara, are you fine?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Are you really fine?”

“Yes... I just went through some situations this morning that...”

 “Emotional...”

“No, tough situations, Louis, tough.”

“This city sucks... But any European capital is worse today.”

“The city doesn't suck, that's not what I meant.”

Louis tried to strike a jovial tone.

“Well, Clara, we're leaving for Innsmouth the weekend after the election.”

Clara blushed and looked down at the floor.

“I want to book two rooms for our upcoming “talk and walk”, so we don't run out of good hotels,” Louis continued.

“But you always say there will be no one this time of year!”

Louis made a silly clownish gesture and smiled at Clara.

“Yes, I'd go this weekend if it were up to me," Clara finally replied.

“Clara, let’s wait until the campaign is over.”

There was a tense silence between them.

“Emily, how is she?” Clara asked, trying to change the subject.

“She's very well.”

“She's still in her Superwoman fan phase?”

“Yes, she won't take off her red cape even to go outside or sleeping.”

Louis noticed a slight twinkle in Clara's eyes.

“Well, that's normal...”

“Yes, I suppose it is. She's a six-year-old girl.”

“And Pat?”

Louis was slow to answer.

“She's fine. Pat is great. The events of the world don't pass her by. Nothing upsets her. She is the perfect stoic. She has reached the total intersection of Epicureanism and Stoicism. She should write a book on philosophy," Louis said in an ironic tone that carried a certain bitterness.

“Was she always like that?”

“Yes, it's her main charm.”

Clara looked down at her plate. Louis took her hand again.

“Don't think about her.”

“Which police station should I go to about the bum raid last night?” Clara asked, trying once again to steer the conversation in a different direction.

“Jimmy said it went down all over the financial district and Hell's Kitchen,” the response came quickly. “You’ll have to check in with all three stations in the area to get started.”

“If they’ll even listen to me at any of them...” Clara muttered, her frustration evident. “What do you think they did with the homeless?”

“Probably rounded them up, shoved them onto trains to New Jersey or Philadelphia, or dumped them in shelters—and some, no doubt, ended up in holding cells. It's all just a farce by the city government, pretending the mayor’s handling things when, let’s be honest, Superwoman’s doing most of the heavy lifting.”

“Superwoman only volunteers for public order and first aid,” Clara countered seriously.

Louis laughed loudly, and several guests at other tables turned to them.

“I have never heard anyone describe Superwoman's activities so amusingly...anyways.”

Louis called the waiter back and asked about desserts.

“...and we have our special dessert for the third anniversary of the presence in Metropolis of our dear Superheroine, the Superwoman Blueberry and Raspberry Cake.”

“Uh, the name disgusts me, but the flavors really appeal to me... How about you Clara?”

Clara had a certain tired look in her eyes...

15.20 (GMT-5) BERLIN

Ullrich moved cautiously along the narrow windowsill, his steps deliberate, trying to control his breath. Just around the corner, there was an open window in the adjacent section of the building—his way in. From there, he could make a dash for the rooftop. Behind him, the old woman, her voice cracking with desperation, wailed for help from the very window he had just climbed out of. Her cries were relentless, echoing in the night. He hadn’t harmed her. He never would. Ullrich had only brandished the knife to scare her, and the sight of it had been enough to break her down into sobs. The jewelry he had taken was worthless—a few old, forgotten trinkets. But he needed it.

Pressing himself against the crumbling wall, he inched forward, careful not to look down. Five stories high—one of the few buildings left standing at this height in Berlin’s war-torn streets. He needed to reach the Soviet zone within an hour, where Arno waited for the loot from this robbery and the previous one. In exchange, Arno would secure him and his brother two or three more days of food, and maybe—just maybe—a warm mattress to sleep on.

The night was cold and dark. Almost the whole city was in darkness. During the last hour he had seen the flying American lady several times, carrying huge containers on her shoulders. Ullrich counted the hundreds of planes that supplied the western area every day and the number of different containers that Superwoman carried. Arno said that breaking the blockade was bad business for them. Ullrich didn't care. He didn't care about a lot of things, he just wanted to make sure he and his brother were safe. Superwoman brought in two dozen huge containers a day, much larger than the planes, the size of small ships... But where was this woman when his parents were killed in a bombing raid? And where was she when the Germans did those terrible things that Arno claimed were lies, but Ullrich suspected were true? To hell with the flying woman, the Russians, the Americans, Arno, the English, the French, the rest of the Germans, the old woman crying over the jewelry he had stolen... Ullrich only cared about his brother Jonas, who was barely ten years old.

The front wall was frozen, he felt cold in his chest. He tightly clutched the cloth bag with the jewelry, ignoring the old woman's screams. But to his misfortune he soon heard whistling and murmuring in the street, kaput. Three auxiliary policemen and a French officer tooted on their whistles and ordered him to stop as they entered the building. Go to hell, you bastards. A few more meters and Ullrich would enter through the other window, he would have to run fast to get to the roof before the cops. One more step, two steps even. But he slipped. He had never slipped before. The second step he took was misjudged and he slipped. Ullrich couldn't hold on to anything on the cold, smooth wall and he fell into the void, kaput.

Ullrich then felt himself embraced from behind and a bright red cape wrapped around him. The police were still whistling and yelling. He was still floating, but somebody stopped hugging him and moved on to grab him by the neck.

“For God’s sake! You are a kid!”

The woman was screaming in English, but he more or less understood. Ullrich found himself face to face with the damn flying woman holding him in the air. He felt a strange sensation because she had beautiful blue eyes and a very pretty face... She looked like a movie star. She was wearing the famous red and blue strange caped outfit with a red and gold "S" on her chest.

The woman gently flew over and dropped him on a rooftop several blocks away.

“Give me the jewels,” The flying woman spoke good German.

“No," Ullrich replied firmly. The woman grabbed his shoulder. He felt a quick pinch in his hand, and without noticing when or how, the woman in the red cape held the cloth bag in her hand and looked at him sadly.

“Stay here, I want to help you, please... I'll return this to its owner, and then we'll talk.”

The woman walked away, and Ullrich yelled a "go to hell, bitch" in English so the damn woman could hear him as he jumped to the other rooftop.

He was already in the other building when he felt his arm being grabbed.

“Please...," the woman said again in German.

“Leave me alone! Why don't you turn me over to the police?”

“You are a child! Why are you doing this? Where are your parents?”

Ullrich laughed mockingly.

“Why am I doing this? Where are my parents? Look around you, you bastard. Stupid.”

Superwoman looked at him sadly.

“No need for insults... I want to help you; I won't turn you over to the police... Do you want me to take you to a shelter?”

“A shelter! Fuck you! You fucked me up good! Because of you, Arno is going to kick me and my brother out tonight! I'm fucked!”

“You have a brother? Where is he? Who's going to kick you out? Who is this Arno?”

Ulrich wanted to burst into tears, but he looked defiantly at the woman, her red cape was floating in the cold light breeze. Her arms were crossed, and she looked at him with sadness and understanding, like a mother.

“Tell me," The woman insisted.

“Arno is my boss... I must bring him things...and he lets me, and my brother…and more children sleep in a warm building. He feeds us. We must work for him. If you fail and he doesn't throw you out, he gives you to the Soviet police, who put you in terrible orphanages.”

“Do you live in the Soviet zone?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me about your brother, and Arno. What's your name?”

Reluctantly but deeply captivated, Ullrich shared his entire backstory with her, beginning from the loss of his parents. He detailed how he cared for his brother, how they were discovered by Arno who then enlisted them for minor thefts, sales, and courier tasks. Ullrich described Arno as a smuggler operating across all the occupied territories, adept at bribing officials. He revealed the location where Arno conducted his illicit activities, including how he involved children and nurses in stealing morphine. Ullrich didn't spare the grim details of what happened to some teenage girls Arno had taken in under the guise of providing shelter. Above all, Ullrich expressed his desire for safety for himself and his brother, mentioning they had an aunt in Stuttgart but were unable to leave Berlin. As he spoke, Superwoman listened with a mixture of sadness and anger in her blue eyes.

“I'll tell you what, Ullrich... Let's go see the Army Chief of the American Zone. Now he knows me and trusts me. Let's go get your brother and I'll take you both to him, put you in a safe place so the army will send you to Stuttgart. The general will do it as a personal favor. In return, you will tell him everything you know about Arno and his crimes, and where he does what he does, so that he can be stopped.”

The woman spoke to him kindly, she almost convinced him, but then Ullrich looked at her carefully... Who the hell was she? And why should the occupying authorities care about him? It was all the same, he could end up sleeping on the street again. If they arrested Arno, he would easily discover who was the whistleblower... Arno would be out of jail in no time and could do something terrible to him and his brother. No, kaput.

“No, leave me alone.”

“But you said Arno would throw you out...”

“I'll be fine, I’ll manage it.”

“Let me help you.”

“No, I don't trust you, and they'll probably separate me and my brother. He'll be sent God knows where, and I'm almost of age. No, I'd rather make it on my own.”

Superwoman tried to smile at him, but a tear rolled down her cheek. She insisted. “I'll tell you what. Let's go to the Soviet Zone right now and get your brother. I'll take you back to the American headquarters. You'll tell Arno's story, and then I'll fly you to Stuttgart tonight myself. We will look for your aunt, or I will leave you there with the authorities. They would not send you back to Berlin and you would be safe from Arno no matter what.”

Ullrich thought about it for a while...and then nodded in approbation. The woman gave him a big smile in return. She grabbed him by his arm.

“Hold tight! Let’s go! Up, up and away!”

18.19 (GMT-5) METROPOLIS

Night had already settled over Metropolis, the city’s lights flickering on as the last traces of daylight faded. The wind had stilled, leaving the air calm and heavy. Clara gathered her belongings in the quiet office, the hum of distant traffic the only sound breaking the silence. Maybe, just maybe, she could head home and finally rest—or even fly to Smallville for a change of pace. Then again, maybe not. She always preferred to take the bus or subway home, blending in like any other person trying to make their way through the city. But she didn’t always have that luxury. There was too much to do, too many responsibilities that never waited for a moment of peace.

“Four eyes, you look tired today, you look like you have six eyes,” Bob Mailer's bitter voice sounded behind her.

“Hi Bob, good to see you too.”

“What are you doing here so late? “

“It took the police station a while to get back to me about the bum raid last night, I had to finish the article for tomorrow’s edition...”

“Oh, that's right, I heard something. The drunken Irishman who rules us is incapable of not doing funny things with the police.”

“You could try, just try, not to make horrible comments about people and your prejudices. At least not all the time.” Clara sighed.

“The mayor is Irish, isn't he? And he's a drunkard, right? Those are two things that are true. For example, I'm a crazy Jew,” Mailer seemed to laugh at his own witticism.

Lord, give me the strength not to throw him out the window, I can't handle him.

“Listen Cross-eyed Copy of Superwoman, I just got a call from McCormack.” Mailer continued.

“McCormack?”

“Our correspondent in Berlin. The fat baboon.”

“I know who our Berlin correspondent is.”

“Listen, apparently there's a hell of a mess in Berlin.”

“Uh,” Clara turned around curiously, trying to hide a smile.

“Superwoman must’ve slipped into the Soviet Zone early this evening, rescuing a bunch of kids being exploited by some lowlifes and brought them over to the American Zone. Word is, she forced the hand of some smuggler—Soviet Zone scum—who our MPs claim they nabbed right in our zone, but now the Russians are howling mad, saying she smuggled the guy out of their territory. One hell of a mess, if you ask me. The top brass in Berlin? They’re smitten with the red-caped dame. The general in charge swears the anti-blockade strategy would’ve crumbled without Superwoman, so it looks like he’s returned the favor—agreed to get the kids out of the Soviet Zone and lock up that crook. Or so McCormack tells me. Here’s the kicker, though: all this went down in the last three hours, and now the State Department’s fit to be tied. They’re ready to toss the general out a window.”

Clara feigned a pout of approval.

“Berlin, Berlin! Oh, what trouble Berlin is!”

“Is that the smartest thing you Kansans can say?”

“Good night, Bob.”

“Goodbye, six-eyes.”

Clara put on her coat, gathered her things and took the elevator down, humming the song Stardust. Maybe she should go to a movie theater for a while, a double feature, although it was usually impossible for her to watch a whole movie without someone needing Superwoman elsewhere. She was just about to hurry out of the lobby when she felt a small pair of arms wrap around her waist. Startled, Clara turned.

“Clara!”

It was Emily, Louis' daughter—the little girl stood there in a light blue coat and matching cap, a red cape peeking out from beneath her coat. Clara’s face lit up with enthusiasm as she knelt to greet her.

“Well, if it’s Super-Emily!”

She and the little girl hugged.

“I’m going to the movies to see Bugs Bunny!”

“Oh, what fun! And what a beautiful red cape you're wearing!”

The little girl jumped up and stretched out her arm like Superwoman did when she took off. Clara turned to her right, a few steps away stood Louis with a slightly nervous smile, wearing his dark hat and coat. Next to him was Pat, looking at her with a kind of annoyance and indifference.

“Louis...Mrs. Lane....” Clara greeted them.

“Hello Clara dear, how are you?" Pat gave her an ethereal kiss on the cheek as she took her daughter by the hand.

“We had dinner with my parents and now we're going to the movies. We stopped by so Emily could say hello to Perry," Louis explained awkwardly.

“I finished the article on the bum raid and tomorrow's edition already has it.” Clara answered

“Great, thank you for the effort.”

“What happened to the tramps?” Pat asked with mock curiosity.

“Oh, the mayor mobilized the police yesterday to remove all the homeless from the financial center.”

“Well, it took him a while to think of it, anyways let's hope Norris wins... Clara dear, Mason is a very good friend of the family, if you want to interview him or ask him anything, just tell me," Pat said casually.

“Oh, don't worry, I'm not in charge of anything for the mayoral election... Although we might annoy him with an orphanage issue.” Clara said lightly.

“Well Clara, we’re late to the movies, thanks for finishing the raid article," Louis bowed his head sympathetically.

“Have fun with Bugs Bunny, Super-Emily!” said Clara, returning to give Louis' daughter a hug.

“Would you like to join us?" Pat asked her in an almost hostile tone. She was a very beautiful and above all very elegant woman. She was very thin and shorter than Louis and Clara, but she had caramel-colored eyes that were very famous. Clara had never gotten along with her, and she knew how difficult her marriage to Louis had been. It was strange to stand next to the woman she wanted to be taken away from Louis…What would she think? Lucy called her "Poisonous Doll."

“I'd love to, but I'm so tired, see you tomorrow, Louis," Clara bowed her head in farewell and slipped out before the Lane's left the building.

Pat and Louis walked wordlessly to a taxi, and before she got in, she inquired fiercely. “I don't care what you do, but I don't have to put up with her. She could refrain from greeting me or my daughter when I am present.”

Louis ignored her.

“Look at the sky!” Emily screamed.

Between the skyscrapers, at medium altitude, a familiar figure was flying. Superwoman wasn't flying very fast; her red cape was clearly visible. This time she didn't look like a blur.

22.20 (GMT-5) ACROSS THE WORLD, METROPOLIS

Superwoman landed and gently lowered the ambulance to the ground. She had made five trips in an hour between this hospital in the Marshall Islands - the only one that could be called that - and Regina Dozier Hospital in Gotham City. On each trip she had carried two sick people in the ambulance at thousands of miles per minute, ten in all. Ten men, women and children suffering from the after-effects of radiation and disease caused by the U.S. military's nuclear tests one and two years earlier.

Professor Helena Bertinelli, a young doctor-and former nun-from Gotham, had been coordinating medical aid for the many sick from the aftermath of the explosions. She had tried to get the attention of the world's press, but no one had listened. Despite her repeated letters to the Vatican, assisted by two Jesuit missionaries from the islands, no one had raised a voice. Finally, a Jesuit went to tell the story to Louis, who immediately wrote an article. Bruce Wayne knew of Bertinelli indirectly. The young Gotham doctor had suffered a traumatic childhood: her father - a gangster - and her mother had been brutally murdered nearly two decades earlier. The Wayne Foundation offered to pay for the treatment of the most seriously injured at Gotham's Regina Dozier Hospital. There remained the problem of relocation; the most seriously ill would not survive a boat ride from the Marshall Islands to Gotham. Clara read about it in Louis' article, and Bruce absentmindedly commented on the issue to her. A few days later, Superwoman appeared hovering over the Marshall Islands hospital, gently descending and asking to speak to Dr. Bertinelli. They had managed to get the first ten sick people to Gotham by flying an ambulance through the air at full speed.

Part of the medical team led by Dr. Bertinelli and a priest came to say goodbye and thank her for her help. Superwoman bowed her head before them in humility. Dr. Bertinelli was a young, serious woman with a Mediterranean air, few words, and a cold way of expressing her indignation. There was something about her that reminded Superwoman of Louis.

“Dr. Bertinelli, would you like me to take you back to Gotham? I can take you and your luggage.”

“I'll be staying a few more days, and I already have my boat ticket. Besides, I have little to contribute now. The Regina Dozier has the best specialists...”

“Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Dr. Bertinelli sighed.

“Nothing, Mrs. El, you've already done a lot... But maybe I could ask you one thing.”

“Tell me.”

“If you ever give a speech at the UN again, mention us. Tell all those diplomatic penguins what nuclear weapons testing does.”

Superwoman nodded.

“I will, don't think I'm sympathetic to these methods.”

“What about the "American Way"?”

“I wish it didn't include these kinds of actions.”

Dr. Bertinelli smiled gratefully at her and returned with the rest of the medical team.

Well...up, up and away!

Superwoman lost herself in the sky, rising into the stratosphere. The world rolled away at her feet. She closed her eyes and listened. She was needed on five continents. In an hour and a half, she passed through China, Pakistan, Ethiopia, Egypt, Italy, Ireland, Guinea, Brazil, and finally back to Metropolis. From fires to shootings, from landslides to floods. In Metropolis, she put out a fire in an unoccupied house where several refugee beggars lived, suspiciously close to the orphanage and other buildings that the city council and several developers wanted to demolish. It was still midnight in Metropolis, she would probably have to fly around the world another time or two before she could get an hour's rest.

Superwoman glided gracefully among the towering skyscrapers, reflecting on her day, the individuals she had assisted…Including Ullrich and his brother whom she had successfully reunited with their aunt, the lives she couldn't save during the shooting in Chicago, memories of Louis, and the thankful smile of a teenager she rescued from a typhoon in Indonesia just the day before. Then, suddenly, an intense ultrasonic buzz disrupted her thoughts, originating, as it always did, from the TELCORP Tower. Luthor's corporate skyscraper had become a source of agony for Superwoman, equipped with ultrasonic emitters on each level designed to repel her with their shrill sounds. She could avoid the discomfort by keeping at least half a mile away, but her duties often required her to venture closer. The tower stirred in her profound animosity. Occasionally, Luthor would increase the intensity of the sound, cautious not to harm the public but eager to irritate her for brief periods each week. This act was his method of provoking her, capturing her attention, and reinforcing their mortal enmity—a designation he had imposed. It also served as his peculiar way of beckoning her.

Feeling anger and sadness, Superwoman flew toward the tower. The sound was terrible. She knew where Luthor's office was. She floated down to it. There the billionaire scientist stood, grinning maliciously, leaning against the glass. As soon as his eyes met hers, Luthor seemed to press a device, and the sounds stopped. With her super-hearing, she could hear the man's words.

“Good evening, Kala-El.”

“Luthor...," Superwoman spoke loudly and authoritatively so that Luthor could hear her on the other side of the glass.

“How was your day ruling over mortals?”

“I don't rule anyone.”

“No? Deciding who lives and who dies... Who sleeps in a dungeon and who doesn't... Looks a lot like ruling.”

Superwoman looked at him sadly. “Why do you hate me so much?”

“Because I love humanity.”

“At times, I worry that those among you who profess a broad and abstract affection for numerous grand things may, in reality, harbor more hate than love within.”

“What do you know of hate and love? You are not one of us.”

Clara thought back to her day, to all the people she had tried to help, her friends, her mother, the memory of her father, Louis and Emily....

“I think I know more than you ever will, Luthor.”

Clara smiled to herself, feeling hopeful, and flew towards the starry firmament, not listening to Luthor's reply as he turned the ultrasound back on.

How did Clara Kent/Superwoman live in 1948?

Weekly Income as Assistant Reporter: 52$ (2,750$ annually or 32,000$ adjusted by inflation in 2023)

Weekly rent of a 650 sq.ft 1 room-1 bathroom studio in East 102 street in Manhattan: 20$ (1,100$ annually or 12,800$ adjusted)

Total savings after three years working in Metropolis: 825$ (9,600$ adjusted)

Horn-rimmed eyeglasses: 8$(93$ adjusted)

Full office suit: 30$ (349$ adjusted)

Personal typing machine: 72$ (838$ adjusted)

Monthly costs of a dog: 12$ (140$ adjusted)

Monthly subway and bus tickets: 3.5$ (41$ adjusted)

Weekly shopping, one person: 4.7$ (55$ adjusted)

2-way train and bus ticket from Metropolis to Smallville (North Kansas): 45$ (525$ adjusted)

1 vinyl record of Glen Miller Orchestra: 1$ (12$ adjusted)

1 cinema ticket to watch Alfred Hitchcock’s “The Rope”: 0.4$ (5$ adjusted)

1 ticket for a night show in Radio City Music Hall: 2$ (23$ adjusted)

1 hardcover book, “Under the Volcano” as a gift for Louis: 1.5$ (17$ adjusted)

September [Crossed out] October 1947

My dearest Louis, It's nearing two years since...I've penned countless letters you've yet to discover...since I embraced what I believe to be my duty. I'm writing now, unsure if these words will ever find you, compelled by a need to sort through my thoughts. It's a quest for self-understanding, hoping that, in time, you might grasp the essence of me. There are moments when I scarcely recognize the woman in photographs, or the heroic murals painted in the streets. At times, a profound melancholy engulfs me, alongside a yearning to simply be Clara Kent. Yet, I am acutely aware of the sacrifices my duty entails, uncertain of when I may fulfill it. To ignore the talents bestowed upon me by God, or to withhold the aid I can offer to others, would be unjust. By the love I bear for you and my parents, I do not consider myself superior to anyone. However, I am convinced that my abilities can be of service. Just that. There was a period when I viewed these powers as a curse, but it would be dishonest to claim I don't revel in the role of Superwoman, despite my aversion to the moniker they've assigned to me.

I cherish the opportunity to aid others, the thrill of flight, and even the power of super-strength. Yet, there are moments when I find it burdensome. Sometimes, I feel like a child harboring a delightful secret that must remain hidden, and I find myself blushing whenever the topic of Superwoman arises in conversations. There are times when pain seeps in as I listen to you on the radio or read your words in the newspaper, portraying me as a non-human entity, unpredictable and unworthy of trust. Your perspective is not lost on me; I might share the same view if our roles were reversed. Indeed, there was a time when I viewed myself through a similar lens. However, it's unfair for you to see me that way. Every day, you're sitting right in front of me. I'm honest with you about everything, presenting myself exactly as I am, with two exceptions: my role as Superwoman and my deep love for you. I fear the misconception that I might be someone I'm not. Finding the right moment to reveal the truth seems impossible, and sometimes, I wonder if it's better left unsaid. It's a challenging balance. I manage merely an hour of sleep daily, Louis, and spend much of my time soaring back and forth across the sky. It's a kind of madness, perhaps a beautiful one. I don't want to give it up, yet part of me wishes for a life without such burdens. This contradiction is mine to bear, hoping someday you'll grasp it. And maybe, one day, you'll open up to me too. We women sense these things, perhaps I even more so. I notice your glances, the way your smile lingers after our disagreements. Your inventive excuses just to spend an afternoon together or share a meal. I see through you. In many ways.

I understand the complexities of your marriage, your values, and your daughter. Your marriage exists in name only, a fact we're both aware of, just as your wife lives her life independently. Occasionally, it seems there isn't much of a way out of your dilemma, just as there isn't much of a way out of mine, despite the vast differences between them. And I appreciate that you are honest in your own way. Other men wouldn't have a problem with a double life, they would take me as a lover without hesitating. While I could come to terms with that, I find joy and an even greater love for you in your decision not to pursue such a path, adhering instead to a set of morals that I might not fully subscribe to, especially when so many others vocally committed to these ideals fall short in their daily lives.

I'm clinging to the hope for a miracle, a miracle of understanding between us. Perhaps such a miracle is elusive, and we're destined to remain forever intertwined as dear friends and confidants, which seems a bitter twist of fate. Maybe my thoughts are naïve. The world teeters on the edge of destruction, with looming threats of war, dangers from Luthor and others, and the recent brush with obliteration at the hands of Zod just eighteen months prior. When I reflect on the global turmoil and my own responsibilities, our adventures, yours and mine, chaste adventures confined to the spaces between office desks and a restaurant's corner, feel all too fleeting, and it strikes me as profoundly unjust. How can I expect you to understand me when I'm still grappling with my own identity? Yet, you grasp the concept of duty to others, of our purpose here to "love thy neighbor as thyself." Perhaps that shared comprehension is the foundation upon which you might come to understand the purpose behind my choice to don the red cape.

Clara K.

***

Louis Lane’s Provocative Radio Talk Challenges Public's Blind Trust in Superwoman

On yesterday’s radio broadcast of “All Voices” on KBBL, Major Louis J. Lane, the renowned journalist from the Daily Planet, took a bold stance against the growing admiration for Superwoman. In his weekly talk, Lane, who was the first reporter to interview the superheroine in October 1945, stunned listeners with his sharp criticism. While millions around the world view the Kryptonian heroine as a beacon of hope, Lane argued that her unchecked power could pose a potential threat to humanity. He warned that society is placing too much trust in a single extraterrestrial being, without considering the possible consequences.

Lane’s critique was clear: despite her good deeds, Superwoman remains an alien with powers far beyond ordinary humans, raising profound questions about responsibility, power, and trust. He suggested that the near-religious reverence for Superwoman could undermine democratic values by encouraging faith in a single extraordinary figure to solve humanity’s problems, instead of relying on collective human action.

LANE SPARKS DIVISION

While he is not the first pundit worried about the Woman of Steel’s powers, Lane’s scathing remarks have sparked a political and social firestorm. Conservative Senator Robert Taft (R-OH), a staunch advocate for constitutional limitations on government, praised Lane’s warning as "a necessary and courageous assessment of the risks posed by elevating any being to god-like status." Interestingly, Lane’s speech also found unexpected support from the left. Former Vice President Henry A. Wallace, often regarded as a liberal icon, remarked earlier today, “While I may disagree with Mr. Lane on many things, his analysis of the Superwoman issue is spot-on. He raises the questions that citizens must ask about unchecked power.”

However, not all reactions have been favorable. Supporters of Superwoman, including millions of ordinary citizens who see her as a protector and symbol of hope, quickly condemned Lane’s comments. Many argued that his critique unfairly paints Superwoman as a potential tyrant, ignoring the countless lives she has saved and her consistently benevolent behavior.

“Superwoman is a symbol of what we can aspire to,” declared Metropolis Mayor Perry O’Connell. “Her actions speak for themselves: she has never abused her power. To suggest otherwise is not only insulting to her but to the people whose lives she has improved.”

Across the nation, radio stations and newspapers have been flooded with letters both in defense of and against Lane’s statements. Some claim Lane’s words are rooted in xenophobia, while others argue they represent a necessary challenge to an increasingly complacent public.

Even the entertainment industry, long a celebrant of Superwoman’s feats, harshly criticized Lane’s declarations. Actress Katharine Hepburn quipped in the Metropolis Times, “It’s disappointing that in an era where women are finally showing their strength, men like Louis Lane insist on tearing us down, even if we’re from another planet.” Prominent journalists also disagreed with Lane’s portrayal. Diana Trent, a columnist for The Daily Tribune, accused him of stoking fear and cynicism: “Lane’s rhetoric plays on humanity’s worst instincts. The fact that she is an alien doesn’t make her our enemy. If anything, her actions show she embodies the best of humanity: courage, compassion, and selflessness.”

Superwoman herself has remained silent on the matter, continuing her crime-fighting efforts and humanitarian activities. It remains to be seen whether she will address the controversy, but for now, the nation is embroiled in a heated debate: Are we safer with Superwoman, or are we risking too much by placing so much power in her hands?

EXCERPTS FROM MAJOR LOUIS J. LANE’S SPEECH ON KBBL’S “ALL VOICES”

“Ladies and gentlemen, we live in an age where the worship of a single individual has reached extraordinary heights. Superwoman, the extraterrestrial from the planet Krypton, possesses abilities that surpass the imagination of our ancestors. She flies, bends steel, sees through walls with those eyes that can also shoot fire… But in our rush to idolize her, have we forgotten something fundamental? What does our reverence for this ‘super being’ say about us as a people? Americans, since our Revolution, have cherished freedom from tyranny, the right to self-government. By elevating a single person, who isn’t even human, to an almost divine status, we are playing with the very spirit of democracy and liberty.

The great historian Lord Acton once said, ‘Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.’ Have we forgotten this timeless truth in our blind worship of this alien force? What checks and balances does Superwoman answer to? She is not subject to our Constitution, our institutions, or the rules that govern men. There is no law she cannot break, no building she cannot tear down. Should we not be concerned that we have allowed ourselves to revere this being of limitless powers as though she were a deity?”

(...)

“It is not my intent to cast doubt upon the incredibly heroic and selfless actions of the Maid of Might, or the Woman of Tomorrow, as she is known by many. I have personally benefited from her remarkable abilities and her absolute dedication to others. The question we must ask ourselves, as citizens of a democratic country, is whether we can afford to surrender a portion of our freedom and allow a blind spot where a marvelous being can act as she sees fit.”

(...)

“Ladies and gentlemen, the history of mankind has shown that even the most just leaders, when endowed with unchecked authority, have inevitably succumbed to tyranny. Superwoman’s great power, combined with the awe we feel for her, places us on that precipice. We must remain vigilant, not blinded by her feats, and ensure that America remains a nation of laws, not a nation of gods.”

***

HOW DOES SHE DO IT?

Superwoman! The Woman of Steel! The amazing stranger from the planet Krypton! Known worldwide for her iconic red cape, blue supersuit, and that famous "S" on her chest! But have you ever wondered about the secrets of her supersuit? And how does Superwoman juggle her dual life as intrepid reporter Clara Kent while always being on call to save the day? First off, that "S" symbol isn’t an "S" at all! It’s actually an ancient Kryptonian ideogram that stands for "Hope" and represents the coat of arms of the House of El, Superwoman’s family. As the last member of this noble lineage, Kala-El, a.k.a. Superwoman, carries this symbol with pride and honor.

Superwoman's supersuit is more than just a costume; it’s a piece of history! This ceremonial garment, several hundred years old, was once worn by Kala-El’s great-grandmother, Jul-El, a revolutionary who sought to end the caste system on Krypton. Crafted from Mer'ik, a metallic polymer unique to Krypton, this synthetic material is as thin as a whisper yet incredibly strong and dense. It even maintains the body temperature of the wearer, offering nearly perfect protection. Originally used for grand ceremonies, travel, and military actions, this supersuit became a treasured family heirloom. When Jor-El and Lara sent Kala to Earth, they included this remarkable garment in her pod, symbolizing her noble lineage and the legacy she carries. For Superwoman, it’s a connection to her Kryptonian roots and serves as an almost indestructible action uniform. Plus, it’s as comfortable as silk, easily foldable, and fits like a second skin.

When it’s time for Superwoman to switch back to Clara Kent, she’s got a nifty trick! She simply folds up her sleeves and tights as far as her everyday clothes will hide them. The material is so incredibly thin that it can be folded repeatedly without creating any bulges. Superwoman’s red "boots" are actually just the lower part of her tights, extending from her feet to her knees, which she cleverly hides under her shoes or folds up under her skirt. And that iconic long, bright red cape? Superwoman just folds it up and tucks it behind her back and under her skirt. Thanks to the adaptive properties of the material, it stays neatly folded in place until she needs to spring back into action. It's the perfect blend of Kryptonian tech and everyday convenience!

Thanks to the lightness and adaptability of the Mer'ik material, Superwoman can wear her everyday reporter’s clothes seamlessly over her supersuit and cape without any bulges or discomfort. When Clara Kent opts for short or low-cut dresses, she wraps the entire supersuit around her belly, keeping it well-hidden yet ready to be deployed in an instant. Clara usually hides her civilian clothes and round glasses at her transformation spot. But if she has to transform outdoors, she carries a carefully folded bag in her purse. After transforming, she puts all her everyday clothes and her purse in the bag and leaves it in a secure or camouflaged place. This way, Clara can always ensure her secret identity remains hidden and her belongings stay safe, no matter where duty calls.

With her hair up and the thick round eyeglasses she's worn since childhood to hide her heat and x-ray vision, Clara Kent blends in perfectly. She speaks freely with her natural Kansas accent, a stark contrast to the solemn, neutral English accent she adopts as Superwoman. This clever disguise keeps everyone from realizing that Clara Kent and Superwoman are the same person. Always ready to change in a split second, she can swiftly fly wherever she is needed, her true identity remaining a well-guarded secret!

Chapter Text

A night of spring, 1946

Batman cursed his luck as he felt himself and the Batmobile soar through the air. Through the fogged window, he barely could see the dockside warehouses beneath his feet. He had one chance to open the door and jump. That damn Kryptonian flying woman couldn't drop the car on a warehouse where night shift workers were. He was in time for a not too painful fall. If he was able to fire the grappling gun in time, he could hang unharmed from a roof. Now or never. He had no doubt that the damned Kryptonian would turn him in to the police. One, two, three... Batman opened the door and jumped. Rain whipped at his face as he tried to reach for the grapple, but a red blur enveloped him, and he felt an irresistible pull. Suddenly, he found himself back in the Batmobile, banging against the roof and hearing the door slam shut. The Batmobile rocked violently, then steadied itself. He heard a muffled but firm female voice below.

“Don't try anything stupid, Mr. Wayne, I'm taking you home. I'm being very generous. This is the end of the escape.”

The Batmobile soared above the clouds carried by Superwoman, out of sight of the city. Bruce Wayne tried to calm down. The radio was not working; it was impossible to warn Alfred or Lucius Fox. They began to descend with speed. The Batmobile carried by the red caped lady broke through the clouds. The rain and darkness prevented Batman from seeing nearly anything, but he recognized the aspen path that surrounded Wayne Manor. The vehicle was deposited softly on the wet gravel. Batman readied the gun and two batarangs. He had always refused to use the gun. It was a last resort that he'd only used once…he wasn't sure he'd ever used it on a human. He wished that Robin and Catwoman were still by his side. He had been Batman for seven years; this couldn't be the end. The red-caped woman stood at the door. The rain distorted her image behind the window. It looked like she was opening the door of the Batmobile for him, but instead she was ripping it off. Through the rain and darkness, he could see a pair of deep blue eyes and the red cape glowing.

“Get out of this thing, please, Mr. Wayne, I beg you. You're home.”

Batman quickly aimed the pistole at Superwoman's bent knee, but in a split second, Superwoman smashed the gun in front of him, turning it into a strange mess of metal.

“Stop making a clown of yourself.”

The woman they had been calling Superwoman for a few months, now grabbed him violently by the armor, deforming it with her super-strength, and threw him out of the Batmobile into a puddle. The rain was now torrential. He turned and threw a batarang at the beautiful alien's face, but it bounced hard and missed. The caped woman did not change her gesture and continued to look at him severely.

“I guess you haven't figured out that bullets bounce off me yet,” she said firmly.

Batman sat up. Seven years as Batman and he had never encountered such a creature. Through the poplars and cottonwoods, he saw a light go on in the mansion... Alfred!

Superwoman approached him. Her hair was soaked. Water dripped from her suit and cape, which seemed to be completely waterproof. Her blue eyes seemed to glow. Her appearance was soft and graceful, but her touch was brutal. She tore off his helmet with one hand, crushing it into a tangle of metal and plastic and stomping on it with her red boot. Then she gently removed the black velvet mask he wore under his helmet. Water began to trickle down Bruce Wayne's face.

“Mr. Wayne, your fascistic rich boy adventures end here. I could turn you over to the police, but I understand the shades of gray in this city and the life you've led. Consider this a retirement gift for the Bat.”

Bruce was furiously silent.

With grace, Superwoman lifted the Batmobile above her head and hurled it through the treetops. Leaves and branches rained down on them. The superheroine rose like a bolt of lightning and shot through her eyes a sort of fiery beam at the flying Batmobile... It exploded, sending pieces of burning metal raining down on the grass. Superwoman shielded Batman with her long red cape. Bruce watched as one million dollars from 1940, and four years of engineering work, went up in flames.

Through the rain, he heard gunfire. It was Alfred.

“They're coming for you.”

“Alfred! If you do something to him, I’ll...”

“Who do you think I am? I'm nothing like you. I want to make one thing clear: the time for games has ended. This is a serious matter. As the raven once proclaimed, nevermore. From this moment forward, the police and I will assume responsibility for upholding law and order in Gotham. The era of vigilantes and torturers is over. My apologies, Mr. Wayne, but it might be time for you to seek out a new pastime.”

The superheroine seemed to be getting ready to take off, Alfred was running closer and closer to them.

Bruce countered, “You're making a big mistake, Clara Josephine Kent.”

Superwoman turned with a wild look of disbelief, anger and surprise.

“I said, Clara Kent, that you are making a very big mistake... You do not know who the League of Assassins really are, and you do not know what Talia Al-Ghul is capable of. You are putting thousands of lives at risk. I have faced them before. I took out their former boss. You have no idea of their strength, their fanaticism, their resources...”

The superheroine continued to look at him with anger and doubt.

“Mr. Wayne! Bruce," Alfred called worriedly from nearby.

“I'm fine, Alfred," Bruce replied.

“How… How did you...?" Superwoman stammered.

“It was an unforgivable mistake to appear so aggressive in that interview, Miss Kent, and I've seen better disguises than a bun and eyeglasses.”

A clap of thunder lit up the scene. Bruce could not watch as a tear ran down Superwoman's rain-slicked face. She had just been defeated.

Gotham, 6 October 1948

Clara Kent and Jimmy Olsen paused for a moment and looked up. The massive Wayne Tower, the third tallest building in America after the Empire State Building and the Metropolis TELCORP Tower, loomed in front of them. Clara closed her eyes and with her super hearing she could make out thousands of voices, including the familiar voice of Bruce Wayne talking to his advisors.

“I don't like the fact that we're going back to the age of the tycoons," Jimmy sighed.

“I'm sorry?”

“I don't know, Clara, the war's over and now half the names in the press are big millionaires... Luthor, Strauss, Lord, Wayne, Rockefeller...Their opinions count for a lot in politics, in diplomacy, again. I thought that was over with the crash of '29 and the New Deal. But here we are again, interviewing a millionaire playboy for his opinion on current affairs.”

"Aw, Jimmy, you know darn well what I think—ain’t no man sittin’ on a million dollars still got room left for a heart!” Clara gave a sly smile at Jimmy.

Poor Jimmy, he didn't know what Bruce was going through and the effort he was making. Bruce was stubbornly pretending to be a frivolous playboy with occasional moments of lucidity to distract everyone, while at night, and sometimes for long days, he was fighting evil as Batman. Nor did Jimmy know that under her pale blue shirt and beige plush jacket and skirt, she wore the blue tights and red cape of Superwoman.

Clara continued gracefully, “But Mr. Wayne is still an important person in the technological sector... He has Lucius Fox in his company, who is said to be the best mind in America after Lex Luthor.”

“Luthor, if he didn't hate Superwoman so much and have such an ugly face, I'd like him better than Wayne. At least he's a great philanthropist and has a reputation as a liberal.”

Oh Jimmy, if you only knew who Lex Luthor really is... Jimmy scratched his head and photographed the skyscraper.

“I think Mr. Wayne likes you.”

“Don't be silly Jimmy, he likes anything with a skirt on,” Clara lied.

“When we saw you with him in the bar at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel, we couldn't believe it.”

Clara blushed, “Jimmy, I just wanted to interview him and get some information about Luthor. Bruce knows I don't like him, and he's interested in having good relations with the press.”

“Yes, that's right,” Jimmy laughed, “I prefer him to Louis, to be honest. I think he's a better catch.”

Clara got angry. “Jimmy, it's important to learn when to remain silent, at least occasionally.”

“I'm sorry, I was just joking.”

“It's not funny.”

“Well Clara, you're not known for having much of a sense of humor.”

They both entered the grand foyer of Wayne Tower.

“Did Louis say anything to you about the Metropolis mayoral election?” Jimmy asked.

“Mmm... No, now that you mention it. He's only talking about the senate and presidential elections.”

“So, the rumours are true.”

“Which rumours, Jimmy?”

“Mason Norris was always said to be Pat Lane's lover.”

Clara was taken aback. She knew Pat Lane, Louis’ wife, had been unfaithful to him more than once… Louis had hinted, in his own way, that they’d come to some sort of arrangement so Pat could live her own life. But what Clara didn’t know was that Mason Norris—the charming, millionaire art patron and Republican candidate for mayor of Metropolis—was Pat Lane’s lover. There was so much Louis kept from her...

“I thought Louis didn't like Norris because he was from the liberal wing of the Republican Party. Now Jimmy, please stop gossiping.”

“You didn't know about this story?”

“No.”

Jimmy shrugged.

“Jimmy, please don't talk to me about these things.” She insisted.

“I’m sorry, Clara.”

Clara didn't want to be angry with Jimmy. They never talked about Louis. He was her best friend, but she knew he disapproved that kind of relationship she had with Louis.

They went to one of the counters. “We're Clara Kent and Jimmy Olsen from the Daily Planet, we have an interview with Mr. Wayne and Mr. Fox at 10am.”

The receptionist made several calls and three men in suits led them to a special lift. They travelled up more than sixty floors until they reached the executive floor. They were made to wait in a large lobby with a huge glass window overlooking all of Gotham.

“Wow, what a view,” Jimmy went up and took several pictures.

A cheerful voice interrupted them.

“Miss Kent... It's good to see you again.”

Bruce Wayne appeared out of nowhere. Clara looked at him with amusement. There he was, tall, strong, elegant, wearing a tailored suit, with his farsighted glasses replaced by contact lenses when he fought crime as Batman. Many people said he was similar to Burt Lancaster. Now it was time for a pantomime, as if they barely knew each other. Clara shook his hand as Bruce held back a laugh. Jimmy looked at them a little strangely.

After Bruce Wayne came Lucius Fox, one of America's most admired scientists and inventors. He was also a symbol of the African American people. Lucius Fox was from Mississippi and had lived a hard life before becoming the Chief Technology Officer of Wayne Industries. His books on mechanics were read in every university and college. He was one of the few black men who had openly succeeded outside of film and show business, overcoming racism in all other fields. His popularity declined, however, because he had declared himself an enemy of atomic bombs.

Clara asked the usual questions about the atomic bomb, which the Russians now had, the Rand Corporation, developments in aeronautics, the possibility of researching alien technology, the future of aviation, the need for peace-oriented technology and mass consumption. Almost all the answers were given by Lucius Fox, while Bruce pretended to be frivolous and repeated advertising slogans, even daring to wink at Clara once, but Jimmy didn't notice, he was too busy photographing them.

When the interview was over, Lucius left, and Bruce invited Clara into his office for a quick off-the-record chat. Jimmy looked at Clara mischievously and said he would wait for her at reception. Clara and Bruce entered the millionaire's bright office with views of the entire Gotham skyline. He greeted her warmly and kissed her on the cheek.

“How are you, Clara?”

“Exhausted!”

“How was yesterday?”

“Terrible. I spent ten hours rescuing injured people after the earthquake in Turkmenistan. I'll go back and help again as soon as I'm free of Jimmy. Not to mention the usual everyday thefts and accidents”

“Have you thought about what we talked about last week?”

“Yes, I don't want you and Barry to do anything stupid. You won't try to raid a US base. You'd end up behind bars sooner or later.”

“Aren't you worried of whatever the government and Luthor are planning?”

“Of course, I'm concerned, but we can't be labeled as public enemies.”

“We already are to the government, even if they don't dare say it.”

“They'll have to make the first move. Besides, Luthor will never obey the government, he's a megalomaniac and he's obsessed with me. Eventually, he'll try to act on his own. Then we will hunt him down and expose him. Luthor’s downfall will affect the Rand Corporation and with the political turmoil there will be a commission of inquiry.”

“You're too optimistic, Clara.”

“I don't want to violate the laws of my government.”

“A government that's funding and working with the people who want to kill you.”

“Maybe with the change of government...”

“I don't think so. McArthur and Admiral Strauss, who are in line to be Secretary of Defense if Dewey wins, hate you even more than the present Secretary of Defense.”

“The only thing I have to defend myself when I'm publicly attacked is that I follow all the laws and I'm only in the business of saving lives, Bruce. That's all we have.”

“Well, according to District Attorney Harvey Dent, I don't do the former. Batman has 27 counts against him in the Miskatonic District Attorney's office. I'm damn lucky the police are in the business of sabotaging Dent and his team of attorneys.”

Clara sighed and looked through the large glass window of Bruce's office. “Do you have any plans for tonight?”

“I'm going to need the cavalry, either you, or Barry. According to my research, there's a ship coming in with smuggled weapons and possibly forced prostitutes smuggled in from Europe. It's being brought in by a second-rate mobster who's got some weird FBI protection, but I think I can disrupt the landing and force the police to act.”

“Of course, count me in. As soon as I'm done in Turkmenistan, I'll be with you, hand in hand. At what time?”

“Batman will be there at 1am, but he doesn't intend to act until 2am.”

“BRUCE, DON'T TALK ABOUT YOU IN THE THIRD PERSON”, Clara started to laugh.

Bruce smiled and took her hand. “How's everything else going?”

“Well, work is good. My bosses seem to like my series of articles on the defense industry and the Rand Corporation... But yesterday's earthquake hit me hard.”

“Clara, Superwoman can't be everywhere, and I don't think she can stop the tectonic plates from moving.”

“If I have the ability to cause tsunamis to implode and halt their progress, or to dissolve hurricanes, perhaps someday I might also find a way to address earthquakes.”

“Clara, you can't. I have a certain scientific background and...”

“I forgot who the Batman is…a scientist and a detective!”

“Indeed.”

They both smiled at each other, Bruce turned and walked around the office.

“And what about Mr. Lane?”

Clara looked wistful. “Mr. Lane is completely preoccupied with the election and his daughter, but it looks like we're doing better and there will be changes soon... Maybe...”

Thoughtfully, Bruce sank into an armchair. Clara looked at him lovingly. Bruce was still madly in love with Selina Kyle, the second-rate music-hall singer who, thanks to her wonderful agility, had later become a thief and perhaps a superheroine… Catwoman. But after a terrible confrontation with the Joker and the Penguin, Selina was in a mental hospital in a terrible depression. Bruce spent a fortune on doctors and visited her every morning, though Selina barely recognized him.  Bruce had never told her the full story. It had happened in 1943, before they met, and before Superwoman came on the scene. It had all been indirect references or discreet comments from Alfred. A few weeks earlier, Bruce talked openly about the issue, he was very happy that Selina was getting better.

“I like Mr. Lane, Clara, I think he's a decent guy.”

“Maybe you two are a bit like...  You like to be real twits, but then you're very good men.”

“I don't understand why he won't leave his wife for you.”

Clara shrugged sadly. “It’s not easy. It's because of his daughter... and well, they're Catholics, it's not easy for them.”

“Clara, you should tell him the truth. I'm sure it would be difficult at first, but he would understand everything. There would be no stumbling blocks. I assure you from my experience that there are certain lies that it is a mistake to maintain for too long.”

“When he's ready, and when I'm ready. To tell him now would only serve to alienate him from me and to put him in danger.”

“I don't understand how he hasn't yet realized that you're the same woman.”

“Neither do I, but maybe you men aren't as smart as you think you are... Well Bruce, I should go, otherwise Jimmy will think there's something strange going on here.”

“One question… Does Louis still subscribe to the theory he's had for years that Batman is actually several men hired and trained by the police and the city's moguls to maintain order beyond the law and to serve as a publicity symbol for the city?”

“Yes, he certainly believes it, and he also believes that one of them broke his arm.”

“The year 40 was very complicated, and your dear Louis was then more a professional thug than a journalist. What I did was to save his life, he broke his arm by himself.”

“This kind of things were the reason because you and I did not get along well at first.”

“I remember it very well. You smashed my Batmobile, you ripped off my helmet and mask, you wrote that I was a dangerous fascist vigilante...”

“Bruce! Your dear Harvey Dent convinced me that you were a dangerous torturer and protector of thugs. And I knew who you were the first time I saw you.”

“Surprised?”

“I believed Louis' theory that there were many Batmen, and that they were all police and mob-trained thugs. Have you forgiven me yet for the Batmobile?”

“It's been almost three years, it's already covered by the book depreciation," Bruce joked.

“I was so wrong.”

“I know," Bruce laughed sympathetically.

“Bruce!”

“You apologize to me almost every day! You're so annoying! Two days after you blew up my Batmobile, I thought you were the most amazing and decent woman in the world.”

Clara blushed. “It's a good thing you figured out my secret identity, or I wouldn't have listened to you about Thalia Al-Ghul.”

"It was worse in '42, believe me. Her father and a group of Nazi agents tried to detonate a chemical bomb in Gotham—would’ve killed at least a million people. But you've done greater things, Clara. You forget that every single soul on this planet owes you their life."

"I don’t like to think about that," she said, her voice tense.

"As you wish." He sighed, rubbing his temple. "I've been at this for almost a decade now. I'm thirty-nine, Clara. I’m tired. There are things I’ve chosen to forget—automatically, even."

"I need you. Everyone needs you. You—more than you realize—you force Barry and me to think with our heads."

"That’s the job, Clara. But let’s be honest, it’s Superwoman the world really needs. You show your face. You fly through bright skies. You give them hope."

"Stop, please."

He gave a quiet chuckle. "I knew the moment I met you. That first interview? Glasses and a fancy bun? Not exactly the best disguise."

"Bad enough that it works on everyone."

Bruce laughed, a rare sound, before glancing at her with something softer in his expression. "Thank God we got along in the end."

"It always starts like this for me. I get off on the wrong foot with the people who... well, who end up meaning the most to me."

"Because you're as stubborn as they come."

"Funny. Coming from men as thick-skulled as you and Louis." Clara smirked.

Bruce leaned back slightly, his tone shifting. "By the way… do you know who bankrolled more than half of Dent's campaign? And the judges backing him?"

"Luthor. I read it in the Gotham Tribune—Vicki Vale’s report." Clara’s expression darkened.

Bruce nodded. "What do you think?"

Clara exhaled, her jaw tightening. "That they’re coming after you. And after me. I know, Bruce. I’m aware."

“It won't be long before they try the same thing against you in the Senate or in Metropolis. Dent and Attorney Edge are now close allies.”

“That's why I won't budge an inch from the way I do things. If I want people to continue to trust Superwoman.”

“I commissioned some polls... Well, Lucius commissioned them. You still have 70% of the people on your side, 80% in Metropolis. But you have a 25% unfavorable rating, that's very high, Clara, I have 50%, but 25% jumps to 40% very easily. Luthor will ride that. And the Secretary of Defense, whether it's Strauss or Forrestal...”

“I am not a politician. I have my own values, and a way of doing things that has already been agreed upon with the President and the UN. I will continue to do my job in exactly the same way. That includes you and Barry...”

Bruce smiled and put his hands lovingly on her shoulders. “Well Superwoman, I'll see you tonight. Thanks for your help.”

Clara gave him a mocking military salute.

“At your service, Mr. Bat!”

Clara met Jimmy downstairs and they took a bus to the hotel. Jimmy looked at her strangely.

“What did Mr. Wayne tell you?”

“He gave me names of people I'm interested in for my research.”

“I see… And why is he helping you?”

“She found me sympathetic, and he doesn't like people associated with the Rand Corporation.”

When they arrived at the hotel, Jimmy suggested they could walk around the area looking for stories or good photos. Clara pretended to be sleepy and told Jimmy that she wanted to stay at the hotel to rest and prepare the article. They entered the elevator and Jimmy got out on the third floor. Clara was left alone… Well, up, up, and away! In a fraction of a second, she undid her bun, took off her glasses, removed her skirt, shirt, and jacket, revealing her blue tights and her red and gold crest with the House of El emblem on her chest, as she unfurled her red cape. She lifted the roof of the elevator slightly and flew off to Turkmenistan to help the victims of the earthquake. The elevator arrived empty on the fifth floor.

***

Superwoman returned to her hotel room after nearly eight hours of rescuing the wounded and helping earthquake survivors in Turkmenistan, as well as performing a few rescues and quick arrests of the rare criminals who dared to daily challenge the trinity of Batman, Flash, and the Lady of Steel. She quickly changed into Clara Kent and had dinner with Jimmy in the hotel’s restaurant. Jimmy kept glancing sideways at her.

“Who do you think will win, Clara?”

“I guess Dewey.”

“Do you think he'll ask Congress to legislate about Superwoman? They're talking about special legislation.”

“No, I don't think so.”

“What do you think?”

“Well, I think as long as they let her keep saving lives, legislation to give people peace of mind wouldn't be a problem. I'm sure Superwoman will obey the law whether she likes it or not.”

“Don't you think we're being a little ungrateful?”

“I don't think it's a question of gratitude. I don't think we need to be grateful to her. She's trying to do her duty like everybody else. I don't look at her any differently than I look at the police or how I look at doctors and nurses.” Clara said gravely.

Jimmy smiled. “Clara, you seem to be the person in the paper who is the least excited and the least interested in Superwoman.”

“I think we've seen so much in the last few years... Superwoman is just one thing more," Clara sighed, "Plus I think she's trying to be discreet and not get involved in public life. I think any politician or public figure gives us more headaches.”

“You're the only one who thinks that way.”

“Anyways, I must admit that you take good pictures of her, very good pictures.”

Jimmy moved a little closer to Clara, “Sometimes I get a little scared.”

“Why?”

“She looks like she's posing for me.”

Clara hid her embarrassment and adopted a joking tone.

“Maybe she has you on file and likes the way you take pictures.”

“Why do you think she let us interview her first? Louis Lane is a great interviewer and a good journalist, but he's relatively young and he'd just come back from the war. He'd been out of journalism for four years. There are a lot of bigger name journalists who would have done a great interview. Cat Grant or Mailer at our paper, without going any further, Paul Anderson, Edna Lee Booker, Liebling, Lipman, Tess Harding?”

“Jimmy, my darling, Chance, I'll spell it for you: c-h-a-n-c-e.”

“I don't believe in those things, Clara, I think we've got her close.”

“Oh, Jimmy, what nonsense... As long as Superwoman isn't Pat Lane…”

Clara's heart was beating fast, Jimmy suspected something... She thought she could trust him, she thought she knew him well, but what if Jimmy found out before she could explain it to him? What if there were more people who found out and ended up with her secret identity? Clara tried to cover her nervousness with jokes, and they ended up talking about silly things. When they finished dinner, Clara said she was very sleepy, she quickly left and went back to her room where she quickly changed and as Superwoman flew at super speed through the window.

Well, tonight should be easy, arrest a few mobsters, it's only bullets and machine guns. Nothing that will take me more than a few minutes.

After several rescues, she flew to the harbor around one in the morning, where she found Batman perched on the roof of a warehouse, watching something with binoculars.

Bruce was transfixed by the faint lights of a freighter. Despite the darkness, he could make out the letters through the night vision of his binoculars. KARAKORUM, K-A-R-A-K-O-R-U-M, undoubtedly the rusty ship he had been waiting for. Days earlier, he and Alfred had picked up a phone conversation between two mobsters, Dutch Galante and Jimmy Kaplan. Galante was an expert smuggler who had fallen out of favor after 1942 for working too closely with the smooth operators of the Italian Fascist regime in Gotham's Italian-American community. But now he was back with strange police protection. That protection was provided by Jimmy Kaplan, a Metropolis mobster who had settled in Gotham in 1940 to avoid prosecution. Kaplan was elusive, had many political connections, and his nightclub was one of the most successful in the city. He had inherited many of first Intergang's businesses, from Carmine Polito and others. Alfred had a theory: Kaplan was simply taking care of Polito’s and the Penguin's business while they were in prison, using his political connections and his talkative nature. This was the first time Batman thought he could nail Kaplan. The two mobsters had talked about the freighter, its time of arrival, the absence of guards, and the cargo it was carrying: "white veal" (a terrible code for trafficking in women forced into prostitution, usually refugees fleeing Europe) and "marbles" (guns). If he disrupted this landing and got the police involved, it would be a good coup, at worst they could arrest Galante.

A strong breeze blew behind him.

“Good night, Bruce.”

“Don't call me Bruce when we're in the field. We are Batman and Superwoman.”

“Mr. Bat, if you only knew how much I dislike the name Superwoman...”

Superwoman flirtatiously wiggled her red cape and kissed Batman on the cheek, who growled.

“This is very serious, Superwoman, we can expose the Harbor Patrol and take down two very important gangsters. I know everything but earthquakes and aliens is easy for you, but there are kidnapped women on that ship... And weapons that are likely to be used by the Mafia for more sinister purposes.”

Superwoman sighed.

“Batman, I just enjoy doing operations together, and I don't think this one will be difficult.”

Batman explained his plan to Superwoman; they would both burst in as soon as Galante's henchmen arrived. Superwoman would cover Batman as he entered the ship and freed the kidnapped women. Then the two would wait for the police to arrive and hand over the women and the detained henchmen, while exposing the shipment of weapons.

The freighter was still quietly docked and there was a little more movement. Three cars with their lights off pulled up next to the freighter and about ten armed men got out. Clara and Bruce's hearts skipped a beat when they saw that there were three men in army uniforms among them.

“What the hell is going on?”

“I don't understand.”

Superwoman sensed that something wasn't quite right. She sharpened her super-hearing.

“Lieutenant Bentham?”

“Are you Maldini?”

“Yes, I'm your contact.”

“Well, we don't want to be here for too long. There are five boxes of papers plus the two sealed boxes. Take them out immediately. We don't want to get involved in anything else. A truck will be here for us in about 10 minutes.”

“The agreement was that you would hold off the port police for four hours so we could get our cargo down.”

“It has been one hour. Give the order to unload our cargo immediately.”

“Batman, these military men are here to pick up a shipment... I don't understand.”

“I do understand. Smuggling. Or a certain general wants to hide something from the rest of the army.”

“I'm going to zoom in quickly to see if there really are people being held hostage inside...” Superwoman said with determination.

“We're going to act anyway; the police must intervene.”

Flying at superspeed, Clara made several passes with her x-ray vision, undetected by the freighter crew or the henchmen. The cargo included cotton, radios, scrap metal... But she also saw a group of fifteen women locked in a bunk room talking to each other in Polish. She detected the armed men inspecting five large crates of papers and two crates sealed with lead... Great Scott! Lead, lead again! Clara feared that the two sealed boxes were sealed with lead to prevent her from seeing what was inside. She hurried back to Batman.

“Bruce you were right, there are kidnapped women inside. I think they are Polish. I haven't seen any signs of weapons, but there are some sealed lead boxes that I find disturbing.”

“Superwoman, we must go in.”

“We'll wait for the ship's crane to remove the lead boxes first.”

“Okay.”

The wait took forever. Soon the crane lifted seven large crates, which Superwoman identified as the ones filled with papers and the two lead boxes.

“Well, here we go, Clara.”

Superwoman smiled, “We agreed no names, right?”

Batman jumped onto the roof of a black Studebaker. Before the surprised henchmen had a chance to set their machine guns to work, Batman began punching and kicking the henchmen to the ground. Batman carefully dodged the three military men, who still began firing at him. Luckily for Batman, the bullets ricocheted off the chest of Superwoman, who used her super-speed to disarm everyone in the dock.

“Damn it! Damn it! Let's get out of here! We need to call the General now!” A soldier howled.

The three military men ran into a car as Batman cut down the rest of the henchmen, but Superwoman lifted the car over her head and brought it back down while carefully ripping off the wheels.

“You shouldn't have come tonight; you'll stay here until you can explain to the police what you were doing in such bad company. Excuse me for making sure you stay with us.”

Superwoman ripped off the car door and, under the astonished eyes of the three soldiers, turned it into three metal bars, which she bent with her super strength and used to bind the soldiers. Deep down, she was scared and feared the consequences of what had happened… Officers working together with mobsters!

Batman leapt onto the ship, moving swiftly like a shadow through the chaos as the crewmen opened fire with rifles and machine guns. Bullets whizzed past him, but he was always one step ahead, dodging with precision. Superwoman, without hesitation, unfurled her bright red cape, stepping in to shield Bruce as bullets harmlessly ricocheted off her. Together, they descended into the ship, making their way to the cargo hold where the kidnapped women were being held. Inside, the women cried in confusion and fear. Batman and Superwoman quickly opened the door, stepping in to reassure them. “You're safe now,” Superwoman told them gently, while Batman guided them out, keeping a close eye on their surroundings.

Meanwhile, the remaining crew members and henchmen, those who weren’t injured or restrained, either jumped into the water to escape or fled across the harbor, disappearing into the night. Up on deck, the crane operator had fled, and the platform was swaying slightly. Two of the paper boxes had fallen. One had crashed into the water and the unreadable papers were floating in a mess, another had fallen and exploded on deck and papers were flying in all directions. Superwoman grabbed some of them. They were illegible papers in German, calculations, blueprints of strange machines, copies of symbols and writing that Clara recognized as Kryptonian. Her heart skipped a beat. Black and white photos of strange stone blocks and archeological excavations, rusted machinery, two empty pods that were also undoubtedly Kryptonian... All pages were stamped with the Nazi symbol and the dates 1942 and 1943. What the hell is this?

“Bruce, please pick up all the papers you can.”

Superwoman took off gently and floated over to the other boxes… There were the lead boxes. She felt her heart racing, but also a strange headache and dizziness. She knew very well the sensation of heat, overpowering and vomiting... It couldn't be. She approached the lead box with trepidation and set it down on the deck. Her heart was pounding. She opened it.

Her hands and face felt as if they were on fire, and she coughed on all fours. It was Kryptonite. A greenish, hideous, metallic powder. At least a ton of powdered kryptonite.

Bruce rushed over to her.

“Clara, what's wrong? What's wrong with you?”

“It's kryptonite”, Superwoman said, coughing and convulsing.

Superwoman managed to stand up, walk over to the metal box and punch it. The box flew into the water, and a cloud of greenish dust disappeared over the ocean. Police sirens wailed in the distance. Patrol cars entered the harbor.

“Let's get out of here, please, Bruce.”

Superwoman struggled to her feet, flew to the crane and grabbed the other lead box. She could barely hold it. She threw it with all her might far out to sea and could see the box bursting against the water in the distance, leaving a strange green trail. The Maid of Might then fell on the deck and went falling through several levels, almost fainting, until it pierced the bottom of the ship. The ship began to take on water as Superwoman nearly lost consciousness while she floated beneath the hull of the vessel.

Bruce shouted at the hole left in the ship by Superwoman's fall, but he had no time. The gangway was down, the ship was tilting dangerously. He dragged the wounded or handcuffed henchmen and crewmen as well as the refugee women onto the bridge. The police had already arrived and were shouting everywhere as flashlights illuminated the ship. The tilt of the ship had knocked over the other boxes of papers that had burst against the deck, the water or the dock. Papers were flying everywhere. Batman was sweating and feared for Clara. He could get arrested this time; it would be the end of Batman's career… But Clara? She was hurt, maybe badly, how to rescue her? The tilt of the boat suddenly corrected itself and a force pushed it against the dock. A red and blue blur repositioned the gangway.

Bruce smiled; Superwoman was all right. The Dark Knight invited the women to follow him to the gangway, which was already occupied by the police. As the police silently pointed their guns at him, Bruce raised his arms and calmly walked toward a young officer he knew, John Blake.

“Officer Blake, these fifteen women were being held hostage on this boat. I believe it is in your best interest to speak with them.”

The fifteen women shivered and looked around in confusion.

“Why are there three army officers tied up?" the policeman asked.

“I think you must talk to them; seems they were interested in the shipment. A lot of the people we captured will be of interest to you, and I'm sure they are in your files.”

The cops looked around in confusion. Then, Superwoman landed gently. She was soaking wet, her face flushed and red, and she was carrying reams of papers.

“Good evening, gentlemen... I think you should take care of the welfare of these ladies and of these criminals we captured while we... uh... go.”

Superwoman grabbed Batman by the waist and flew off into the night.

Officer Blake looked out at the half-submerged ship, the swirls of paper, the women wrapped in blankets and the handcuffed crewmen and henchmen. These nights are the worst.

Superwoman flew with difficulty; she couldn't fly very fast. She was coughing and kept feeling that dizziness and that burning sensation in her face and hands. In one arm she carried a pile of papers she'd picked up from the ship, though she didn't know if they made any sense, and in the other she held a mute Batman.

They landed at a waterfall and entered the Batcave. There, Superwoman fell to her knees and began coughing again.

“Clara…”

“It was Kryptonite, Bruce, at least two tons, how dreadful.”

Bruce picked up the papers and started going through them.

“Please rest, sleep a few hours and we'll go over the papers in the morning.”

“I must get back to my hotel, I have an 8 a.m. train to Metropolis.”

“You are in bad shape, Clara.”

Alfred appeared with a blanket and a box of medicine.

“Miss Kent, we've been through this before, please rest and take this.”

“I was only exposed for a few seconds. I'll be fully recovered in a few hours. I need to go to my hotel and rest. Jimmy can be suspicious.”

Before the Bat and Alfred could say anything, Superwoman disappeared.

***

Jimmy read the newspaper on the train while Clara leaned against the window and tried to doze off.

“You look very bad Clara, are you feeling well?”

“I had an allergy attack last night, I didn't sleep, and I coughed a lot.”

Clara adjusted her glasses and sighed. She was still exhausted and a bit dizzy. Exposure to kryptonite for only a few seconds had done that to her. But where did the two tons of kryptonite powder come from? What did the Nazis have to do with it? Why was the military trying to smuggle it in on a Mafia freighter? Did it have anything to do with the Rand Corporation? She would arrive in Metropolis, deliver the article to Louis or Cat Grant, and go home to rest and sleep for a few hours. If only the world wasn't in danger during that time! Then she would meet with Bruce to try to understand what had happened the night before.

“Can I borrow the paper, Jimmy?”

“Sure.”

Clara anxiously checked the Gotham Tribune for any reference to last night and soon found it.

LAST REPORT OF A MAJOR RAID AGAINST SMUGGLING: In the early hours of this morning, Gotham police arrested a total of twenty-five people in an anti-smuggling raid from Europe that began with a shooting in the harbor. Police freed fifteen Polish refugee women who were believed to have fallen into a trafficking ring. Half of those arrested were crew members of a Finnish-flagged freighter that sailed from Norway, and the other half are believed to be members of Gotham organized crime. No further information has been released at this time, but it is the largest bust in Gotham Harbor since Prohibition. The freighter was damaged by the crew itself and now lies half sunk in the southern docks.

Great Scott! No mention of Superwoman or Batman! And no mention of the presence of three military men. Clara worriedly wondered what was going on and if Luthor had anything to do with it.

Her memory flashed back to the first time she had confronted Luthor, shortly after defeating Zod, when he had used mercenaries and even murdered people to steal wreckage from Kryptonian ships. The Maid of Might burst into his office, threatening him. Luthor was genuinely frightened, but as usual, she had no evidence to bring Luthor to justice. She could feel the fear and hatred in the billionaire, and how the latter overcame the former as Luthor regained his composure and sneered at her.

***

Lex Luthor was reviewing some test reports on some special metals for aerospace technology when his secretary, Mercy Graves, entered his office with a worried look on her face.

“Mr. Luthor, you have a call on the secure line, it's General Hardy... He says it's very urgent.”

Luthor showed no emotion and stood up quickly, but inside he cursed Hardy, whom he considered an extremist and incompetent military man… What would have happened now!

Luthor entered an enclosed and padded room where there was a secret telephone line that operated outside the normal circuit. Next to the phone was a detector that could tell if the caller's line was being tapped; when it was, the light flashed red. Now it was blinking green, the line was secure. Luthor sat up and picked up the phone.

“Hardy? Luthor speaking.”

“How are you, Luthor? I'm sorry to bother you, but we have a small problem that could seriously affect us,”

“Small problem but could seriously affect us… What happened?”

“I don't know where to begin.”

“General… Get to the point, tell me what the problem is, and then explain the causes to me, if you dare to do so...”

“We tried to bring two tons of refined kryptonite together with documentation of German experiments and research on Kryptonians and antediluvian civilizations. We used Baroness Von Gunther to put us in touch with former Abwehr, Ahnenerbe and SS agents who had hidden this information and the kryptonite in Denmark. We passed it on to Norway and brought it in illegally on a freighter. We wanted to avoid having to report it to the OSS or the Department of Defense who might interfere with the process... The landing went quite badly because Superwoman and Batman broke in during unloading and destroyed the shipment.”

Luthor didn't move a muscle as he absorbed the information. The silence disturbed General Hardy.

“Luthor?”

“I am here. Are you going to tell me what happened?”

“Luthor, it's information we already knew about the excavations of antediluvian ruins and alien remains in the Urals, Argentina and Antarctica. Baroness von Gunther managed to find a fugitive SS chief in Switzerland and retrieve the Kryptonite and the files. It was about a hundred thousand pages of excavations reports, the experiments and a very useful method of extracting kryptonite from metals where there are traces of it, much better than ours... The scientists in charge are in the hands of the Soviets or dead.”

“Why was I not informed?”

“It was a strictly military operation. We wanted to avoid any leaks or problems until we had the shipment with us... only Mr. Lord knew.”

Stupid, incompetent bastards… A bead of sweat trickled down Luthor's forehead.

“Why did Mr. Lord know?”

“He was the one who pressured the Baroness. He's the brain behind the operation to get the files and the Kryptonite... and he was the one who got the freighter... from, uh... his contacts.”

“What contacts?”

“Smugglers.”

Luthor allowed himself a small nervous smile. He hadn’t expected to get his hands on both the Kryptonite and the Nazi files. He knew something was out there, but he’d assumed it was either with another branch of the government or in Soviet hands. Now, instead, he had General Hardy and Maxwell Lord in his hands.

“Did you think that a couple of smugglers was the answer to something this important?” Luthor said, punctuating each syllable.

“There will be no negative consequences for us, I think.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Three officers under my command were neutralized by Superwoman and arrested by the police, but I managed to get them released.”

“What a disaster, Hardy, what a disaster... All our work was about to be exposed. You don't know what you've done. I'm resigning from the Rand Corporation and our task force.”

“Please Luthor, we need to discuss this in person.” Hardy sound anguished.

“Yes, we need to discuss this in person, but unless we take a very strict line and act directly and swiftly against our dear caped friends and stop the conspiracies with former Nazis, I will go and report the facts directly to the President, but not before causing an earthquake in the scientists' teams.”

Hardy gasped on the other line... I've got them in my hands, Luthor smiled.

Metropolis, Planet Building

Superwoman zipped into a deserted room within the Planet Building at breakneck speed via the window, clutching a bag that held an evening gown she had just rented from the Bellvue store. As Clara Kent, she had been on her way back after retrieving her dress when an urgent situation demanded her transformation into Superwoman—to save two children from being hit by a locomotive while they retrieved a ball from the subway tracks. Hearing their cries, she quickly ducked under a car, stripping off her everyday attire and glasses in an instant. A couple of seconds later, a stunning brunette with blue eyes, clad in blue tights and a red cape, swooped in to rescue the children. The kids found themselves staring in awe at their beloved hero, the Maid of Might, Superwoman.

“What did you think you were doing?”

“We… We're sorry…We dropped the ball.”

“You could have been killed. I should take you home to your parents and ground you. You would have died for a ball.”

The children trembled, but the woman in the red cape softened her expression and stroked their hair.

“I'm very angry, but I'm not going to tell on you, and don't ever step on a subway track again...unless you have super speed.”

She winked and disappeared. As she flew over Metropolis, Clara sighed, “I'm feeling weaker, slower and sleepier... Today I needed six hours of sleep when I usually only need one or two... A few minutes of exposure to that Kryptonite dust and I've had a week's worth of after-effects.”

Now Superwoman pulled out the evening gown she'd rented from Bellvue. She didn't have the money to buy it, but she did have the money for a one-night rental. Clara wouldn't let Louis or Bruce give her something like this as a gift. It was a very dark navy-blue dress, satin, with a generous neckline and very short sleeves. It was a bit daring for her style, but she wanted to look pretty... And show it off to Louis.

Now it was time to hide the Superwoman costume and cape under the dress. Even though the cape was long, and the tights and boots covered her entire body up to her chest, they were remarkably thin and easy to fold. Normally it was very easy to hide them under her stockings and her normal office outfits, but with an evening gown it was more difficult because she would be wearing cleavage and her arms in the air. She had to fold the boots and hide them in her purse. The rest of the suit and cape had to be folded over and over and wrapped around her stomach. It barely bulged. The dress was not too tight, and the folds of the satin hid it well. It didn't even look like she was wearing a girdle. Clara always preferred to wear the Superwoman costume under her clothes, she always had to have it handy, and hidden in her purse someone might discover it.

Clara took her time to put her hair up in a fancy updo, apply her makeup and put on her new glasses. She had decided to swap her old "schoolteacher" glasses for a more elegant and modern frame. The earrings Louis had given her were downstairs in the office they shared.

Louis was smoking as he finished an article on Morgan Edge’s attorneys’ team, and their curious political and business connections. He had decided to attack Manhattan County D.A., even if they were on the same side towards Superwoman. Louis smelled foul play all around Edge. He was engrossed when he heard Clara's familiar voice clearing her throat.

Louis was surprised and couldn't help but smile in admiration as he saw Clara Kent, his assistant reporter, walk in wearing a very elegant and daring navy blue evening gown. Clara was radiant, with new glasses... The dress accentuated all her curves. Louis felt a little dizzy and embarrassed as a rush of desire went through him as he looked at Clara. She smiled at him with her deep blue eyes, which Louis concentrated on so as not to look at her cleavage.

“Well Louis... What do you think?”

“You look beautiful Clara.”

Clara turned around and held up her skirt in a ballet move.

“Where did you get it?”

“From Bellvue, rented.”

“Had I known, I would have given it to you myself.”

“Oh, don't be silly, Louis.”

“It really suits you.”

Clara sat down at her desk and put on the small pearl earrings Louis had given her.

“I will wear the earrings you gave me.”

“Clara, this is about interviewing Luthor, not winning him over.”

Clara smiled coyly at him. “You know I strongly dislike Luthor, Louis.”

“He’s not my close friend. But Luthor seems like a dangerous guy. We shouldn't get too close to him... Be nice and discreet, and if you can play dumb, all the better.”

I know exactly who Luthor is, my dear Louis.

“I don't have to play dumb to do my job.”

“Sometimes you interrogate, and bite more than you interview. Doing that with Luthor may be dangerous. It's better not to be in his crosshairs, be very careful.”

Oh, Louis, you're telling me to be careful, but I've had to save your life six times, six!

“Well, Louis, don't worry, I'll try not to scare or upset Luthor.”

Louis approached her. Clara gave him a flirtatious look and discreetly stuck out her chest. How I adore this fool.

“I'd love to join you, but well, I want to get home in time to be with my daughter, and I'm leaving tomorrow with Dewey's campaign command.”

“I'll miss you, but I can make it on my own, Whiskers.”

Louis laughed; Whiskers was Clara's first nickname for him.

Clara was happy to see Louis laugh, and to notice his desire and interest in her. She forgot for a few seconds the disturbing news Bruce had given her. The papers they had collected from the freighter made no sense, they were just a disjointed part of larger works, but after studying them carefully with Lucius Fox it was clear that the Nazis had found ruins in Patagonia, in the Urals, in Lapland and in Antarctica where they had found Kryptonian remains, from those prehistoric visits and coexistence with humans that Kelex had told her about. And they had conducted studies with Kryptonite. It was clear that the army was trying to bring back all the results of those investigations and experiments... And certainly Luthor and the Rand Corporation were involved.

Louis turned on the radio.

And now, dear listeners, that truly magnificent performance by the incomparable Vera Lynn will surely stir recent memories in many hearts—memories of those long days of waiting, those endless moments of uncertainty endured by loved ones back home during the pivotal war we all knew had to be won. But beyond the heartache and the worry, this song brought hope—hope for those brave souls on the front lines, dreaming of the day when peace would be restored, and they could once again return to the arms of those they cherish. A dream that, for so many, kept them moving forward.

“I loved this song Clara, we heard it a lot in the front, and when we entered Paris. It brings back so many memories... Those were horrible moments but at the same time I have a certain nostalgia.” Louis said tenderly.

And I will just say hello

To the folks that you know

Tell them you won't be long

They'll be happy to know

That as I saw you go

You were singing this song

Clara also remembered that hopeful and optimistic song, playing all the time on the beaches of Guadalcanal, in the Field Hospital, in New Guinea. How tears came to her eyes when she listened to it with her nurse's uniform stained with mud and blood under the rain.

“It's a wonderful song... Shall we dance?” Clara invited Louis with a questioning smile.

We'll meet again

Don't know where

Don't know when

But I know we'll meet again some sunny day

They danced together in each other's arms. Louis kept his head high and his face expressionless, as always when he wanted to repress his instincts. Clara squeezed him tightly… When all this will be over? When we will be together?

“Clara, as soon as the elections are over everything will be clear.”

Keep smiling through

Just like you always do

'Til the blue skies chase those dark clouds far away

“Louis, my dear, sometimes there's no need to talk, shut up,” They kept on dancing.

We'll meet again

Don't know where

Don't know when

But I know we'll meet again some sunny day

“I would have loved to meet you in the war Clara, I don't know if it sounds frivolous, I would have loved to.”

“What a stereotypical movie Louis... The small town nurse and the wealthy young war hero," Clara replied provocatively.

“With you around, everything would have been more bearable.”

“For me too...”

When the song ended Louis offered to call her a taxi and hurried away, telling himself for the umpteenth time that all would be clear soon.

On the way to the Ritz Carlton, Clara found herself transported back to a pivotal moment early in her relationship with Louis—an argument that had made her realize the depth of her feelings for him, and hinted that he might feel the same. That moment had taken place during another event at the very same hotel, the Planet Gala. Clara had been seated at a different table, alongside the chief telephonist and her spouse, a few young sports or cinema journalists, Jimmy, and Lucy, who had eagerly left the presidential table to join them.

Throughout the evening, Clara’s gaze frequently wandered toward Louis and his wife. Pat Lane, dressed in a stunning white gown, looked every bit the picture of elegance and refinement, a sharp contrast to Clara’s cheap pearl-gray dress, chosen specifically to hide her muscular frame. To Clara, Pat was the epitome of grace and sophistication.

“Louis’ wife is gorgeous, Lucy. She looks like a doll,” Clara had whispered.

“A poisonous doll, Clara," Lucy had replied sharply. "Don’t get between them. They might seem to hate each other, but their marriage is unbreakable. Besides, they’re Catholics.” Clara had been taken aback by Lucy’s harsh words, feeling a sting of offense.

Later that evening, Louis approached her and asked her to dance. As the orchestra played modern arrangements of tunes from the early '30s, Clara was flooded with memories of dancing in the kitchen with her father, especially to "My Silent Love." That familiar melody, paired with Louis’ presence, had stirred something deep within her, bringing clarity to emotions she had long kept buried.

Despite her tumultuous feelings, Clara found herself dancing with Louis in full view of everyone. A storm of emotions swirled within her—confusion over whether she felt jealousy, desire, or simply frustration, wondering if Louis was being insincere. The question burned on her tongue before she could stop it. "Are you dancing with me just to make your wife jealous?" she asked sharply, her voice laced with accusation. Louis responded by attempting to grasp her wrists firmly. She allowed him to hold them, though his strength barely made an impact. He was no match for her. Leaning close to her ear, his voice low but cutting, he whispered, "You're a resentful country bumpkin. How could you think something so cruel?"

Without waiting for her reply, Louis left the ballroom abruptly, leaving Clara standing there, her heart pounding. Overwhelmed, she fled to the bathroom, her vision blurred by tears. Struggling to compose herself, she slipped out of her evening dress and into her Superwoman suit. Without a second thought, she flew through the window, disappearing into the night, far away from everyone and everything. For the next week at the office, silence hung heavy between them. Louis wouldn’t even look in her direction, and the unspoken tension lingered like a shadow over every moment they shared in the same room…

Back to the present, the party at the Ritz Carlton seemed rather dreadful and boring to Clara. She had been invited by the Tesla Foundation itself. She knew almost no one. A few faces sounded familiar to her as friends or acquaintances of Louis. She didn't see Louis' parents, whom she had met a few times and found very nice. There was the mayor, Mason Norris his opponent, the famous Admiral Strauss- who was openly hostile to Superwoman-people from both parties... also Perry Weiss and Cat Grant, but they were far away surrounded by important people. Clara didn't approach them out of a mixture of shyness and laziness.

With her super-hearing she had noticed that her dress and figure were a sensation among men, and a few of them had approached her to chat but she had been able to scare them off by being boring or unfriendly. Finally, she spotted Luthor, chatting animatedly with some ladies. Clara pricked up her ears and listened as Luthor talked to them about Native American myths and legends.

Clara approached discreetly. Already behind Luthor, she took a deep breath. She had faced that short, bald, thin man with the icy stare many times before, but she had always done so as Superwoman, wearing her red cape, not just as Clara Kent.

Luthor turned and looked at her sympathetically.

“Miss?”

“Mr. Luthor, I'm from the Daily Planet, Clara...”

Luthor cut her off, the look of sympathy turned to surprise and masked anger.

“Are you Miss Kent?”

“A pleasure, Mr. Luthor.”

“I believe we've never met before.”

“Not in person.”

“Are you having a good time?”

“I'm not used to these kinds of parties.”

“They're not my favorite, Miss Kent, but unfortunately, we must entertain certain people, so they'll give us some money for the people who really need our help.”

“I have nothing against entertainment or philanthropy.”

“But you do object to the defense industry.”

“No, Mr. Luthor, I just think the public should be at least minimally informed about what the government is doing with big business and taxpayer money, and the governed should be able to demand that minimum standards be met.”

“I deeply regret that war is not democratic, not even war in defense of democracy.”

“I don't want to discuss politics, you wanted to be interviewed.”

“And I am here to answer all your questions. I'm not even going to ask you who told you about our test site in Nevada.”

“Do you have alien technology in Nevada?”

“Honestly, Miss Kent... Don't you want a friendly dialogue before we get into it? Anyone ever tell you look a little bit like Gene Tierney?”

The two ladies accompanying Luthor laughed. Clara felt she had burned through her cartridges too quickly. Luthor walked up to her and grabbed her arm with nice manners.

“Miss Kent let's take a step back and apologize for the manners. No offense. I'm not a big fan of journalists, that's my fault. I don't fully understand their methods and etiquette, but they do a great job. Every time the fourth power is more and more important. I'm glad it is that way.”

Clara thought it was all a false and rehearsed speech.

“Mr. Luthor, I'd like to impress upon you...”

“Miss Kent, of course we're working with alien technology, but only with the few things Superwoman didn't destroy from her Kryptonian relatives in the '46 invasion, and we're authorized by Congress. The President himself has publicly criticized Superwoman for destroying all the technology the invaders left behind and throw it into space. But our core business is military aviation, as we stated in the press release. That's no secret. Tell me, are you afraid of the Kryptonians?”

“No, Mr. Luthor. What do you think about the accusations of witch-hunting within the Rand Corporation?”

“In none of the teams or companies where I have decision-making power is anyone bothered about their present or past political ideas. As long as they are not openly defending dictatorships and murderers. But in the military, they are very nervous about the communist threat. We scientists and businessmen do not understand the threats and security risks as well as they do. Let them work, everything is protected by laws and courts”.

“What laws, Mr. Luthor?”

“I am not a lawyer, Miss Kent, but I believe that if someone were to be unlawfully persecuted for their ideas, no court in a free country would allow it.”

Luthor's smile was almost mocking, he seemed to be saying all this with an ironic tone that made Clara uncomfortable.

“Mr. Luthor...”

“Were you in the war, Miss Kent, were you a war correspondent?”

“No, I was a nurse, in the Pacific.”

“Well, you’re able to understand what a horror it was. We are just working to have the technology to prevent that kind of war. Good deterrent and defense technology. The worst armed peace will be better than the most beneficial war. And then we have the planetary threat…We have already been visited by hostile aliens, and we have a super powerful host who has absolute power over our lives. Tell me, are you working with Louis Lane?”

Clara was startled by the question. Her heartbeat quickened considerably. She knew that Luthor knew about the connection between Superwoman and Louis Lane in the past... Luthor had even kidnapped him once to force Superwoman to fight Metallo. She decided to lie.

“I don't know him very well; he works in another department in the paper.”

“Read again his articles. I don't know if you share the same political views, but Mr. Lane makes the best critique from a conservative but also enlightened point of view of the dangers of sacralizing Superwoman. Absolutely brilliant, and I don't share his political positions. If you talk to Mr. Lane, tell him that I am a reader of his and that I send him my best regards. He recently quoted Lord Acton: "Absolute power corrupts absolutely". Please mention my interest in that phrase. We at the Rand Corporation and TELCORP are working to develop technology that will prevent anyone, human or otherwise, from having absolute power.”

“Do Nazi scientists work at the Rand Corporation?”

“The government has already acknowledged that de-Nazified scientists are working with the country's technological efforts. But I am not aware of this at the Rand Corporation.”

“Do you know Baroness von Gunther and Bruno Mannheim?”

“Baroness von Gunther is not and has never been a Nazi, she is a conservative Catholic Austrian monarchist...very similar to Louis Lane, Miss Kent, she was a passive resister against the Nazis. We can't ask everybody to be a hero. The other one, I don't know who he is.”

“My sources don't agree with you.”

“Then check them again. I must go now. It's been a pleasure, Miss Kent. You're a very observant and calm woman. We need reporters like you.”

Luthor shook her hand to Clara's astonishment and returned to the party crowd.

***

Mercy Graves probably knew and understood Lex Luthor better than anyone else, better even than his wife, whom Luthor adored and was fully loyal to. That's why she was unsettled when she saw Luthor come through the crowd and the party with a look that she knew meant rage and excitement close to madness.

Luthor brought his mouth close to her ear.

“Mercy, I need you to go immediately to the Secure Phone Line at my offices. Talk to Captain Hendricks or Melvin Faisst, try to reach them. Tell them we have a security problem, call it that, with a few reporters. Ask them to get the intelligence reports or military service record of Clara Kent and Louis Lane within 24 hours. And not to talk to General Hardy, which is a direct claim of mine and the President. Give them the password Ahssenbach.”

Luthor withdrew as soon as he had given her the order and stepped into a congratulatory crowd.

Chapter Text

October 25, 1948. Metropolis

Lucy, Jimmy, and Clara were laughing after eating together at a diner in 90-west street.

“Remember when Steve Lombard accidentally broke Katz's nose with a baseball?”

“How mean you are, Lucy," Clara laughed.

“Oh, please, Clara, you'd be the first one to break Katz's nose," Jimmy joked.

“Katz is too close to Louis," Lucy said mischievously.

“You are the Witch of the West today, Lucy.”

“We're not in Kansas anymore!”

Clara smiled as she looked at her two friends. She was happy to work and hang out with them. And it was true that she didn’t like Katz. He was a very disrespectful guy, and even once she had heard him make obscene comments about her. In revenge, Clara had heated his coffee with her heat vision until she heard him scream from a very slight burn. They had spent the morning in court. Clara hated doing court reporting, but Cat Grant, taking advantage of Louis' absence, had sent her to interview judges and prosecutors up for re-election. Jimmy and Lucy had spent the night as crime photographers, taking pictures of their friend as Superwoman while she was stopping criminals and avoiding accidents. Clara looked at them amused. The two photographers were exhausted and had crossed paths with Clara half a dozen times during the night, but they were not aware of it.

“Clara darling, you hardly ever look tired.”

“I'm one of the shortest but most restful sleepers in the world," the journalist boasted, “That’s a privilege I have as a farm girl!”

Jimmy tapped the table.

“Well, who are you finally voting for?”

“You know damn well, Truman. The economy is good, he doesn't want a war with the USSR like many of Dewey's allies, plus he's been able to tame the Southern Democrats and push for civil rights,” Lucy replied.

“You're not thinking of voting for Wallace?” Jimmy replied.

“Jimmy, for the umpteenth time, I'm not a communist and I don't hate Superwoman.”

Jimmy snorted.

“He's not a communist.”

“I don't care, communists will vote for him. And he does hate Superwoman.”

“Yeah, I'm undecided. I'd vote for Wallace if it weren't for the Superwoman issue,” Jimmy countered with a funny voice.

“Clara, you're not voting for Dewey, are you?”

“Maybe she is. Clara spends her days with Dewey's clone,” Jimmy said naughtily.

“Louis is better looking,” Lucy added.

Clara smiled at them.

“I'm voting for Truman for the same reasons Lucy said. I’m fine with Dewey, but I don't like the top names in the GOP and civil and labor rights are essential for me... I have no apprehension regarding this election. My mother is voting for Dewey, Louis is voting for Dewey, Cat Grant, Lombard, Katz, Mailer... As for me, I think I'll vote Liberal for Mayor, Democrat for Congress, and Republican for the Senate.”

Lucy was tired of the issue. “There's not much to it. We work for a newspaper that has a bias. Even my father, who is an old liberal, is going to vote for Dewey. My father is very emotionally invested in this election, although if Dewey loses, I don't think he'll have as bad a time as he had when Willkie lost in the '40 election.”

Jimmy laughed. “I have a hard time imagining Louis and Cat voting the same way as Perry.”

“Didn't Louis get upset about your vote, Clara?” Lucy asked naughtily.

Clara answered nervously. “Louis isn't that partisan, plus he more or less took it for granted. I think the poor guy thinks I'm practically a socialist. Anyways Louis’ man is General McArthur, who I’m afraid is the most dangerous guy in the USA after Lex Luthor. Even that, Louis is not that conservative. He was the one who launched the campaign "The Daily Planet Believes in Equal Opportunities" in '39, and who got Ronald Troupe hired. He has some sensitivity to civil rights.”

“Okay Clara, we get it. He's to the right of most of the GOP but pretty far to the left compared to Generalisimo Franco,” Jimmy joked maliciously.

They kept the conversation going as they enjoyed berry cake for dessert. Afterwards, Clara and Lucy excused themselves to freshen up their make-up in the restroom. Both of them typically wore minimal makeup: Clara's reason was practical, as her superheroine duties involving high-speed flight meant any makeup would swiftly vanish, while Lucy preferred a more natural look. Gazing at her reflection, Clara had been feeling quite attractive recently, opting for trendier and chic outfits. She applied her lipstick with a playful touch.

Lucy looked at her with admiration. “Clara, lately you're almost always wearing pink or light-colored suits.”

“I need a season of color,” The journalist winked at her friend.

Help! The fire is approaching the cars! We need dynamite, if we blow up the bridge and this grove of trees, maybe we can get a fire break... Oh my God, poor people... Help! A torrent of desperate voices and anguished souls shook Clara's entire body. There was a fire in Oregon that had surrounded a little town.

“Are you all right, Clara?”

“Yeah, I just forgot I have a 2:30 interview in Brooklyn Heights, I must leave immediately.”

“You're not going to make it.”

“No, I'm not on time, but I must go now.”

Clara left the restaurant barely saying goodbye to Lucy and without saying goodbye to Jimmy. She immediately went around the block and entered an alley at super speed. In a fraction of a second, she took off her glasses, untied her elegant bun and let her wavy hair and a curl fall across her forehead. She took off her pink knit jacket and opened her white silk shirt, revealing her blue tights and the red and yellow House of El crest... As she took off her skirt and stockings, she unfurled her long, bright red cape. The superheroine known as Superwoman took off into the sky at full speed!

Superwoman reached the fire-surrounded valley in barely a minute and a half. She hovered in the air surveying the scene... Dear God, help me! A caravan of a hundred cars and hundreds of people covered with wet blankets were returning to the town. The road was cut off by the fire. Superwoman saw other people getting into the river. Her super-hearing picked up the cries of a father and son. Flying at full speed, she found them in the middle of the road, surrounded by fire. Superwoman landed and rushed over to them.

“Are you all right? Don't worry, I'm going to get you out of here right now. Tell me, are you alone?”

“Yes, it's just the two of us. We had to leave the car over there.”

Clara could see wondering, hopeful looks in the eyes of the father and child.

“Please come under my cape.”

Superwoman spread her cape and covered the father and son, then wrapped her arms around them.

“Hold on tight... Up, up and away!”

Superwoman flew over the fire and smoke and deposited them back in the center of the city. Superwoman could see the police and firemen in the middle of the crowd and rushed over to them.

“Superwoman! Thank God you're here!”

“Hurray!”

“Thank you, Superwoman!”

Superwoman waved shyly.

“We are surrounded by fire...The fire was coming from the west, pushed by the wind, but the wind has changed direction and is now surrounding us.”

“Are there any injuries?”

“At the moment, several from smoke inhalation.”

“What is the nearest hospital?”

“St. Charles, about 30 miles away.”

“I will get them there as soon as I get this fire under control. I've got an idea.”

Superwoman soared into the sky, cautious as she hovered above the blaze. "I must tread lightly," she thought. Utilizing her super-breath recklessly could exacerbate the flames, yet relying solely on her cooling breath might delay the extinguishing and rescue efforts. Gliding just above the fire lines nearest to the roadway and the town, she employed her cooling-breath to significantly reduce the flames’ intensity. Although the fire continued to encircle the town, it was now at a safer distance. "Stay calm, Clara, and replicate what you achieved two weeks ago," she reminded herself. Positioning herself at what she deduced to be the fire's core, Superwoman ascended a few hundred feet and commenced spinning like a top at an incredible speed, creating a formidable tornado around her. The flames were ensnared in the cyclone, morphing into a fiery whirlwind that captivated the onlookers from the town. The spectacle was short-lived, however, as the fire quickly diminished, leaving behind a mist of smoke and steam.

"You're mastering this, Clara!" she encouraged herself. Superwoman executed the maneuver multiple times across various fire fronts until the conflagration was quelled. Amidst her efforts, she also saved several deer and their young, relocating them to the town's vicinity. Before long, the fire was entirely extinguished, with only a circle of smoke lingering over the town. "No fire, no smoke, back to the task at hand," Superwoman resolved. She repeated the process, this time gathering all the residual smoke around her and spiraling upwards without halt. The smoke dissipated into the atmosphere, clearing the sky above the town.

In the town, everyone watched in amazement at what had just happened, praying, clapping their hands, or watching in silence. The beautiful red-caped lady descended from the sky again and was greeted with a huge round of applause. Superwoman landed and greeted the crowd with shyness but a big smile… I made it! Now I must help the wounded!

October 25, 1948, Area 51

President Truman was surrounded by the Army commanders, scientists, and Rand Corporation executives. Luthor sat smiling next to General LeMay, who, despite his warmongering impulses, was loyal to Truman and hostile to Maxwell Lord and General Hardy, who sat in the second row. Lord with some discomfort and Hardy with an expression of utter gloom.

The lights went out and a movie began to be shown from a small window in the obsidian wall of the sub-surface room where they were sitting. First, it showed how very sharp metallic tools made of Kryptonite, handled by scientists wearing scuba, slowly amputated a foot and a hand from the body of ICARUS, the intact corpse of a Krytponian from the 1946 invasion. They then poured the thick black liquid found at Roswell, which they called the Pathogen, over the amputated foot of ICARUS. The foot began to swell, blacken, and deform. The toes of the foot became elongated and swollen and turned into tentacles. The foot, turned into a blackened cylinder with tentacles, began to move at full speed and beat on the glass window room in which it was enclosed. Then the scientists spat out a thinner black liquid, the same Pathogen but refined with arsenic, liquid hydrogen, and a load of terrestrial germs. The small tentacled creature began to wobble and shrivel, dark liquid began to ooze from its pores, the creature collapsed and began to rot relatively quickly. A voiceover concluded:

The original Pathogen regenerated the tissues of Kryptonian corpses, creating monstrosities like the one you have seen... The Pathogen refined by our scientists destroys the revived tissues again, and not only that, but it also destroys dead Kryptonian tissues that were not altered by the original Pathogen.

The footage went on to show the refined Pathogen acting on ICARUS' amputated hand, which had not been bathed in the original Pathogen. The hand swelled, shrank, and eventually rotted.

“What does the refined Pathogen do to humans?" asked President Truman.

“It has a very similar effect to the original Pathogen, destroying tissue and killing and rotting the person, but more slowly. We have a detailed explanation in the report," a scientist replied.

“I have already read the report, but I want you to confirm it loud and clear, just as the report says,” the President answered with a mocking tone.

A faint laugh of discomfort floated through the room.

Truman insisted. “Is it impossible to know what the two Pathogens can do to a living Kryptonian?”

A scientist answered wearily. “We don't have complete certainty, and therefore the risk is not acceptable given the dangers...We are almost certain that the original Pathogen would cause mutations and that the refined Pathogen would intoxicate and damage tissues, but we are not sure to what extent or with what consequences.”

“Yes. I've seen the calculations.” The President sounded tired and unimpressed.

“Mr. President...”

The President raised his hand and started to talk with a voice mixture of solemnity and weariness. “You're performing excellently in managing the debris and analyzing alien technology. The discovery and refinement of this Pathogen into a potential weapon is remarkable. This achievement marks the completion of Contingency Plan I. We must ensure that all of the original Pathogen is either destroyed or converted into this refined version. It's crucial that not even a single pint of the substance capable of producing alien creatures remains. Let's maintain a substantial stockpile of the refined Pathogen for any unforeseen events involving extraterrestrial visitors and keep up with the alien technology research. As you're aware, we politicians are currently navigating the challenging period of the election campaign. You're up to speed with the ongoing changes, and post-election, regardless of whether I or my rival—who is also briefed on your progress—emerges victorious, our commitment to advancing this work will not waver.”

There was a small round of applause, and the President and his escort and military staff began to leave the room. Luthor looked at Hardy and Lord, both of whom had been disgraced. The military chiefs and the President had purged them when their decision to delay reporting the discovery of the capsule buried on Death Island was discovered. Lord would lose his security clearance on January 1, 1949, and Hardy had been transferred to the reserves. Luthor had protected Lord, kept his business deals with him, and even though Lord was out of the Rand Corporation and the research at Area 51, he would continue to invest and profit. One never knew when he might exploit the television business and whether Lord would regain his security clearance if Dewey won the election.

Baroness Paula Von Gunther emerged from the crowd. Luthor looked at her condescendingly. She was a woman of elegant and aristocratic bearing, and a great scientist. Luthor despised her now that he knew the details of her actions during the war, but she was also of great use to him.

“Mr. Luthor.”

“Baroness.”

“Congratulations on your work with the Pathogen.”

“We expect great things from your work here as well.”

The Baroness slipped two small items into Luthor's jacket pocket and leaned close to his ear.

“Keep your promises or we'll both go down.”

* * *

Back in Metropolis, in the solitude of his office, Luthor revealed the microfilms Baroness Von Gunther had given him. They were a handwritten letter, accompanied by a series of directions to a sea route, photographs and a plan of a makeshift battery. Luthor sighed with a mixture of hope and giddiness.

It had all happened relatively quickly. A few weeks earlier, Luthor had come to the opening of the capsule buried in the dried-up lake on the Death Island. It was some kind of massive diamond-shaped thing made of a very dark unknown metal but with a high Kryptonite content. Luthor sweated and felt a genuine panic at what was inside. There was no sound inside and no sign of life beyond the faint beeping. What looked like a hatch was found, but it was sealed and would only open slightly after the use of several very powerful explosives. Using hooks and chains pulled by oil engines, they were able to force it open. The whole excavation was covered with a tent to avoid Soviet espionage, but thanks to Luthor the Russians knew exactly what was there... Meanwhile, thousands of miles away, Mercy Graces was waiting for a call from Luthor, who had ordered her that if he called from the island, even just to tell her a series of banal things, she was to immediately call from a phone booth to a number of a flower shop in San Francisco and say a series of meaningless things, "Cobalt blue to match the satin," "Bloody red on top for the hat," "Delivery with maximum urgency," not knowing that they were messages requesting a Soviet nuclear bombing on Death Island.

To Luthor's luck, no army of Kryptonians emerged from the capsule, only a terrifying silence and the beeping of gauges indicating that the ship's atmosphere was unbreathable and contained some radiation. A team of soldiers and scientists entered the ship, wearing scuba gear and carrying oxygen bombs. They claimed to have found nothing but alien machinery and several Kryptonian corpses, indistinguishable from humans but mummified or decomposed. The discovery was wildly celebrated - a complete alien ship at last! Even though it was only a safety capsule from a larger ship that was destroyed. The celebration was short-lived. As soon as Luthor left the island, he discreetly leaked the discovery to the President using a third person, blaming Lord and General Hardy for withholding the information. A special Army division took control of the discovery, and the Rand Corporation was allowed only to examine the ship's engines.

Luthor then used Baroness Von Gunther. Karla and the Soviets had already given him the information. Baroness Von Gunther had collaborated with the Nazi war effort…that was common knowledge, and so her position at the Rand Corporation and other research groups in America was extraordinarily discreet. The OSS had fabricated a biography of her as an Austrian monarchist and passive Nazi resister in case the scientist achieved a certain level of publicity. But the Soviets gave Luthor a series of pieces of information that exposed her not only as a committed Nazi, but as a delusional esoteric who had worked closely with the SS and even collaborated in the Holocaust and experiments on Jews and other minorities. Luthor felt disgust for the Austrian aristocrat, but this information could put an end to her quiet life in the U.S. In addition, the Soviets informed him that they were holding the Baroness's only brother, a less than brilliant SS agent, who was Paula Von Gunther's weak point, the one person she adored. It was easy for Luthor to blackmail her. He had to use her closeness to Hardy and especially to Maxwell Lord, with whom she had an occasional intimate relationship and a certain political closeness.

The Baroness proved to be a very unresistant woman, much to Luthor's delight. In recent weeks, after the fiasco of the Gotham Harbor operation, she had confessed in detail to him all the activities that Lord, Hardy, and a small group of scientists, including herself, had been engaged in outside the official activities of the Rand Corporation. The Nazis had discovered remnants of prehistoric antediluvian civilizations, as well as remnants of Kryptonians and their technology, all over the world, and had used them in their war effort, with little success. Almost all the scientists and archaeologists in charge of the project had either died or been imprisoned by the Soviets, as had her brother. She had worked to get General Hardy and Lord as much information as possible from these works. Luthor was disappointed that the Soviets already had this information and had not shared it with him.

Luthor continued to press her until she confessed that General Hardy and Lord did have a plan, despite their dismissal from the Rand Corporation. There were more than bodies on the Death Island ship. They had found a pod with an intact, living Kryptonian in cryostasis that they had not dared to open. They had named the Kryptonian CRONOS. The pod had remained operational because it was the closest one to the Kryptonian ship's emergency power generator and the system that emitted the distress signal. Apparently, the pod was powered wirelessly. All the others had opened over time, and their occupants had starved to death or suffocated inside the ship, buried under mud and water. The ship had no way to take off buried under that great weight. Only one had survived. Lord and Hardy had discreetly removed the pod from the ship and placed it next to an electrical generator on a ship that would carry excavating machinery, soldiers, and workers back to Alaska. They had disguised it as machinery. Their plan was to keep the Kryptonian alive in cryostasis and find a way to experiment on him. They called it "Contingency 2”. They had the support of underground sectors of the Navy and Air Force and were operating completely behind the government's back.

The ship had not yet sailed. It would be escorted to Alaska by a pocket submarine. Luthor was elated... At last, a living, unconscious Kryptonian. The gateway to the latest experiments to find a way to defeat Superwoman. Kryptonite was not enough. If a Kryptonite bullet was fired at Superwoman, her powers would always allow her the time and ability to dodge it. If Superwoman were to fight a robot or a human in Kryptonite armor, as Luthor had tried with Metallo, even if the superheroine was injured or weakened, she would never be sufficiently exposed. The atomic bomb was not an option at the moment. Luthor had found no way to deliver one, and Superwoman would always have time to escape the blast wave, as the Soviet experiment at Nobosivirsk had proven. But with a live Kryptonian and the refined pathogen, perhaps fire could be fought with fire.

Luthor requested the Soviet authorities to allow him to exert influence on Hardy and Lord, warning the military officer and the wealthy businessman that he would disclose their schemes to the President unless they include him on Contingency 2 and granted him authority over the body. He anticipated that the Soviets would reject his proposal and instead enlist his assistance to hijack the Kryptonian’s corpse and transport it to Russia. However, Luthor was taken aback when, after conveying the details to Karla, his handler delivered Moscow's directives to him only 72 hours later.

The directives required assisting the Soviets in securing the body and the vessel, followed by the body's covert transportation to Metropolis via a circuitous route involving other ships disguised for the mission. Luthor was tasked with conducting experiments on the body and delivering updates on his progress bi-daily. This arrangement suggested the Soviets either lacked the necessary capabilities or preferred to outsource the risk to Luthor. In the event of a disaster, they deemed it preferable for the people of Metropolis to bear the brunt rather than their own citizens. Luthor embraced this responsibility with excitement. He saw it as his chance to definitively defeat Superwoman and held the key to tipping the strategic scales between the USSR and the U.S. — the gateway to Peace. Everything rested in his hands.

Luthor carefully copied the route the ship and the pocket submarine would take from Death Island to Anchorage, as well as the dates and weather forecasts. There would be a storm. A Soviet team would take control of the ship, execute the crew, destroy the pocket submarine, and take the cargo to Kamchakta. A Chinese-flagged ship would take the capsule with the body and the generator to Malaysia, from where they would transfer them to a Mexican-flagged ship that would cross the ocean to Panama. They would cross the canal, and an American ship would take the capsule and generator to Metropolis, disguised as agricultural machinery. Luthor closed his eyes, in a few hours the information would be in San Francisco with Karla, his Soviet controller, and in another few hours it would be in Moscow. There was very little time… What about Superwoman? What to do with her? What if she intervened?

Luthor pulled out another folder of photographs and notes. Despite the uncanny physical resemblance and several suspicious points in her biography, he refused to believe that the sprightly, mild-mannered reporter Clara Kent was Superwoman. But in their brief encounter at the Tesla Foundation party, it had occurred to him that they were undeniably the same woman. He would send his report on Louis Lane and Superwoman's possible secret identity to Moscow. Though he would keep some information to himself. The Soviet Union, even if they won, was an annoying, authoritarian master and they didn't trust him enough. And only Luthor could finally put an end to this flying alien who, in the long run, meant the demise of mankind.

November 3, 1948, Daily Planet offices.

As usual, after a night of saving lives around the world, Superwoman was late for work as Clara Kent. She entered flying through the window of her own office, which she shared with Louis Lane, and within seconds appeared on the door as Clara Kent.

A contrite Ronald Troupe typed furiously.

“For the afternoon edition, Ronny?”

“Hi Clara, I didn't see you come in…well… What do you think?”

“Ah, well you know... People don't want to break away from the current model and Dewey hasn't mobilized his base,” Clara tried to hide a grin.

Ronald looked at her with some sympathy.

“I know you're happy about Truman's triumph, don't worry. I wanted change, but it was a bad campaign... It lacked more work on the Jewish vote and the Catholic vote. It lacked risk taking and a lot of talk about civil rights.  Dewey should not have been the tough candidate with Superwoman after he had supported her so much as governor and after how Superwoman helped peacefully break the Berlin blockade. Anyway...”

Lucy Weiss appeared smiling and took her arm. “Dad is very upset, but less so than in the '40 election. He wrote the editorial in his own handwriting, and I find it quite moderate and constructive.”

“Where are Cat, Louis and Mailer?” Clara asked.

“I think they must have committed ritual suicide,” Lucy answered with delight.

Ronald interrupted her.

“Cat is in her office. She hasn't taken off her coat and her sunglasses. I don't know if she's sober. She's dictating a column asking for McArthur to enter politics and saying we're a broken society because people have become addicted to government intervention and welfare. Mailer came in, wrote his chronicle of Dewey's disappointment, and left. He brought with him Louis' article, which is basically a eulogy of Dewey and a criticism of the Republican Party for being divided and having no machinery.”

Lucy laughed with amusement.

“Louis must be hiding on a freighter right now, fleeing to South America. He was absolutely convinced that they had won.”

Ronald snorted.

“It was a very, very close call.”

Clara returned to her office. She concentrated on finding the sound of Louis' heart. She had memorized the rhythm of his heartbeat as well as her mother's to make sure they were both always fine and to know where to find them. Louis seemed to be close to the city and was fine. She decided to call his home. A very familiar female voice answered.

“Yes?”

“Mrs. Lane... This is Clara Kent from the Daily Planet.”

“We've met before, Clara, no need to introduce yourself for the umpteenth time.”

“Excuse me, I'm calling to see how Louis is and if he's coming to the office today.”

“Mr. Lane is not at home; he hasn't shown up all night. Normally I hope that if I don't know where he is, at least you do. If you see him, remind him that he has a daughter and to stop by his house," Pat Lane replied gruffly and hung up.

Clara sighed. Katz came into the office and asked her to write a summary of the results in the state legislature. Clara wrote it up at super speed and left it on her desk. Katz would come in and get it. She changed into Superwoman and flew out the window to help anyone in distress.

After noon, she stopped by her house, picked up Krypto, and took the dog for a long walk, accompanied by Vinnie and Linda, her neighbor Charlotte's children. The children asked her several questions about Krypto and her job, which Clara happily answered, “I hope someday I’ll be a mother, even a foster mother”. Clara lived in a tenement building near Washington Playground on 102nd St. She sharpened her super ears again as she took the kids and the dog for a walk in Central Park, looking for Louis. His heartbeat sounded very close, inside Central Park. Clara entered with the children and soon found Louis, dressed in an elegant suit as always, but completely disheveled, half asleep on a bench.

“Louis! I can't believe this! This is unacceptable!”

Clara's voice woke the journalist, who immediately stirred and sat up, adjusting his tie.

“Clara!”

The reporter looked sternly at Louis, who was staring sleepily and confusedly at the children. Krypto jumped up and began to lick him.

“Kids, this is Mr. Lane, my boss at the paper. He was just resting because he'd been up all-night researching like a good reporter.”

“Hello Mr. Lane.”

Louis nodded.

“I'll get you some ice cream.”

Clara interrupted him.

“It's November and it's cold, no ice cream for anybody.”

The journalist approached Clara.

“It was a terrible night.”

“Please go home,” Clara whispered to him.

“Well, you should be happy today, Clara.”

“Whatever, but I don't like to see you drunk in public, it's embarrassing.”

“I'm not drunk, I'm exhausted.”

“Your wife is looking for you.”

Louis straightened his hat and put it on. He approached Clara's ear.

“Do you remember the "walk and talk" we had planned, Clara? I'd like to go to Innsmouth this weekend. If that's possible.”

“Tomorrow, we'll talk about it, Louis. Please go.”

What a man, damn politics, and damn alcohol, sometimes it's unbearable.

“Well, children, a pleasure.”

“Bye Mr. Lane.”

Clara, the kids, and Krypto continued to stroll through the park, but Vinnie stopped and asked her a question.

“Miss Kent, Is Mr. Lane your boyfriend? He always picks you up at home.”

Clara blushed.

“No, he's just a friend.”

South Gulf of Alaska, November 4, 1948

The USS Aludra, a Navy auxiliary freighter, sailed slowly, struggling against the swell. She had lost contact with her escort, a pocket submarine, half an hour ago.

Captain Auckland watched the swell through binoculars. He had thirty tribesmen and forty other soldiers and officers aboard and was on his way back to Anchorage. He did not understand what the hell the Army and Navy were doing on this island they called Death Island. Drilling for oil, he had been told. Since when did the Army drill for oil? In the Aleutians? Were they mining for uranium? In theory, he was taking mining equipment back to Anchorage, but the Navy had ordered him not to start unloading the ship until he contacted a Colonel, Hank Henshaw of the Army, who was to unload the equipment. Anyway, he had to follow orders and keep quiet.

One of the officers spoke in a tense voice. “I thought I saw a light on the port side, and a U-boat turret on the starboard side at the same time.”

“The light must be your imagination, the turret must be ours, the pocket submarine.”

“I don't understand why we don't have a radar installed.”

“We are not at war, calm down. They would be our people. In the worst case they are some fishermen from Anchorage.”

Then the swell revealed a destroyer coming at them at full speed. It had come out of nowhere.

“Who the hell are they?”

“It doesn't look like ours!”

“It's Russian, damn it!”

“They're coming towards us!”

“They are trying to contact us by radio, telling us to stop the engines and stop the ship immediately!”

“Under no circumstances, send immediately a distress signal to the navy...”

He could not finish the sentence because a shell fired by the destroyer shattered the bridge and the radio antenna. No one was able to raise the alarm. Fighting against the swell, three gunboats filled with soldiers and carrying rocket launchers approached the freighter while the crew and soldiers on it struggled against the confusion.

***

Superwoman was flying the injured from a car accident to the hospital when, to her shock, she heard cries of horror and distress from three different places: Seattle, Los Angeles, and Pittsburgh. It was terrifying when several things happened at once.

Pittsburgh was the closest place, so she dropped off the injured at the hospital and took off at super speed. She arrived in less than a minute. A nightclub troop was crowded against the wall as three men with machine guns pointed at them. There were already dead and wounded. The men began firing. Superwoman intercepted the bullets at super speed, disintegrating or melting them with her hands and heat vision. The bullets bounced off her tights without leaving a dent in them or her muscles, but she was surrounded by people and the bullets ricocheting off her body could injure the hostages. Enough, Clara.

The three men were still firing their machine guns, trying to hit the crowd pressed against the wall… Why do they keep trying, why do they want to kill people? In just a few seconds, Superwoman ripped the machine guns out of their hands, smashed them with her super strength, threw the three men to the ground and tied them up. However, she noticed that the three men were convulsing and vomiting, in a few seconds they expired, Superwoman did not understand anything, those men were carrying suicide capsules of poison in their mouths! Who are they? Why have they done this? Superwoman checked the pockets of the three men's suits at super speed and found nothing... She decided to concentrate on the wounded and fly them to the hospital.

Her next stop was Los Angeles, barely five minutes had passed since Superwoman had heard the distress calls. Flash had acted to stop the shooting. Something similar had happened, three men with machine guns had entered a nightclub and opened fire. Flash had managed to stop them, but just like in Pittsburgh, the men had suicide capsules in their mouths and were now dead.

“Flash, what's going on? The same thing just happened in Pittsburgh, three men shot into a crowd and then swallowed suicide capsules!” Superwomen shouted anguished.

“What do you mean the same thing happened? I don't understand.”

Clara looked around in amazement and picked up a wounded man.

“Help me get them to the nearest hospital, I need to get to Seattle as soon as possible.”

At super speed, Flash and the superheroine carried a dozen wounded to the hospital.

Soon Clara arrived in Seattle, but she was too late. The police were there, a dozen wounded and seven dead, three of whom were again suicide shooters.

Superwoman fell to her knees in front of the wounded and the dead with tears in her eyes. It was unbearable that she hadn't arrived in time. Would those people still be alive if she had decided to go to Seattle earlier instead of Los Angeles?

A policeman approached her and tapped her shoulder.

“We can't be everywhere, Mrs. Superwoman, not even you.”

Superwoman lifted one of the wounded and took off into the night sky.

But the three incomprehensible suicide gunshots and the wounded prevented Superwoman from hearing the explosion of a Soviet torpedo on the pocket submarine escorting the USS Aludra, and the gunfire inside the freighter as the Soviets took control of the ship and its cargo.

***

Luthor spent the morning locked in his soundproof room with the secure line phone, waiting for a call. He didn't know if the operation had gone well. He sat in the dark. Hours passed. Finally, the phone rang as the indicator light turned green, suggesting it was an unintercepted call.

“Good morning,” a familiar voice started.

“Good morning,” Luthor answered trying to hide his unrest.

“How are you? Did you get to bed early?”

“I did not sleep strictly well.”

“Our friends went fishing and came back late...”

“Did they catch anything?”

“Just some salmon, but they're very happy. They'll send you a steak to try.”

“And the cousin?”

“The cousin didn't come to fish with them. We sent other friends of ours to entertain her. She's very bad fishing company. Our friends made a great sacrifice, so we made sure she was distracted by other things.”

“And now?”

“I don't know, you tell us.”

He heard Karla hanging up on the other end of the line. Soon two calls came in, one intercepted and one not. The first was from General LeMay, informing him that a freighter and a pocket submarine belonging to the Death Island Project had disappeared in a storm on their way back to Anchorage. Maybe it was the storm. If it were the Russians, everyone was in big trouble. The alert level was high, and the President was monitoring the situation.

Luthor smiled to himself, thinking of the absolute panic and stupor Maxwell Lord and General Hardy would be in.

The next call came from a private detective in Kansas. On February 27th and 28th, 1918, an unusual shower of shooting stars had been reported, and there had been small meteor strikes and fires in Nemaha, Jackson, Smallville, and Pottawatomie counties.

Luthor returned to his office and went over his reports on Clara Kent. He had in his hands a copy of her enlistment record as a nurse, dated January 1942. Date of birth: February 28, 1918, Smallville, Kansas. He checked another document: She served as a nurse on the USS Shuster. The USS Shuster, the hospital ship that was torpedoed in the Philippines and miraculously managed to beach itself thanks to what the military at the time called an engineering miracle and a lucky strong current.

He collapsed in his chair, overwhelmed.

I get it... But how is it possible? How can the most powerful being on Earth come from a farm and live like a second-rate reporter?

As surprised as he was, he couldn't fool himself. Those fierce blue eyes, even behind the glasses that distorted her appearance, had given him the same look of hostility he knew so well from Superwoman. Her voice was different; more feminine, sweet, regional, and awkward than Superwoman's, but if a woman could fly, she could also be a good actress. And the athletic voluptuousness of her figure was unmistakable. She was Superwoman… Clara Kent was Superwoman. Why had she exposed herself?

November 6, 1948, Innsmouth

Clara and Louis were walking on the beach, both wearing beige raincoats, hats and boots. Clara's boots were ironically red. Louis wore a tweed suit and struggled to light a pipe as the waves drenched their feet. They did not walk in step; Clara was slightly ahead. They had arrived the day before. The car ride was silent and almost uncomfortable. Louis persisted in talking about trivialities and the internal dynamics of the paper. At least he was no longer talking about the campaign. The blow of Dewey's defeat had been hard, and Louis wanted to forget it as soon as possible. They went to bed early in separate rooms. Clara and Louis had spent the morning talking about their childhood, Clara found the conversation relevant and enjoyable, but soon she felt frustrated. They had yet to discuss their future and their feelings. Sneaking out to act like Superwoman was proving difficult, but Clara had managed to do it all night while Louis slept and a few times in the morning, pretending to need to change clothes and calling her neighbors who were babysitting Krypto.

“You won't get the pipe lit; besides you're not supposed to smoke anymore,” Clara shouted trying to raise her voice above the waves.

“When I'm by the sea, I like to smoke,” Louis said in a presumptuous voice.

“Why, is it healthier?”

“Why do you care?”

“I care, Louis, it's no joke, I've been a nurse and I've seen what a blackened lung looks like," Clara struggled to keep the wind from blowing her glasses and hat off.

“My lungs are perfect," Louis' voice was ruined by the wind and swell.

“That's not true, my love," Clara muttered to herself as she used her x-ray vision to check Louis' lungs, which were beginning to show slight signs of tobacco abuse.

“Louis, we've been here for several hours, and you haven't told me anything about your future.”

“There's not much to tell, I'm staying on the paper. At least for two years.”

“And in two years what will you do?”

“I'll think about it again, maybe I'll go to teach in the university or to a diplomatic mission.”

“A diplomatic mission would mean going abroad...”

“Not necessarily, just short seasons...”

“And what about your daughter?”

“That's the main reason I have doubts.”

“Will you send her to a boarding school when she's older?”

“That's what they did to me and my wife... And I don't think it would work. I wouldn't like it. She should be brought up by her parents. There are good private day schools in Metropolis. I don't want her to go to a girls' boarding school.”

“What about me?”

“What about you?”

“What am I supposed to do when you leave the paper?”

Louis reached over and took her arm lovingly.

“You are one of the best reporters on the paper, everyone knows that. You are no longer an assistant reporter. Frankly, you should accept a senior reporter position and be on equal footing with me.”

“And if you leave… I'll have to report directly to Cat Grant? No, thank you. As your assistant reporter, I have a lot of freedom to write about whatever I want, whenever I want.”

“What if that ends up being frowned upon? And whose assistant reporter would you be if I left? You've grown up as a reporter, and you must accept that.”

“Don’t you want to work with me?”

“How can you think that, Clara?”

Louis was very close, and Clara grabbed his hand and leaned against his chest.

“What does your wife think about us being here? Or haven't you told her you're with me?”

“She knows and it doesn't matter anymore.”

Clara's heart began to pound strong and fast, and she could feel Louis's heart racing as well.

“She already knows that our marriage is over... And she knew a long time ago that I'm in love with you," Louis said sharply and dryly.

"I'm in love with you."

Clara wondered several times over the course of a few seconds if she had really just finally heard that. Finally. Tears flooded her eyes and she looked into Louis' dark eyes.

“What did you say?”

“That my wife already knows that our separation is inevitable and that I'm in love with you.”

Clara could not control herself and kissed Louis. And it wasn't like the last time Superwoman tried to kiss Louis after saving him from Metallo and Luthor. Louis returned the kiss and held her close as he stroked her hair. Clara lost track of time, they kissed for a long time, whipped by the sand and drops raised by the waves. Clara broke away, the lenses of her glasses fogged, but tears rolled down her cheeks. Louis was also visibly moved.

“Why did it take you so long to tell me?” Clara's voice sounded somewhere between ecstatic, excited and irate.

“I'm not very smart my dear, besides I thought you already knew. I had first to fix my marital situation...  No...  I needed to do things in the most decent way possible, within this situation. I am sorry for making you wait and hurting you.”

“You idiot…I love you Louis, I adore you, since the first day I saw you with your crutches grumbling in the office, even if I find you unbearable… I…”

Louis silenced Clara with a kiss, took her in his arms and lifted her up.

It can't be, I've finally got it, finally.

***

Louis and Clara sat together in a small café by the sea. The storm had increased, and it was already getting dark. They had their hands intertwined. Clara's thoughts drifted to the first time she laid eyes on Louis... Was it the 3rd or 4th of September 1945? Over three years had passed, feeling more like two decades. They were both clad in their respective military uniforms—he in his as an infantry major, she in hers as a Navy nurse. Back then, Clara hadn't yet adopted the habit of wearing her Superwoman suit and cape beneath her office clothes. Louis, with his handsome features and the elegance he maintained despite using crutches, inexplicably captivated her. Rumors of his heroism in the war reached her, adding to his allure. Yet, his behavior irked her; beneath Louis' veneer of bonhomie and patronizing attitude was a not-so-subtle disdain. He even presumptuously mentioned that her interview was merely a formality, given she was Perry Weiss' chosen candidate. Louis was a stark contrast to Pete Ross. Clara found herself torn between a desire for his approval and an urge to confront his arrogance. Now, reflecting on those times, she scarcely recognized herself in the woman filled with uncertainty and trepidation, on the verge of becoming Superwoman, nor could she see Louis in the distant, sharp-tongued man who initially mistook her for a secretary rather than an assistant reporter.

“What are we going to do now, Louis?”

“I can't get a divorce, it's absolutely impossible for me. Pat knows that, and she thinks the same way. She threatened me with hell if I forced her into divorce proceedings. But she has been very reasonable. She understands that she has had another life outside our marriage and that I am in love with another woman. The priority for both of us is our daughter.”

“And what will you do?”

“Her parents live very close by, and Pat's two older sisters and their children live there. Emily will be told that her mother needs to live with her parents and that she will live with her mother, grandparents, and cousins…at least half of the weeks. The house is all theirs and they’ll spoil Emily very much. The other half of the weeks, she will stay with me. I may do the same and live with my parents, at least for the weeks that Emily stays with me. She'll be spoiled by her parents, her grandparents, her cousins... Eventually we'll explain to her that her parents are no longer together.”

“And trying to reach an annulment?”

“Pat turned it down, asking for a year to see how Emily develops under this situation...and what I do with my life. At first, she rejected the idea of separation. She was willing to continue living together as before and wanted me to make you my lover as she had done with others in the past. I refused. We formalized the separation before the priest who counseled us, but we remain husband and wife for the moment. In a year, when my personal position is clear and firm, and when Emily adapts, we will begin the process of annulment together. The archbishop knows us and knows us well. The vicar of our parish also knows that we perfectly fulfill the grounds for annulment.”

Clara understood how important his religion was to Louis and what he had suffered, but she was also a Christian and did not understand how the very words of the same God made life so difficult for Louis.

“I’ll step by your side, I just want to know if I'm going to be your discreet…you know, or if we can be together in the light of day.”

“The second with discretion, first .... Then it won't matter, and after the nullity we shall get…”

Clara put her index finger on Louis' lips with a loving look.

“Don’t worry darling, it's okay, we'll see.”

“I don't want a situation like this to drag on too long.”

“I don't mind, but of course I'd be happier being your wife,” Clara was surprised by her own bold words.

Louis hugged her tightly. “Clara Kent-Lane or Lane-Kent?”

“I prefer my last name first.”

Louis laughed.

Then Clara remembered that she was still Superwoman, that she wore her blue tights and red cape under her clothes, and that Louis hated Superwoman and wouldn't accept her. Did she have to tell him now? If not, when? Would she continue to lie to him now that he had finally left his wife and opened his heart to her? Or would she tell him the truth now so that he would get angry and run away? Doubt gnawed at Clara; all the happiness of the day was crumbling away. Louis noticed the sadness in her face.

“What is it, my love?”

“Nothing Louis, it's been too much news and emotions for today, I'm overwhelmed,” Clara gently grabbed Louis and pulled him to her.

There are days when I hate being Superwoman, today is one of those days. We could fly anywhere we wanted tonight and every day, if only he understood who I am and why I do this...

***

They ate in relative silence.

“You don't know how happy I am that you don't mention the campaign,” Clara tried to joke.

“I see. It's your way of saying "Vae Victis," "Woe to the vanquished."”

“You're a sore loser, my dear.”

“I hope you haven't just figured that out.”

They walked up the stairs of the small hotel in silence and stood at Clara's door. Louis gave her a quick, chaste kiss. Oh no, not this time, my dear.

Clara opened the door and waved Louis in. Clara could feel Louis torn between his desire and his scruples, she was simply burning. Clara walked all the way into the room without turning on the light, leaving the door open. Louis finally entered. The blue and pink neon lights of another hotel across the street filtered through the window. They looked into each other's eyes with a strange expression. I waited a long time for you, Louis.

Clara turned and went into the bathroom while Louis sat in the dark in the armchair. In the bathroom she took off her clothes, then her Superwoman outfit, which she carefully folded and hid under some towels. She looked at herself in the mirror, her hair was down now, and she wasn't wearing glasses. It was impossible for him not to recognize her. It was crazy that he didn't. She decided to pull up her hair and put on a nightgown and a silk robe. Shyly, she walked out of the bathroom.

Louis jumped up as soon as he saw her coming out. Clara looked beautiful in the silk robe. Without glasses her look and expression changed... It can't be, she's identical, I've never seen her look so much alike, no, it's not, it's crazy, forget it, please, you're finally here with her. The vague neon lights changed color, changing the image of the two of them. Clara came closer, burning with desire, and threw herself into Louis' arms.

Louis kissed her intensely, accepting Clara's strength so they both fell onto the neon-lit bed. Tonight, I won't be Superwoman.

***

At the same time, Luthor was preparing his final report for Karla. He wrote brief notes on Louis Lane and Clara Kent.

LOUIS JACOB LANE [...] a modern American with somewhat reactionary tendencies. History degree from Arkham University. Eldest son of the well-known Jewish magnate Admiral Samuel Lane. Raised Catholic. Interested in ancient history. Member of the Republican Party. Wins Pulitzer Prize in 1941 at the age of 29 for his articles on the capture of the mafia group "Intergang". Married to a wealthy Catholic like himself. Army major in infantry. Served in North Africa in 1942, Italy in 1943, France in 1944, and Germany in 1945. Recruited by James Jesus Angleton in 1944 as an interrogator and analyst for the OSS, discharged in 1945, apparently with decorations, but in fact after being court-martialed. Despite being very close to known known military reactionaries, he was very sensitive to anti-Semitism due to his Jewish heritage. He is said to have pushed to death a captured Nazi boss whom the OSS wanted to turn into an agent and fell out of favor with the army. Violent and unpredictable, despite his advanced education. Obvious connection to Superwoman. Saved by her on her first day of public appearances, was the first journalist to interview her. Saved again by Superwoman from the clutches of the Kryptonians in 1946 after the Army recruited him to negotiate with the invaders. He was seen with her in somewhat affectionate situations until at least early 1947. Superwoman is obviously interested in him. His virulent anti-Superwoman public stance, obsessively repeated in articles and radio talks, may be a cover. He may be the government's official handler of Superwoman.

Luthor reread the text, written in a tone and vocabulary the Soviets could understand. It was impossible that Louis Lane did not know that Clara Kent was Superwoman, and that the two had not come to an understanding. He then checked Clara Kent's profile.

CLARA JOSEPHINE KENT. Raised on a typical Midwestern farm. Large acreage, but strictly a family farm. Her birth is recorded on the same day there was a meteor shower in Smallville, Kansas, February 28, 1918, which may have been the date her ship accidentally crashed to Earth. Did she arrive as a baby? (...) No college education (...) elementary school teacher between 1938 and 1940 and navy nurse since 1942. Served in Guadalcanal, Coral Sea, New Guinea and the Philippines (...) Scattered testimonies of miraculous healings and cauterization of wounds. Did she use her powers on the sick? Why didn't she act in the world war against the fascists? (...) Disappears for eight months after the torpedoing of the USS Shuster, a ship that inexplicably survived the Japanese attack (...) Reappears already hired at the Daily Planet under Louis Lane command as an assistant reporter (...) Quality reporting and relevant information but insists on a low profile (...) "liberal" ideology and insistence on the "civil rights" of blacks, European refugees, and other minorities. Occasionally practices Quaker religion, in reformist or progressive groups, sometimes attends their meetings (…) She does not separate from Louis Lane, they have lunch and walk together mostly every day (…) She has never been seen with Superwoman. She has never written an article about Superwoman.

Next to Clara Kent's profile were several photographs of the journalist and Superwoman, showing the absolute similarity of their features, their height, and a study showing that despite the clothes, the glasses, and the hair bun, they were necessarily the same person. Luthor hesitated, but he held the great secret in his hands. He had nothing to gain by sharing it with the Soviets. He could not risk a Soviet action against Clara Kent that he had not prepared. No, for the time being, his bosses in Moscow were not to know. Luthor put Clara Kent's file away again. He would only share the Louis Lane file with Karla and Moscow.

Chapter Text

May 3, 1949, TELCORP Center, Meredith Island, Metropolis Bay

Luthor observed intently as the trio of scientists carefully maneuvered the guide through a small opening they had managed to create in the capsule housing the Kryptonian known as CRONOS. Unlike his possible progeny, ICARUS—who had been almost entirely disassembled and studied for medical and biological research—CRONOS remained sealed within his peculiar sarcophagus. The casing, which bore a striking resemblance to gold, was adorned with crystalline panels that shimmered under the laboratory’s lights. Inside, his body was held in place by an intricate network of metallic clamps, seemingly enhanced with nanotechnology and coated in a mysterious layer of blue frost. The exact mechanics of the device remained an enigma, yet the sarcophagus appeared to draw power wirelessly, sustaining the Kryptonian in a state of cryogenic stasis—an uninterrupted process that had persisted for 12,000 years. To maintain the capsule’s energy supply, Luthor had installed a high-powered generator. Meanwhile, a peculiar black liquid screen, embedded with metallic particles, continuously displayed a series of symbols in one corner of the capsule. Though undeciphered, the inscriptions bore a striking resemblance to ancient Sumerian script.

Six months had passed since the sarcophagus—or pod—had arrived in Metropolis, concealed as nothing more than agricultural machinery. For half a year, it lay dormant in the depths of the TELCORP Center on Meredith Island, hidden away in what was supposed to be a secure vault for static electricity research. Encased in lead and surrounded by the last fragments of kryptonite that Luthor had managed to gather, it rested, guarded yet ominous. A team of twenty scientists, handpicked for their loyalty to Luthor or secretly working for the USSR under assumed identities, labored tirelessly on the project. Led by Norwegian scientist Peder Skarg, the group was a blend of engineers, geneticists, physicians, chemists, and biologists, all with one purpose. Meanwhile, Luthor’s alliance with Baroness Von Gunther of the Rand Corporation grew ever more entangled. Despite the Baroness’ near-captivity, their combined efforts, especially in reverse-engineering the alien craft found on Death Island, yielded breakthroughs in aircraft engine technology. Death Island, once a quiet enigma, was now a fortified zone, occupied by nearly five thousand American troops and ringed by naval forces. Both the USSR and the United States had nuclear flight plans drawn, ready to erase the island from existence should it be deemed necessary.

In those seven months, much had changed. The disappearance of the USS Aludra, a military cargo ship, along with a pocket submarine, had been officially attributed to a storm. Yet behind closed doors, the government suspected Soviet interference. The president and military chiefs remained unaware of the true stakes—that a Kryptonian body had been lost. Only a small circle surrounding Maxwell Lord and General Hardy knew the chilling truth. Hardy’s sudden death, publicly dismissed as a tragic accident while cleaning his weapon, masked the reality: suicide. And now Lord was gripped by panic. The once composed military men who had overseen this covert operation had descended into paranoia, seeing spies and traitors in every shadow, pushing relentlessly for an escalation in the simmering Cold War with the USSR.

Tensions continued to rise. The government was taking advantage of Superwoman's presence in the skies around the world, helping and rescuing civilians of all nations, and creating invulnerability for her country of origin. The U.S. had succeeded in sweeping away the Communists in Greece and forcing a plebiscite in Poland, Hungary, and Czechoslovakia, which had been demilitarized and removed from the Soviet bloc. East Germany remained socialist but was surrounded, and civil war was about to break out in Romania. The Soviets responded with increased threats, nuclear tests, and aid to the Communists in China, Korea, and Indochina. Peace talks were going nowhere, while the USSR was developing the same missiles retro-engineered from alien remains that were also being built at Area 51.

We may not win the first round, but in my hands rests the end of Superwoman, the door to strategic balance and Worldwide Peace. Luthor felt invulnerable. The incipient witch hunts and the Un-American Activities Committee had not touched him. He was still a man trusted by the government. No one knew. No one suspected anything. Only Baroness Von Gunther, who, thanks to blackmail and false and hopeful news about her brother, had become just another Soviet agent, completely subservient to Luthor.

Luthor now knew who Clara Kent was, yet he remained conflicted about her true nature. He pondered if Clara Kent was merely a sophisticated ruse—a superhuman from another planet adopting the guise of a benevolent, average woman, espousing visionary beliefs about the future, akin to a modern-day messiah who chose journalism over carpentry—or if, indeed, this individual, potentially the most formidable entity in the cosmos, had chosen to embrace a mundane human existence, after having been nurtured on a farm. However, this contemplation did not deter his objectives. Time was of the essence for Luthor. He needed to make his move before the geopolitical climate spiraled beyond control for both administrations, particularly the one under Stalin, which Luthor aligned with to some extent. All of this unfolded in Metropolis, the epicenter of American capitalism, where Luthor was regarded as one of its most brilliant minds.

The guide and the kryptonite needle of extraordinary fineness, the product of months of work, carefully pierced the glass and entered the pod. There was no sound and no reaction. The symbols on the display in the corner of the capsule changed to a reddish color, but nothing else.

“Gently, millimeter by millimeter.”

“Yes, Mr. Luthor.”

“On my command, slow down.”

The kryptonite needle touched the blue frost covering the body and pierced it. Soon they touched the body, in an arm. They had calculated that there should be a vein there. ICARUS had shown that Kryptonian physiology was identical to human physiology, even if their genetics seemed to be slightly different. The needle entered the body as a syringe was pushed over the capsule.

“Let's hope not all the blood is frozen.”

A small motor began to suck the contents from the syringe. Just tiny clots of blood, but soon liquid blood, as red as human blood, began to arrive. After several hours, they managed to extract 1 tablespoon.

Luthor was ecstatic. “This is a real success, comrades, a real success.”

His small team applauded enthusiastically. The small vial of 1 tablespoon of Kryptonian blood was treated like the Holy Grail. Some of them cried.

Luthor leaned against the wall with a sigh. Finally, we will be able to study the Pathogen's reaction to living Kryptonian organisms. We have little time and few options, but we are so close…

To cheer the group up, Luthor read aloud Rudyard Kipling's poem "If," knowing that their supposed Soviet overlords would censor it if they heard it.

***

Fifteen miles from Meredith Island, at the Planet Building, Louis Lane leaned out the window in his shirtsleeves, adjusting his tie. The evening breeze was cool, carrying the scent of the city. He inhaled deeply. The past seven months had been a whirlwind of change—he was finally with Clara. Since college, he had forgotten what it meant to give and receive love daily. Living with Clara changed everything. He was happier than ever… but increasingly lost in his own world. The wreckage of his marriage, a lingering sense of loneliness, and the ghosts of war had begun to fade. Now, Clara and his daughter filled his time and thoughts. When Emily wasn’t staying with him, he was with Clara—at his place or hers, with Krypto curled up at the foot of the bed. Clara was loving and attentive, and Emily adored her. His parents approved, especially his mother, who hoped for an annulment rather than a full divorce from Pat. Last month, Clara’s mother had visited Metropolis—a kind, unassuming woman. Though uneasy about the situation, she stood by them, bound by an unshakable closeness to her daughter.

Despite being discreet, the entire city knew about their relationship. It had been far less scandalous than expected, and Pat had begun to be seen in public with the defeated Republican mayoral candidate, Mason Norris. If Louis could get an annulment, he could marry Clara. If not, despite the weight of what he considered a sin, she would be his partner, the second mother of his daughter, and hopefully the mother of other children. They fought sometimes, Clara had forced him to give up smoking and almost to stop drinking, and he was clumsy and distracted in his work as a journalist. A consequence of his new and long-awaited happiness. But nothing else mattered.

Suddenly, he saw a red and blue stylized blur streaking across the sky. Louis looked up distrustfully. The red and blue blur soon took the form of a woman in a long red cape and began to slowly descend vertically. Some applause was heard, and many heads looked out of the windows of the skyscrapers. Although Superwoman had directly or indirectly strengthened the fight against communism and the position of the US, this was not what Louis wanted… Not like this, we can't make democracy depend on an uncontrollable superpowered being. It is not humane. It's not civilized. There is no way to enforce our laws on Superwoman. He insisted on this in columns and lectures that were increasingly criticized and to which Clara reacted with enormous coldness. The physical resemblance between the two kept him awake at night, especially on nights when they did not sleep together. Clara's absences and her resemblance to Superwoman sometimes rose like the shadow of a guillotine in his happiness, tormenting him for a few hours until he convinced himself for the umpteenth time with dozens of rational arguments that Superwoman and Clara Kent were not the same person. The red caped superheroine seemed to wave to the cars and crowd below her and disappeared into the sky at full speed. If only she would disappear from our lives, if only she wasn't so necessary... We are her hostages.

Within seconds, Clara Kent appeared radiantly through the door, wearing a very elegant light grey suit jacket with a rhinestone brooch and her usual tic of adjusting her eyeglasses. There were quite a few things about her that hadn't changed since she'd shown up four years earlier in her small-town schoolteacher's look and her Navy nurse's uniform.

Louis greeted her. “Hi, my dear! How was your afternoon?”

“I already finished the interviews I had to do! Now all I must do is type them up and I'll be done.” Clara entered the room, trotting happily like a little girl. The reporter approached Louis without closing the door, pulled him close and kissed his lips.

“Did you miss me?”

“Quite a lot.”

“Any news?”

Louis held out a teletype. “Georghe Tartarescu, the Prime Minister of Romania, has just committed suicide. A bullet in the temple. The opposition and his party have called for a general strike but so have the communists. Troop movements all along the border. I must wait for a communication from Washington, there will be more leaks of information to me. I may have to go get Emily and bring her back to the office.”

“No way. I'm staying with her if necessary… What do you think's going to happen?”

“I think the government has assumed that they're not going to be as lucky as they were in Czechoslovakia, Hungary and Poland. There's no way the communists are going to let Romania stay neutral. They are going to accept that the communists will take power and a bloody dictatorship.”

“And then?”

“Pressures from the communists to return to the government of Poland, even if it is in a government of national unity with the right wing, so the USSR will have its border secured. But that will be more difficult. The USSR is not going to support a Finnish model for the Eastern European countries.”

“Will people die?”

Clara asked in an agonized, sad, almost sorrowful tone. Louis looked into her blue eyes.

“There will be some deaths these days in Romania, for sure.”

“Why don't we negotiate to arrest or expel all the ex-Nazi collaborationists in all the governments to give the Soviets guarantees of peace?”

“It is not a relevant issue Clara, left-wing propaganda. There are no war criminals in positions of power in Germany, Austria, Czechoslovakia, or Hungary. And besides, Stalin doesn't care about that. It wouldn't change anything.”

“It is not true that we are not supporting criminals and ex-Nazis, Louis.”

Louis narrowed his eyes as Clara bit her lip and looked at him with a longing expression. The reporter snorted and grabbed his arm. She looked at him with love and desire.

“Louis, do you think I could come tonight with Krypto to sleep with you and Emily, and tell her stories?”

“Only if you want to.”

“Why do you think I’m asking?”

Clara hugged him tightly, but Louis was thinking of the unbearable tensions that threatened the post-war order.

Clara looked at Louis. What a crazy few months… She didn't even know if she was the happiest woman on earth or the most miserable. She oscillated between the two feelings in a matter of seconds. The happiest moments of her life were running almost parallel to her worst worries. Seven months of love and living with Louis, the man she loved and who gave her strength, confidence, and happiness. Seven months of increasing political pressures and the drums of war on her, on Superwoman, even though she felt more secure than ever.  Seven months of lying to Louis, who, to her astonishment, while becoming happier and more affectionate with her, was also becoming more critical and aggressive toward Superwoman. Seven months putting the sleeping pills Bruce Wayne had given her in Louis' drink every night they slept together, so that he would sleep soundly while she saved the world every night in her red cape, being the Woman of Steel, Superwoman. Seven months in which President Truman had admitted to her that they possessed Kryptonian technology and had shown her a capsule that had been buried for 12,000 years on an island in the Aleutians. Superwoman had begged the President to destroy it in front of a smiling Lex Luthor whom she could not yet denounce in public. She could not bear to keep lying to Louis and she suspected something terrible was coming.

Clara's thoughts were interrupted by Louis' voice. “I'll ask Katz to stay tonight and cover me, I'll come in early in the morning to find out what's finally happening with Romania.”

Clara stroked his face and Louis kissed her hands.

“Krypto and I will be at your house around six.”

When Louis left, she sat down and buried her head in her hands. No matter what happened, she would not waver one inch from her duty to protect civilians and the protocol she had explained at the UN. Superwoman would protect civilians, whether it was from an armed robber on a street corner in Metropolis, against an armed gang for political reasons, or after an earthquake.

Jimmy opened the office door. “Clara, you have a visitor.”

“Hello, Miss Kent!”

A slender, vivacious teenage girl in a red jacket bounded into the office.

“Roberta!”

Clara stood up smiling. Roberta Lee was a teenager whose Chinese-born family had been haunted by a Klu Klux Klan cell a few months earlier... Superwoman had captured the gang, and Clara Kent and Louis Lane had written a four-handed article about it. Roberta and Clara had hit it off; the girl wanted to be a journalist and go to college.

“I was in the neighborhood and wanted to stop by and say hello.”

Roberta walked through Louis and Clara's office as if it were her home and sat down at Louis' desk.

“Thank you for coming, dear. How is school going? And your writing essays?” Clara asked affectionately.

"Do you think I could finally work here in the summer?" The teenager asked quickly, ignoring Clara's question.

Roberta had shown great courage and insight. At the same time, she didn't quite fit in; Clara had seen herself reflected in her at her age.

“I think Mr. Lane and I will find you a corner.”

“Even if it's just to sort papers, Miss Kent!”

Clara was about to answer her when she heard in the distance the cries for help after the first storms of a hurricane began to make landfall along the coast of Honduras and Nicaragua.

“Roberta, I must leave right now, I'm late to an appointment in…uh…Hoboken, I'm really sorry, please forgive me…”

“Could you write me a letter of recommendation for college? Actually, I need several.”

“As many as you need!” Clara said while exiting the office at full speed.

Roberta turned to Jimmy.

“She left her purse.”

“Sometimes it happens” Jimmy answered.

***

Superwoman spent several hours flying at super speed over the Caribbean, in all directions, generating whirlwinds at high altitudes and using both her heat vision and her freezing breath to dissolve the hurricane and turn it into a series of different soft storms that soon dissipated. After catching some criminals, Superwoman had to stop the first shooting of civilians in Romania in a square in Bucharest. “This will be in the papers tomorrow”, she thought with sorrow.

Then she raced back to Metropolis, picked up Krypto and they landed on the roof of Louis' building. Now dressed as Clara Kent knocked on Louis and his daughter's door. As usual, Krypto pounced on Louis and Clara went straight to kiss Emily. The little girl was bouncing on the couch with a red cape tied behind her back.

Clara turned amusedly to Louis, who raised his eyebrows.

“I'm not going to scold her for that," he replied quietly.

They had dinner, put the girl to bed and pretended to go to different rooms. Then Clara slipped into Louis' room, and they shared their love, trying to combine silence and passion until they were exhausted. Clara brought Louis a glass of water with the sleeping pill already dissolved in. She waited for him to fall asleep... Hopefully one day you will understand Louis, please forgive me. When she was sure he was asleep, she put on the Superwoman costume in a fraction of a second and went out the window at super speed, making no noise but leaving the curtains of the room fluttering as if they were subjected to a hurricane wind.

May 17th, 1949, TELCORP Center, Meredith Island, Metropolis Bay

In a soundproof room, Luthor and Peder Skarg were reviewing the results of the last two weeks' tests on CRONOS' body, especially on the blood they had been able to extract from it.

“Luthor, our time is dwindling… Our experiments, the minor breaches we've created in the capsule, siphoning his blood... Now the cryogenic systems are malfunctioning, the specimen is deteriorating. It's defrosting bit by bit, and I suspect it's not following the Kryptonian standard procedure. CRONOS could revive or start to decompose at any moment. We've estimated that in two weeks, it will likely defrost in a manner that will cause it to degrade irreparably. We won't be able to further investigate the Pathogen's impact on a living Kryptonian”

Luthor's response was one of cold, furious detachment. His anger wasn't directed at Skarg personally; he held a deep respect for him, a committed communist who excelled at his duties. Rather, Luthor’s frustration stemmed from his own oversight. He had assumed that the clamps on CRONOS' body would maintain its frozen state, and that minor punctures followed by resealing the capsule wouldn't interfere with the cryogenic process. Their initial analysis revealed a pod atmosphere almost mirroring Earth's, composed of oxygen and hydrogen, with traces of arsenic, which they had then reintroduced in gaseous form in the same proportions. It was a fundamental error, prompted by urgency, the demands of the Soviet Union, and his animosity towards Superwoman. He had succumbed to the influence of those less capable and allowed his emotions to guide him.

“Luthor... Either we lose the body, or we have to launch Cadmus I.”

Cadmus I was the code name Skarg and Luthor used when discussing one of their strategies with their Soviet superiors: the mutation of CRONOS through the Pathogen. Their research into CRONOS' blood and the effects of both the original and refined Pathogens indicated their potential as a weapon against Superwoman. The standard Pathogen caused living Kryptonian cells and tissues to become stronger, mutate, grow, and absorb more energy. Heat accelerated and intensified these effects, yet at extremely high temperatures, the Kryptonian cells and tissues rapidly degraded and ultimately perished. It was like a curve of empowerment and decay. The refined Pathogen triggered similar effects but to a lesser extent; mutations were less pronounced, though the cells and tissues deteriorated more quickly and severely under intense heat. This led them to speculate that the ancient Kryptonians, unable to devise a means to affect both Kryptonians and humans equally, created the Pathogen as a twisted and unfathomable tool. It was lethal to human tissue yet caused monstrous mutations in Kryptonians. Was this intended as a form of retribution for Kryptonians who coexisted with humans, transforming them into beasts to annihilate humanity before ultimately being eradicated by nuclear weapons? Did the pathogen-engineered aberrations self-destruct over time? Was this an experiment gone awry, a bizarre ritual, or a method used to decimate 99% of the human population 12,000 years ago, as some research suggested?

“Luthor, we must take a decision. It's very risky, very risky. But it is in accordance with our political directives.” Skarg voice seemed to come from a distant place.

Luthor stood and walked silently around the table as Skarg watched him. Throw Pathogen over the body of CRONOS... Turn him into an aberration, let him cause havoc, let him take on Superwoman. It was an equivalent of her own species, mutated to be bigger, tougher, probably irrational... And what if it wasn't violent? The creatures created with the pathogen from the remains of dead Kryptonian bodies were violent and aggressive. CRONOS would probably become another monster. They had calculated that it would likely injure and weaken Superwoman... Time to drop a nuclear bomb on Metropolis and wipe out both creatures? Launch the refined Pathogen on both of them so that both beings involved in the battle would perish? Any statistical calculations they could make about that were pure fiction.

What if the fallout in Metropolis resulted in millions of casualties? What if, instead of undermining the credibility of the U.S. government and Superwoman, his actions made her a martyr? Was simply removing her from the equation enough? And if the unleashed beast triggered a nuclear conflict, with the U.S. pointing the finger at the USSR, what then? Luthor was at a loss, unsure of his next move - should he unleash the creature and watch events unfold, choose to end his life, or flee to the USSR after the nuclear attack or the superheroine's demise?

He knew of the American contingency operation, Unthinkable III, designed for a scenario in which Superwoman turned against humanity, involving multiple nuclear strikes to limit her chances of escape. The threat of an uncontrollable situation was imminent, and Luthor feared that his mission to defeat Superwoman might inadvertently ignite a worldwide nuclear war. Overwhelmed by these considerations, Luthor acknowledged the grim reality: proceeding with his plan carried intolerable risks.

A scientist from Skarg's team knocked several times on the doorbell of the soundproof room. Luthor opened the door.

“What's going on?”

“Peace talks in Romania have just been cancelled, there's a military alert in Moscow and Washington. The President will speak in a few minutes... Stalin’s speech is expected in a few hours, probably early in the morning in the USSR.”

Skarg turned to Luthor.

“Luthor, the American government is going to continue to increase the pressure, counting on Superwoman to be invulnerable. This escalation will be daily. In two weeks, we will have lost CRONOS, and a dead Kryptonian body mutated with the Pathogen will be an eyesore, but Superwoman will be able to destroy it with a blow. It's now or we quit. We may miss our chance.”

“I'll work out a plan tonight and contact Moscow.”

Luthor got up and left in confusion.

***

Fate had a little nudge in store for Luthor at his moment of greatest weakness and confusion. Arriving at the TELCORP Tower, he was greeted by Mercy Graves, who whispered that his secure line had received seventeen calls from untapped phone booths in San Francisco. She had refused to answer the phone until the last call. A male voice had simply said "CROATOAN" and then hung up.

Luthor understood instantly and collapsed in his chair. His eyes popped out of their sockets and his bald head drenched in sweat. He understood perfectly. CROATOAN meant that Karla's network had fallen in San Francisco, that they had been discovered somehow. The network was captured or on the run. CROATOAN also meant that even though the network was down, he was still safe and should be communicating with a network in Mexico City. If Luthor was in danger, the word should have been KUMARI KANDAM.

Luthor hesitated... What if it was a trap? What if they had all fallen and confessed? What if CROATOAN was a trap for the government to catch him communicating with Soviet spies in Mexico City? No, it was all too risky, the magnitude of his leak and betrayal was so great that if the government knew or suspected anything at that moment, he would already be in an FBI or OSS basement in front of thirty panicked interrogators. He was no ordinary second-rate diplomat or science advisor who needed to be caught red-handed. It was clear that the network was down. How much time did he have? How long would it take the government to get to him? Luthor’s brain insisted that his hours as a free man were numbered. He had lost and he had only one card left to take down Superwoman.

Luthor devoted the entire night to refining his strategy, and after a period of deep reflection and solace in poetry, he came to a crucial decision. In order to avert the risk of a nuclear conflict that Superwoman's death in the clash with CRONOS might trigger, along with the unintended loss of life, he decided to publicly take full responsibility. He would declare that he had acquired the body with the help of mercenaries, conducted experiments in solitude, and released it of his own volition.

Luthor intended to absolve the USSR of any involvement. He drafted a speech and a letter of confession, intending them to be recorded and distributed. He also drafted a detailed confession and memorandum to the President of the United States, clarifying that his actions were driven by his independent judgment and in response to the government's inability to grasp the threat Superwoman posed. Included was a scientific report advocating a nuclear bombing and, before that, a refined pathogen attack on Superwoman and CRONOS if he was unable to neutralize the threats in time.

Luthor planned to release his confession to the national and international mainstream media and surrender to military authorities. In the process, he found himself longing for a belief in the afterlife, even reciting long-forgotten prayers from his youth and verses from Buddhist sutras and the Koran he had learned on his travels. Superwoman would die, probably thousands of people too, but without Superwoman the two world powers would have to negotiate, and the US would have to give up expansion in Eastern Europe. There would be no war. His confession would exonerate the USSR. The world would be free from the domination of an alien, from the domination of a false goddess. It would be a new beginning.

Luthor sent his plan to Mexico in an urgent flight case. A call came through on a secure line, with the caller simply stating that he had received "a good book”. Three days later, Luthor received the Soviets' response from Moscow, discreetly hidden in books sent to Mercy Graces. The Soviets rejected his proposal, citing CRONOS' potential for catastrophe and military escalation. They considered it too dangerous; if the body thawed and showed no signs of life, they argued, Luthor and Skarg would have to admit defeat. Efforts to defuse the situation politically, with the goal of demilitarizing Eastern Europe, continued. The USSR was reluctant to start a war or cause a bloodbath in Metropolis. Alternative methods to counter Superwoman had to be explored. With the San Francisco network compromised and only Karla able to escape - with knowledge of Luthor's true identity - Luthor's position was precarious. He was advised to prepare for extraction within three weeks.

Luthor destroyed the answer by burning it in a cinerarium, his uncertainties dispelled. Amid feelings of dizziness and discomfort, he was convinced that his plan involving the refined pathogen and subsequent nuclear strike mitigated the primary dangers of the operation. He anticipated that the confrontation between Superwoman and the entity would last for hours, possibly allowing time to evacuate Metropolis and reduce casualties. Alea Jacta Est. Luthor would disobey the USSR as he had betrayed the U.S. government. He was the sole captain of his soul, and only he could defeat Superwoman.

***

Over the next few days, Luthor fired nearly all the scientists working with him at CRONOS, pretending to be following Soviet orders. Skarg left, grumbling that they were losing their last chance to defeat Superwoman. He made several millionaire donations to charities of his choosing and gave his employees time off for the day he had planned the event. Luthor also called a dozen people he held in high regard, advising them to leave Metropolis using bizarre political excuses. Some Secret Service agents picked up on Luthor's activities but dismissed him as irrelevant, just a big businessman spooked by diplomatic tensions.

Then came the hardest part, convincing his wife and daughter.

“Aline, you must leave Metropolis, go to West Virginia with Leda and our grandson.”

“Alexander, I'm not leaving until you tell me what's going on.”

“I only ask you to leave for a week. There is a real menace of dangerous events in Metropolis.”

“What kind of events?”

“Dangerous events, the leaks have not been detailed.”

“And why doesn’t anybody alert the public?”

“Because the risk level is too low to cause panic, but I'm asking you to leave.”

“That is unfair, Alexander.”

Eventually, Aline, Leda, his grandson, and a retinue of servants left for Luthor's country home in West Virginia. Now alone at last, he had hired two dozen mercenaries. Wild, desperate men from Gotham and Metropolis who had been thrown out of work by the fall of the mob in recent years thanks to Superwoman and Batman. He needed no more.

CRONOS was on Meredith Island, he had about fifty gallons of pure Pathogen and another thirty of refined Pathogen. Luthor had circled the date on his calendar, contemplating whether to confront Superwoman directly or to attempt to initiate a dialogue with her. The idea of involving Louis Lane crossed his mind. He shuffled through recent newspapers: headlines of Superwoman's heroics were everywhere—rescuing families from a fire in India, saving a hundred passengers on a Comet DeHavilland from a tragic fate, protecting civilians from communist unrest in Romania, apprehending thieves, averting car mishaps... There was also an article about Superwoman persuading a judge to release a rehabilitated thief, arguing that everyone deserves a chance for redemption and forgiveness. All these lies will soon come to an end.

***

In the last few days, it seemed that the political pressure and diplomatic tensions had eased. Clara smiled. The day before, Superwoman had dined at an orphanage in Philadelphia with a group of children who had written her a letter. Without giving too many details, she told them a few things about her childhood. Today she was at Louis' house with his daughter, sitting in silk pajamas reading stories to Emily. Louis was typing furiously as he wrote about the domestic implications of the Soviet proposal to demilitarize Poland, Hungary, and Czechoslovakia without giving up the Soviet bases in East Germany and Kaliningrad.

“Louis, dear, your article is coming out in two days, come with us.”

“Yes, Daddy, come with us.”

“What are you reading?”

“Tales and Legends of Burma.”

Louis snorted and smiled, sitting down next to them.

“Don't you want to read it to her?” Clara warmly asked.

“No, I'd rather you do it, Clara.”

Clara smiled at him. She was extraordinarily happy at that moment. Louis was happy too. He must understand that all this is true, and that it is not incompatible with me being Superwoman.

Her work on the Rand Corporation and Luthor had stalled and was no longer of interest to the public or her bosses. However, she and Louis had finally found a publisher and illustrator for her children's stories about DeeDog, Mr. Leezard, and the Komfy Dragon. Clara was very excited about the project. She even had the opportunity to read two stories over the radio on the KBBL children's program, which had received very good reviews.

In a different vein, she visited the White House as Superwoman, and the President had explained all the experiments with Kryptonian technology to her…and despite the Woman of Steel’s pleas he had refused to cancel the research. Instead, the President promised to brief her regularly. Clara wondered if Luthor would take advantage of these investigations to attack her. Remember what your father said, if you think too much about your personal worries you will lose your mind. Think more about helping others.

May 26, 1949, Metropolis

Luthor received the information from one of his investigators. Clara Kent and Louis Lane were going that night to the Metropolitan Opera to see Mahler's Seventh Symphony. Tomorrow was the day, it was all planned, but he wanted to get close to the couple. He didn't know if he wanted to scare them, make them nervous, or just study their reaction. It didn't really matter, they would have to face him tomorrow, but he wanted to see them, he had to surprise them. It was a stupid thing to do, but Luthor couldn't resist his temper, so he put on a tuxedo and went to the Opera House.

***

Clara and Louis walked holding each other’s arms through the foyer. They were elegantly dressed, Clara with a high bun, her new glasses, a long green evening grown, and the pearl necklace Louis had given her a few days before, Louis with an elegant Tuxedo. Clara tried to concentrate on enjoying the evening with Louis, the music... But soon the news came back to haunt her head.

“How do you see the diplomatic negotiations, Louis?”

“The tension seems to have eased in the last few days, but you've seen the USSR. They've threatened to withdraw from the UN Security Council if any Superwoman action outside US borders is not banned, even if it's humanitarian. Unless it has legal permission from the local government.”

Clara sighed inwardly, “Legal permission to save people. My government or I will have to negotiate with other governments to let me save people from drowning or being crushed to death by a landslide… Or to stop civilians from being killed...”

“This was bound to happen, Clara, Superwoman couldn't be the world's police. Anyway, let's forget about it because you and I are neither here nor there. Cat Grant will follow up on this story.”

“Sure…”

“What would you like to do this weekend? Would you like to go away to any little town?”

“I don't want to go near the ocean this time. Let's go to the mountains and sleep outside on Saturday.”

“I'll get dehydrated if you keep me away from the sea, Clara,” Louis laughed.

A sharp voice sounded in their back. “Hi there, the most important reporting couple in the universe… I wonder how many of the people around us can imagine your incredible significance.”

Clara's heart skipped a beat as she recognized Luthor's voice. She felt a mixture of hatred and fear run through her entire body… Never hate anyone, Clara, there is nothing worse than that. Louis had already turned around and looked at Luthor coldly. The millionaire scientist stood alone and looked at them with a strange smile.

“Nice to see you again, Mr. Lane.”

Louis stood in front of Clara. The reporter could see a look of absolute rage on Louis's face and how he wrung his hands.

“What do you want, Luthor?” Louis asked fiercely.

“To greet you both, that's all. It's exciting to see people like you mingle with the crowd. How does Mr. Lane feel? Do you feel like Mary Magdalene must have felt according to some gospels? Chosen for the Messiah's greatest intimacy!”

Louis' expression changed from violent to one of shock and incomprehension. Clara saw Louis raise his arm to strike Luthor and she quickly stopped him.

“Louis, please don't listen to him, he's a psychopath,” She anxiously said.

“Miss Kent, we've only met once and you're already calling me a psychopath? But actually… We’ve met a few more now that I think about it... Mr. Lane, listen to her, you know she's much stronger than you.” Luthor had a sardonic smile.

Louis was petrified, looking at Luthor with hatred and incomprehension. Luthor looked at him intently, ignoring Clara.

“I see you are surprised and as if you don't understand me..." Luthor turned to Clara with a malicious smile and then back to Louis, "Don't tell me you didn't know! You look at me as if you don't understand anything! Didn't you know that the day Clara was born there was a freak meteor shower in northeast Kansas?”

“Enough Luthor!”

Louis tried to lunge at Luthor, but Clara grabbed him again. Louis turned to Clara with an expression of deep pain and strangeness, perhaps surprised by the strength with which the journalist held him and prevented him from lunging at Luthor.

“You're very calm, Miss Kent... Mr. Lane, I've always found you to be an intelligent and noble person. You've always been calm in our encounters. Do you remember Metallo? Miss Kent remembers him too.”

He knows, he knows, what a disgrace, he knows, you evil monster... oh Louis! Clara stepped in front of Louis and spoke to Luthor in an almost inaudible tone.

“Luthor, if you don't leave, you'll regret it for the rest of your life. I swear to my father's memory.”

“Miss Kent, you shouldn't threaten or swear… Where are the good old ways? It’s disappointing to hear that from a supposed Quaker.”

Luthor smiled beatifically and slipped away through the crowd. Clara felt like crying and like disintegrating Luthor with her heat vision. She was afraid to turn to Louis, but he grabbed her hand.

“He's mentally ill, I warned you, a real sicko. Maybe we shouldn't have questioned him so openly in the past... Now he's ranting about some absurd, delusional madness. Forget it. He just wanted to make us uncomfortable. Let's have a drink,” Louis' message was reassuring, but his voice and expression were mechanical and utterly cold.

For the rest of the concert, Louis didn't turn around for a single second, staring straight ahead with a completely lifeless expression. Clara knew him very well, when Louis acted with coldness and forced indifference, something very painful and violent was going on inside him. Clara's tears came to her eyes several times, and not because of the music. Luthor watched them with binoculars from his opera balcony... What a strange couple. How could he not know about it? Tomorrow will be an absolutely historic day.

***

In the taxi they did not share a single word. Clara was anxious but Louis remained calm. She took his hand, and he took hers in what seemed to Clara a strange way. They went to Louis' house. Emily wasn't there; she was with her mother. The first thing Louis did was to go into the living room, take out a bottle of whiskey and pour himself an almost full glass, which he drank in one gulp.

“Do you want anything to drink, Clara?”

With elegant gestures, Louis poured himself a second glass, which he also almost drained in one gulp. The journalist sat down in an armchair with the glass and the bottle, trying not to look at Clara. She approached him.

“Give me that, please, I beg you.”

Louis ignored her but got up and left the glass and bottle on the drinks trolley. Clara was afraid to speak or say anything, but finally she dared.

“Don’t you want to talk?”

“Talk about what?”

“Louis, I don't want to play cat and mouse.”

“But who's the mouse and who's the cat? That’s a fair question.”

Clara adjusted her glasses. She was ready to take them off, let her hair down, take off her dress and reveal her red cape and Superwoman costume. They had been in love for years, and finally for seven months, loving each other with freedom and living together. Louis had to love the woman she was. Everything they had told each other and experienced was true. Louis had to understand that the woman he loved was there. She was just the woman who sometimes, to do her duty and use the talents God had given her, jumped out of the window with a red cape. There were not two women, there was only one. He had to be able to see it, if he really loved her.

Louis continued to ramble on in a self-satisfied tone.

“After all, what is Truth?”

“The truth is I...”

“I didn't ask for a specific truth; I asked what Truth is. Different questions.”

Clara began to get angry. You are cowardly and unjust, Louis, deeply cowardly and unjust. But he reached out to her and took her shoulders lovingly.

“How short is the time of happiness.” Louis was smiling in a strange way, like Luthor.

“Louis, I love you, that's the first and most important thing. Our whole story is true, if it's of any use to you.”

But Louis answered with a sardonic smile and silence.

“Louis please...”

Clara couldn't stand it any longer, she wanted to take off her glasses and her dress. She didn't want to get into a cruel game of recriminations between shadows and misunderstandings with Louis, but he turned around.

“There's a one-in-a-million chance I'm wrong, and that you're wondering what the hell I’m talking about.”

Clara replied coldly and firmly. No more lies. “No, you're not wrong."

“You are her.” Louis voice sounded like a hurt and broken whisper.

Clara was incapable of replying. She felt as if the ground was opening up under her feet.

“I don’t know what you are. Then I have let a stranger into my house, please go away.” Louis continued dryly.

Clara broke down in sobs. “Louis, I beg you..."

“I beg you to leave. We'll talk when I can, if you want, but for tonight, believe me, I've had enough. If you don't go, I'm the one going. Probably you have duties elsewhere,” Louis drew the curtains of the living room and opened the art deco windows of his house. Mostly all of Manhattan Skyscrapers were lit up.

Clara looked at him hurt and defiant... She wanted to tell him she loved him but didn't dare. With super speed she flew out of the window and was lost in the sky.

Louis went back to the drinks trolley, pulled out another whiskey and began to sip.

May 27th, 1949. Metropolis. In the morning

Louis had to drink a lot to sleep. He dreamed that everything he had experienced the night before was a nightmare. He had dreamed of normality, but when he woke up he realized that it was real. Louis had drunk a little more than a bottle. It was ten in the morning. He decided to stay in bed. He felt a deep sorrow but also an enormous relief. All his doubts, that shadow-chasing, his self-deception... It was all over. He felt a deep anger, but he did not feel surprised… The surprise had lasted only a short time. It was all too obvious, extremely obvious. Perhaps deep down he had always known the truth, he had simply been deceived. Amid a quiet despair, Louis came to a conclusion that morning: Clara Kent was a fabrication, merely a cunning facade crafted by a vastly superior extraterrestrial being, who had come to regard him with the kind of affection one reserves for a cherished animal companion.

But Louis needed rest, he needed sleep, he needed to forget the world and plan a graceful exit from the newspaper, from his present life. Poor Pat, what a situation I got you into for such a short love spree, our sham of a marriage was more bearable than this. Louis fantasized about having fired Clara Kent in her first few weeks at the Daily Planet, when she responded in bad ways to him and conscientiously disobeyed all his orders. It didn't matter. He had his daughter, his parents, his siblings, a somewhat future opportunity in college and in politics, and if Pat wanted to return to some hypocritical arrangement, he was ready. He acted like the gambler who was relieved to have lost all his money and wanted to forget it quickly and hide it by going back to his normal life.

Louis called the newspaper, to Cat Grant, and Mailer's secretary.

“Mrs. Blakenship? How are you? This is Mr. Lane... Please tell Mrs. Grant or Mr. Mailer that I won't be at the paper until Tuesday...that's right, until Tuesday. No, I'm leaving town. Mrs. Grant has copies of my articles for Sunday and Monday, so it won't be a problem. Just a family matter.”

The secretary's voice suddenly said what Louis feared the most.

"Miss Kent is just here, would you like to speak to her?"

Louis immediately hung up and started packing. He trusted Superwoman to respect him and leave him alone... But what if she didn't? What if she turned on him? He couldn't go to his house in Oyster Bay or his parents' house in Hyannis Port, Clara knew those places. She also knew the hotels where he liked to hide out in Innsmouth, Nantucket, Arkham - right next to his beloved University - and Dunwich. He had taken her to all these places. Lovers' adventures. He decided to go to the southern New Jersey shore. A former sergeant in his battalion, with whom he had fought a thousand battles in the war, Dick Malverne, lived there. They were very different men, Malverne a tough but charming mechanic married to a black woman. They had been forced to leave Virginia because of segregation laws. Louis had a strange correspondence friendship with him. They had done each other many favors, and Louis had left him money. He felt hopeful running away for a few days. On Tuesday, he would return, confront Clara and leave the Daily Planet gracefully. And move on.

The doorbell rang. God forbid it isn’t her, I hope she wouldn’t dare. But if Clara wanted to come in, she had plenty of ways to get in. The doorbell rang again. He decided to answer it, forgetting to look through the peephole before. Louis felt infinitely tired when he saw Luthor, wiry and thin, wearing a hat pulled back to his eyebrows, accompanied by two huge men who looked disturbing and were undoubtedly armed.

“Good morning, Mr. Lane.”

“I beg you to leave me alone if you are looking for Miss Kent.”

“Don't worry, we can do without her for now, we know you're alone.”

Luthor came in without asking permission and took a tour of Louis' apartment.

“Very elegant, lots of books, you have very good taste... Do you know how sixty per cent of Americans live?”

“Luthor, do you know it? or have you just heard about it?”

“I'm not interested in debating with you. I see you were packing a suitcase, finish it and come with us. And don't even think about warning your girlfriend.”

“I think you know her better than I do... And I'm not going anywhere.”

One of Luthor's escorts pulled out a gun and pointed it at him.

Luthor approached him and spoke very quietly.

“Don't get nervous and keep your voice down. In my offices and at my home, I have an ultrasonic machine whose sounds are unbearable to the Kryptonian, so I can talk in private. I'm used to it. Here we are exposed. Be a good boy, Lane. I know it's hard for you, but this is the end of the escape. Finish packing your suitcase, throw in a few books or a beloved Bible of yours, and join us happy and smiling. We now have around an hour before your birdie is no longer entertained by the distraction we have prepared for her.”

“And if not, what will happen?” Louis put on a silly tone as he tried to approach a drawer where he had a gun. Let them put a bullet in my head right now and that would be the end of it.

“Don't be silly Lane, I think the world of you, now I'll end up thinking you're nothing more than a melodramatic rich kid. If you resist, we'll put a bullet in your head, and I'll kidnap your official wife and daughter. That way I can better experience the limits of Superwoman's reactions and her true feelings for humanity.”

Louis shuddered, closed his eyes and accepted. Under no circumstances would he risk his daughter's life or Pat's. It was terrible to be in the hands of a madman, but he would accept it. Maybe this was the end. He felt a strange calmness.

“Positive.”

“Good boy.”

***

By midday they were on a TELCORP boat heading for Meredith Island. Luthor looked curiously at Louis Lane who remained silent and impassive. What a specimen of the new America. Bourgeois, military, journalist, grandson of immigrants, Jewish background but baptized, staunch anti-communist but anti-Nazi, rather stupid, unimaginative, system believer, drunkard, bold, sometimes violent, adulterer... The new ruling class of America. Luthor did not know if he found it preferable to the old aristocracy. The new ones would be harder to crack but would also do more damage before falling. What would the superheroine have seen in him? He was an attractive man in a good position, one of many, but he was not particularly noted for either. Luthor would have understood better if the superheroine had taken a liking to Bruce Wayne, but maybe the Kryptonian just didn't like costumed strongmen.

They disembarked at the sprawling industrial facility, which stood eerily silent, save for a handful of guards. Luthor wasted no time, ordering them to return to the shore immediately in the launch. With an air of quiet authority, he led Louis toward a large elevator, and together with some henchmen, they descended into the depths of the facility. The elevator doors opened to reveal a glass-enclosed control room, lined with military-grade computers, study tables scattered with papers, and a maze of wiring. Beyond the glass walls stretched a vast circular chamber, dominated by a towering metal dome studded with glowing light bulbs, casting an unsettling glow over the space. At the center of the room, a large electrical generator hummed ominously, its sharp cracks and sparks punctuating the stillness. Next to it stood a metal-and-glass sarcophagus, open, and inside, barely discernible in the flickering light, a male body writhed and convulsed repeatedly, as if trapped in a nightmare of electricity.

“Luthor... What have you done?” Louis asked with fear.

“What would you be willing to sacrifice to save the lives of millions? We are over three billion people... How much is the life and future of our children and grandchildren worth? What price would you be willing to pay?” Luthor was calm.

“Luthor...”

“Listen to me, we are multiplying, we are reaching marvelous heights in art and technology, we are about to touch space with our fingers... At the same time we continue to generate terrible famines and wars, untold atrocities. People like you are driving a suicidal economic model, and those on the other side are great theoreticians, but when they collide with reality, they resort to cruelty, sometimes unnecessary. I recognize it. We are all human, but we lack the spirit of brotherhood and self-improvement to understand that we are all brothers in this blue ball... And that we must be free and dignified. Did you know that my geneticists calculated that 12,000 years ago, 99% of humanity was wiped out by your girlfriend's ancestors? Do you want us to be dependent on them? Or do you want a nuclear war overseen by the lady in the red cape?

Louis was overwhelmed by Luthor's verbiage. But he understood what he was getting at.

“I like one of the two combatant powers better, Mr. Lane, I think it has a tighter calculation of the future and a better grasp of history, I refer of course to the Soviet Union. I don't know if this surprises you... But they are wrong in their cruelty and in their handling of human freedom and dignity. They do not understand the genius of mankind. I have concluded that the best thing is for the two sides to be in a perpetual standoff, under a sword of Damocles, sometimes watching each other, sometimes working together, but letting man be man and moving forward. We cannot do that by submitting to a super-powerful alien that also helps one of the two powers and could make one crush the other, unbalancing the world and making it easier to control.”

Louis thought of all the moments he had shared with Clara and their common values. He was unable to imagine her enabling a war or controlling Humanity... But she had the capacity to do that and much more.

“Do you know how long the life of Mrs. El, or Mrs. Kent, or whatever you want to call her, would last? I was able to analyze her blood once after her fight with Metallo. From the age of thirty, she ages thirty to forty times slower than a human. At six or eight hundred years old, she will barely look fifty. Do you think that in six or eight hundred years this being will not realize that she is not a reporter, or a farmer and she will realize that the world belongs to her completely? You are a Catholic... Are you prepared for the arrival of the Antichrist? Of the false Messiah...”

“Mr. Luthor…”

“She is already here to abolish man and his history, to make him a slave, to manage him at her whim, as she has done with you. Forget her caresses and her disguise as a model young New Deal girl... You've written about it. Are you ready for what Superwoman means? And more importantly, are you ready to do what needs to be done?”

“What do you want from me?” Luthor had opened the valve of doubt inside Louis.

“Help me take her down. We have very little time, maybe we can avoid a lot of deaths and a lot of chaos. If you side with me, maybe we can come up with a quick way to finish her off and avoid using that thing you see in the middle.”

Louis was falling apart, overwhelmed by the sight of the convulsing body in the chamber. Luthor's words had struck a chord in his fears and beliefs. But he couldn't trust him. What if he was deceiving him? What if he was responsible for millions of deaths? And what if Superwoman really was Clara—a woman full of compassion and duty, someone who would never harm humanity? Could he kill the woman he loved based on the twisted delusions of a madman who wasn’t even loyal to his country?

“What will you do, Lane?” Luthor insisted.

“I don't trust you, Luthor. There's no way I don't see death and betrayal in what you're offering me.”

“Then pray and wait. You're a coward. You lack the necessary strength,” Luthor turned to the mercenaries, “Take him downstairs and chain him up. Set up an ultrasonic generator next to him... You see Lane, we want to keep you very close, but we don't want Superwoman to know about it, let's say she hunts by hearing.”

Louis regained his composure and dignity. He began to pray in silence while looking defiantly at Luthor. “Who or what is that?” Louis pointed to the convulsing body.

“My dear Mr. Lane, what we have here is the doomsday for a fake goddess. You'll understand soon enough.”

“…Doomsday”. Louis silently prayed that was not true.

May 27th, 1949. Metropolis. 16.00 PM

Clara Kent fought back tears as she rearranged a series of index cards in Louis' handwriting. She was in the office they once shared. Cat Grant sat at Louis' desk, bundled up in her fur coat despite the heat, with her sunglasses still on.

“I bet, my dearest Clara, you don't know what a terrible hangover is. But you look like you haven't slept at all.”

Clara didn't answer.

“Men are very unpleasant, aren't they, my dear? Don't neglect your career... How are those index cards coming? I need all the information Louis has on these Romanian diplomats. He is our most knowledgeable person in the Mediterranean and Eastern Europe. Before he runs off to the State Department or with McArthur, we need to get all his files. We'll be the queens of political reporting. Well, I already am, but I've always focused more on Western Europe.”

“Yes, of course," Clara replied reluctantly. She didn't like working for Cat. She had just had one of the worst nights of her life. Not for a second had she stopped helping people dressed as Superwoman, but the whole time she suffered from her fight with Louis. She wanted to talk to him again, but she did not dare to. In the morning Superwoman had to save a 40,000-ton Italian liner with 1,800 people on board from sinking. She lifted it into the air and took it to port. The rescue lasted for two hours. There had been a strange explosion in the hold… Saboteurs? But she couldn’t stop thinking about Louis, and about Luthor either. Why had he done it? To hurt her?

“Tremendous business with the boat huh? It could have been a disaster; thank goodness the Lady in Red&Blue took care of it. I'm sorry I didn't let you go to the dock, but we already have half of the paper staff working on it. Besides, they've all been saved, so it's nothing more than an anecdote.” Cat sighed.

“Absolutely.”

“Clara dear, you have a lot of potential, but I think working with Louis is making you rusty. I suspect you'll be seeing a lot of him outside the office from now on. I think it's time you stopped being an assistant reporter and became a senior reporter. I'm not that bad to work with me. Louis loves me. Perry loves me.”

Clara ignored her as she continued to go through the files. Then, an unbearable sound caused her ear to hurt intensely. She couldn't help but gasp and put her hands to her head. She knew it well…ultrasounds… It was the way first Zod and then Luthor had used to contact her. Inside her heart the beats accelerated.

“Are you all right, dear?”

“My head hurts so much.” The beeping sounded again, neither Cat nor anyone else heard it, of course, but to her it was unbearable. Then a message came over the air in a very recognizable voice, and despite the worry, pain and anger, it didn't surprise her.

Clara Kent, Kala-El, Superwoman... How many names do you use? How many will you use in the future? Anyway, I want you to come to Meredith Island immediately. It will be easy for you to find me. I have a very important proposition for you. If you ignore this message, Mr. Lane will suffer an ominous fate, and worse things will happen anyway. Don't be late, you have five minutes, I know you can make it in less than one.

Clara jumped up like a spring.

“Where are you going? We haven't finished the files, I need them for my article,” Cat Grant said with displeasure.

“Cat, I'm really sorry, but I'm really sick and I have to go," Clara said as she slammed the door.

In two steps she reached a filing room, it was locked, but she was so determined that she ripped off the lock and went inside. In less time than a human eye could blink, Clara took off her glasses and opened her jacket and shirt, revealing the crest of the House of El, that red and yellow symbol similar to a stylized “S”. She tore off her skirt and stockings as she spread her cape and flew out the window at full speed. Superwoman was to the rescue.

Cat Grant saw the red and blue blur in the sky above the Daily Planet and sighed to herself, "Poor girl, she's the best we've got.”

Superwoman landed on Meredith Island. The noise from the various ultrasonic systems was torturous, but Luthor had turned down the volume. She tried to find Louis, but his heartbeat sounded cut off by interference. He was close, but he could be anywhere in the city. But Luthor was very close.  The Maid of Might detected with her x-ray vision a lead dome underground. She couldn't see what was inside, so at super speed, spinning like a top, she made a hole in the ground and went down through concrete, iron and equipment.

A cloud of debris preceded Superwoman as she landed in the room. She was visibly upset, and with her eyes lit by the heat vision. She moved at super speed, knocking down all Luthor's bodyguards, who fell violently to the ground, and launched herself at Luthor, grabbing him by the neck and pinning him against the wall.

“What a performance, calm down Mrs. El.” Luthor kept his composure.

“It's over, Luthor. I’m going to end your crimes forever.” Superwoman squeezed his neck and Luthor began to feel short of breath.

“Look to your right, you monster!”

Clara turned and saw for the first time, in the center of the large room under the dome, a body in a strange sarcophagus writhing in sparks next to a generator.

“Louis!!!”

The superheroine rushed to the body but was struck dumb with astonishment when she saw that it was not Louis, but a slender, young, long-haired man dressed in an exoskeleton she recognized from Ancient Krypton. Similar things had been shown in Kelex holographs. He was bound to the sarcophagus by strange metal clamps with Kryptonian symbols on them. The sarcophagus was filled with strange blue water that channeled electricity.

“It's not Louis, it's a little gift from history, come back and let's talk," Luthor yelled as he tried to pull himself together and coughed. His bodyguards were writhing on the ground, bound hand and foot by their weapons, which had been bent with super strength at nearly the speed of light.

Clara floated over to Luthor and grabbed him by his shirt and jacket.

“You're going to jail. You're not getting out of this one. I don't think you have government approval for this... Tell me where Louis is, or you'll regret it.”

Louis' heartbeat sounded sometimes close and sometimes far away.

“You understand nothing, Mrs. Krypton. Absolutely nothing. You are in no position to ask for anything.” Superwoman threw him to the table. Luthor was bleeding a little from the corner of his mouth. She felt guilty... Her father Joe Kent's voice sounded far away on a Kansas farm in the early 1930s.

“These gifts you have, Clara, many people will not understand them, they will fear them. To use them well to help others quietly and discreetly is extremely difficult. The possibility of abuse or excess is certain. The world needs humble people who work quietly and turn the other cheek. We have a surplus of leaders with great human powers... Just imagine having one with powers that are not from this world.”

Superwoman breathed in and out and calmed herself. She went over to Luthor and helped him to his feet.

“Luthor, I beg you, what do you want from me? Let's get this over with.”

“Today everything ends, for you and for me.”

“What do you mean?”

Luthor coughed blood with an almost smile that frightened Clara while he pointed at the sarcophagus.

“That thing there is one of the greatest paradoxes in history. It's a heroic paradox. It is possible that no one but us will ever know it, and that is one of its wonders. How many times has the history of the world been twisted by miracles like this that were never known by common people and historians…”

“LUTHOR TELL ME THE TRUTH!” Clara screamed.

Luthor looked at her with satisfaction.

“That's an ancestor of yours over there, from your planet, a few generations before you. He came 12,000 years ago. I believe you know the story. He came with an armada to ravage the Earth, wipe out humanity, and punish the Kryptonians who lived alongside the humans, or so we've speculated. They almost succeeded, almost wiped us out. But they failed. They caused the greatest extinction mankind has ever known, but they failed. And here we are. He was left in that ship you saw with the President, buried under water and mud. And here he is. A Kryptonian who came here to destroy us. You're another Kryptonian who's here to wipe us out... Not today, but who knows, in a few decades or centuries, you've got plenty of time. You do not belong in this world; you represent its end or its corruption. You are a false goddess... I was talking to Mr. Lane earlier... You are the Antichrist the Christians wrote about.”

“LUTHOR, WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?”

“Nothing you can give me. You will not take your own life of your own free will, and you will not leave of your own free will in search of another world, at least not without conditions that will allow you to return. That is intolerable. I want your end. I want the triumph of humanity over the Titans, the Nephilim, and the fake gods. This is your doomsday, Kala-El from Krypton.”

Luthor pressed a remote control in his hand and the ultrasounds grew louder, causing Clara to scream in pain. She fell to the floor. Just then, she heard a small explosion. Some objects had fallen from an opening in the ceiling, Clara hadn't seen them clearly, but they were a series of crystal warheads filled with black liquid. They had fallen on the Kryptonian prisoner who was now writhing in black smoke, stained with liquid that looked like oil. The sparks were even bigger and the whole room was filled with electricity. Clara began to cough and felt weak. She soon understood, a large part of the dome was lined with Kryptonite.

“My God… Luthor… What have you done? Why have you done this?”

With pain, Clara felt in a few seconds how Luthor's fears and accusations intertwined with the fears of her adoptive parents, with the rejection of Louis and so many others to Superwoman, with Pete Ross...  That afternoon, a few days after they got engaged, walking in the outskirts of Smallville, when she was just 21 years old, an apprentice elementary school teacher, when she wanted to show Pete her powers. He ran away terrified. How it took days before Pete wanted to see her again, and how difficult it took Clara to convince him that she wasn't possessed by the devil, and yet he broke off the engagement, to marry her friend Lana Lang years later.

“Just watch me," Luthor said contemptuously as he pressed another detonator, and more crystal warheads fell on the Kryptonian in front of a stunned Clara.

The Kryptonian began to scream, but the sound was inhuman, a hollow, lifeless cry—like the bellow of a bull in its final moments. His body was completely charred, hair igniting as his flesh swelled and blackened. And yet, despite the agony, the Kryptonian suddenly sat up, tearing off his restraints with raw, primal strength.

Superwoman flew toward the Kryptonian, reaching out to restrain him, but was caught off guard by the sheer force of his response. The creature twisted violently, landing a powerful blow that sent her crashing into the dome's ceiling, slamming into a sheet of Kryptonite. Gasping in pain, she fell to the ground, her eyes widening in horror as she watched the Kryptonian begin to mutate. His body swelled grotesquely, skin stretching unnaturally as his teeth fell out, replaced by jagged, razor-sharp fangs. His arms grew longer and more muscular, fingers twisting into thick, clawed talons. As his monstrous form expanded, the remnants of his Kryptonian exoskeleton began to crack and splinter, either falling away from his body or becoming embedded in his swelling muscles—jagged shards of metal tearing through his flesh, a terrifying fusion of alien biology and twisted machinery. Superwoman managed to sit up and turned her heat vision on the creature, seeming to sear its flesh and cut it open, but the more beams she threw at it, the more the creature swelled. The openings in its body closed again, broken bones pierced the monster's skin and covered it with deformities. Clara, you were able to defeat Zod and his terrible machines, you managed to help all of humanity, you stopped hurricanes, tsunamis, nuclear missiles, war criminals, mobsters, mutants... You can do this and much more!

At super speed, the Woman of Tomorrow began to punch the monster. Again and again, but the more she hit it, the more pain she felt. The creature's bones and the remains of its exoskeleton cut her hands, which were soon bloody and full of wounds. The creature groaned in pain but struggled against her, slamming Clara to the ground as she made her way through several floors to what must have been the basement. The creature jumped through the hole and landed on top of Superwoman and began to pounce on her. It grabbed her cape and threw her upward. Superwoman went through the dome and fell back into the rubble. Her cape and part of her costume were shredded, and she felt intense pain in her hands, chest, and stomach. The dome began to collapse. The monster was on the floors below, pounding God knows what and bringing the entire complex down. In a last-ditch effort, Clara grabbed Luthor's surviving bodyguards and pulled them out of the failing complex at superspeed. There were several boats outside, and Clara ripped off the bent weapons she had used to tie them. Luthor was nowhere in sight.

“Get out of here, disappear, I never want to see you again.”

 Oh my God, Louis!

She grabbed one of them.

“Where's the man you captured, a man with a mustache, what have you done with him?”

“He is on the top floor, in a cell in the northwest area.”

Clara watched as the floor and buildings crumbled beneath her feet.

Louis, I must save him, for God's sake, he's here, Louis my love hang on!

From a hole in the ground the monster jumped several feet. It was now almost fifteen feet tall, and its humanoid form was almost unrecognizable.

Despite the pain and the fact that she might be bleeding internally, Superwoman flew towards it.

***

Some distance away, in a sleek motorboat heading for a freighter where he would set up his command post, Luthor looked through binoculars. The buildings on Meredith Island were collapsing as if in an earthquake. Suddenly, a swollen and deformed greenish-brown humanoid was ejected from the earth, and he could see the recognizable red-blue blur hurtling toward it, trying to push the creature into the ocean. The skyscrapers of Metropolis rose in the distance. Meredith Island was only fifteen miles from Central Park.

Luthor had everything ready. His company's small airfield with a plane and a good pilot to bomb Superwoman and the monster with the Pathogen.  A freighter with an armed escort to observe the whole battle and make decisions on the ground and a seaplane to escape from there at the right time. Poison capsules to take his own life if necessary. He only doubted the instructions he had given Mercy Graves, but it was probably his only way out. It was now or never. He would never have escaped to the USSR. If he had done nothing, he would not have been able to launch this attack on Superwoman, and sooner or later the government would have tracked him down and arrested him. Luthor had to do it. And he did it.

Maybe we'll get it... Maybe we'll get it and we'll all be saved...

Chapter Text

Smallville, Kansas, Autumn 1935

With her super-hearing, Clara heard her father getting out of bed and going downstairs. She turned down the radio and returned to her books. Her father came into the kitchen with a tired face.

“Can't you sleep, Bunny?”

“No, Pa.”

Joe Kent sat down heavily across from her.

“Well, that makes two of us. Do you mind if I join you?”

“No, not at all...”

Joe turned up the radio again.

“I thought you were bothered by the sound of the radio, Pa…”

“No, don't worry Bunny, I just can't sleep.”

“Why, Pa? Are you all right?”

“Yes, don't worry.”

Clara used her x-ray vision, which she barely knew how to use, and which confused her so much. Her father's heart was weak and labored, worse than most hearts she knew. A pang of pain squeezed her heart and tears flooded her eyes.

“What is it, Bunny?”

“Why don't you go see a doctor?”

“I already did. It's fine, don't worry.”

“No, it's not fine, I know it’s not.”

“I must be more careful, that’s it.”

“Why don't you... go to a sanatorium? Fred Danvers' father spent two months there and recovered... I can take care of everything... and Mom. You know, I can take care of what's left of the crop and the housework, really quick, and Mom can take care of the sales.”

Joe smiled.

“I don't think so, I'd rather not leave you two alone. What you need to do is study and finish high school. As far as I know you still want to be a teacher.”

“But it's not hard for me, I can do both, you should rest.”

“Clara, we don't have money for a sanatorium, and it wouldn't change a thing. It's not about rest, it's about taking care of myself. Doing nothing in a sanatorium would make me nervous, and it would be worse.”

“We have the money from my college plan.”

“No way. Your college money is your college money and nothing else.”

Noticing his daughter's tears falling from under her glasses, Joe reached over and kissed her on the cheek as he hugged her from behind.

“What are you drawing?”

“A map of Ethiopia”

“This war is a bad business; we’ll see horrible things closer soon.”

“I want to go there and help when the war is over.”

“You don't have to go that far to help others, Bunny.”

27 May 1949, Metropolis Bay, 17.30

With a precise punch into the monster’s skull, Superwoman threw the creature several thousand feet through the air. At super speed she reached it again and hit it a second time. The blow hurt her, and she felt her shoulder go numb, but the creature flew another three hundred feet and fell into the sea. With her x-ray vision, she could see it sinking like a stone deep underwater. The creature could not swim, but it seemed to jump under the sea approaching the city. Her heart was pounding, she felt intense pain in her chest and stomach... What the hell was that creature? Where was that damned Luthor? She felt fear and apprehension… Louis, oh Louis!

The Woman of Steel returned to the devastated remains of Meredith Island, now enveloped in smoke, flames, and rubble. With every fiber of her being, she focused intently on hearing the heartbeat of Louis. It was still beating at a normal rhythm, he was close. She began to clear the debris at super speed. In the distance, she could hear the creature still moving underwater, jumping, sometimes getting tangled in fishing nets or the silt on the bottom, but she had little time. Soon it would be back on Meredith Island, or worse, approaching the city. Superwoman returned to the ruins where Luthor's experiment room had been. Where the dome had stood, there was now a gaping hole in the open sky. She began to cough heavily. Among the debris were lead metal plates-which was two hundred times more toxic to her than to a human-and alloys of earth metals with Kryptonite that Luthor had used. She felt enormously heated and tired as she coughed. To her, exposure to Kryptonite was like a human playing barehanded with enriched uranium. The pipes had burst; water was trickling down a darkened hallway that descended into the basement. Louis' heart sounded closer and the interference softer. She ran at superspeed through the flooded or debris-filled corridors, clearing them. Finally, Louis' heart sounded very close.

“Louis! Louis, my love! It's Clara! Where are you?” she cried.

She repeated the cry several times.

Help me! I'm here! I'm okay! Come closer!

Louis had heard her! He was all right! Clara began to sob.

“Keep screaming! I hear you!”

Superwoman immediately realized where Louis was. She anxiously kicked down a metal door and found herself in a nearly crumpled room, filled with debris and flooded up to her knees. There he was, in a corner, safe from the collapsed ceiling, chained to a pipe and up to his chest in water.

Clara rushed to Louis and kissed him passionately as she patted him down to make sure he wasn't hurt.

“Are you all right? You're not hurt… Did they do something to you?”

Louis looked confused and exhausted but kissed her back.

“I'm fine Superwoman... Clara... I'm fine… What the hell is going on?”

Clara gently ripped off the steel handcuffs that held Louis to the pipe.

“It's Luthor... And a creature from my world. What did he tell you?”

“I saw him. I saw that kind of monster. Luthor said it would be your doomsday.”

Clara began to weep, and Louis hugged her tightly.

“Have you finished with this creature?”

“No, and it's too close. I must get you out of here.”

Clara covered Louis with her bright red cape and carried him at super speed through the flooded corridors that had already been cleared of debris. Clara flew through the large hole that had been Luthor’s experimental dome and soon they were a thousand feet above Meredith Island.

Clara kissed Louis again while she squeezed him with passion and fear of hurting him at the same time.

“Louis, I must take you back to the city. Please take your daughter and stay away from the bridges and the dock… I will try to contain and destroy this creature, don't go through any bridges. If you can, please get to Oyster Bay… Warn anyone you want, everyone at the Daily Planet, my neighbors... If you can get Krypto, who is at my house, my neighbor will open the door for you, you need to get away from…”

“Clara, calm down.”

“Louis, I don't know what it is or if I can handle it. You must get away, you must get out of town, you must warn everyone…”

They flew over the skyscrapers to Louis' balcony, where they carefully descended.

Louis watched her carefully. He hadn't noticed before, but Clara's face and hands were full of bruises, and her supersuit and cape had scratches and holes in them. There were some bloodstains.

“Clara... Are you okay?”

Superwoman floated closer and kissed him again as she hugged him.

“Please listen to me... I must go.”

Louis caressed her.

“Louis, are you angry?”

“Please forget it, it doesn’t matter anymore...”

“I love you.”

“I adore you, Clara, I adore you.”

Clara stifled a sob and kissed Louis again.

“Louis... Forgive me... Everything is explained... No matter what happens... I love you; you are my world. You have made me so happy all these years... We both haven't had an easy situation. I adore you, you and Emily... I will always love you, always, no matter what... Please don't forget... No matter what happens.”

“I adore you Clara, I....”

Superwoman could hear with her super hearing how the creature had finally managed to jump over the water, although it had fallen again. It was only a few hundred feet away from jumping over Meredith Island.

"Louis, I must go... If anything should happen to me, there is a series of letters in my third desk drawer in the office. I have written them to you over the years... Too many things to say and explain. I love you, please don't forget that.”

Before Louis, soaked and covered in debris dust, could say anything, Superwoman took off at super speed. He could only see a red and blue blur heading out to sea.

***

Barry Allen was having lunch in his small apartment in Chicago. A few minutes before he was rescuing people in Canada, and a few seconds earlier he was in his office. He was gorging himself on Coca-Cola, sausages, buns... Clara Kent, also known as Superwoman, always told him he had a disgusting diet.

The phone rang. “Mr. Allen, you have a conference call from Magallanes, Chile, urgent, will you accept it?”

“Is it a collect call?”

“No, it is charged to the person who telephones you.”

Oh, Chile, it must be Bruce.

“Yes please, connect me.”

The operator connected him and after a couple of seconds he heard a familiar voice.

“Barry! Where have you been? I've called you a dozen times at home and work!”

“Hello to you too Bruce. Well, I was in Canada, and Texas, and well...moving around doing my job... I don't have super-hearing. I'm not Superwoman. Have you been able to reach Arturo Curry?”

“Yes, I have met him... Listen to me, it doesn't matter right now.”

“Why? is something wrong? Do you want me to call Clara?”

“Barry... There's something in Metropolis. I just got a phone call from Alfred… A creature, some kind of monster, in the harbor. Superwoman is fighting it. You must go to Metropolis.”

“A monster?”

“Yes Barry, a monster.”

“But it's a sea monster? Maybe Arturo Curry can help us.”

“I don't know if it's a sea monster or what it is Barry, get over there, Clara needs you... Arturo Curry won't help us. I've had a very unpleasant exchange with him. He hates Kryptonians for destroying his ancestors from Atlantis and has no plans to leave Chile. He would never team up with Superwoman. I'll try to convince him again but forget about him for the moment.”

“Okay, I'm on my way to Metropolis.”

Before Bruce could say anything, Barry Allen, now the Flash, was running dozens of miles away.

***

Clara realized that because of the blows, she could hardly move at super speed without suffocating, and the faster she moved, the more blood tasted in her mouth and the more pain she felt in her body. Her hands were losing strength. Finally, the creature jumped onto Meredith Island. Superwoman tried to grab it by one of the protrusions or horns sticking out of its back. The edges slashed her hands, but she managed to lift it. However, the horns snapped while the monster howled in pain and fell back to the ground. With enormous fury, the monster launched itself, almost crawling towards her. Superwoman managed to get up, but she did it too slowly… The monster was now capable of moving really fast. The creature that Luthor had assured Superwoman it would be her doomsday grabbed her by the leg and, like a rag doll, slammed the superheroine to the ground again and again. The blows to the ground didn't hurt, she was Superwoman after all. Her body turned concrete to dust and cut through metal with ease, but the monster’s violent tugging at her leg caused excruciating back pain and nearly rendered her unconscious.

The monster was preparing to pounce on her when Superwoman saw a squadron of military planes flying over Meredith Island. The monster roared with rage when it saw them and tried to jump and reach one of them. Clara didn't know what kind of planes they were, but among them she recognized a B29, the ones called flying superfortresses. The planes scattered and raised their altitude, then one by one they began to make passes, dropping their cargo: bombs. Clara was surrounded by explosions and fire, she could withstand the temperature quite well and the explosions did not hurt her, but she was too sore from the beatings of the monster to get up. About thirty bombs fell in only five minutes. Superwoman could not see the monster. She could hear it roar, but she could only see fire, smoke and debris flying. But as soon as the effects of the bombs wore off, she was horrified by what she saw. The monster seemed bigger, stronger, with each explosion it seemed to absorb energy and swell as it mooed. A B29 approached Meredith Island again, this time too low. The monster reached it in one bound. Superwoman screamed and tried to take off, but fell into the water, while the pieces of the flying superfortress and the monster fell in flames into the sea.

***

Luthor watched closely from an inconspicuous freighter some miles from Meredith Island. He could see the monster growing in size and the bombs having no effect on it. By radio, he knew that panic had spread through the city and that thousands of people were rushing through the bridges and roads leading out of the city. He sighed. Superwoman had been missing for several minutes... Was she dead? Was she injured? There was no way to know. A private TELCORP plane, piloted by four mercenary ex-prisoners of war whom Luthor had bribed and tricked, was waiting for his orders to take off, loaded with the refined Pathogen. If that didn't work, he would turn himself in to the military, which he knew were in checkpoint nearby, and ask the president for a nuclear bombing. According to his calculations, this would destroy the monster. The range of the bombs was about twelve miles. If the bomb were dropped now, the destruction would be very severe in Staten Island, Southern Brooklyn... But there would not be many casualties beyond a few hundred thousand. No more than Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Luthor himself had tried to make a bomb, but had not had access to enough uranium, although he knew exactly how to make it.

Luthor sighed and looked at the map. If Superwoman was really liquidated, the containment capacity of the monster was zero and it would be in the city in no time. The bomb would have too many effects there, but maybe there was no way around it.

In any case, there was still the possibility that the bombardment with the refined pathogen would injure the monster, slow it down, or even kill it. The main target did not appear, no doubt she was wounded in the worst case and therefore unable to flee from the atomic bomb.

I think I'll make it.

And then what? His career was already over, the Soviet extraction order was almost a death sentence. Maybe he wouldn't be so exposed in America, and the capture of Karla's network didn't really put him in a bind, but he had already crossed the Rubicon. The official version he had prepared would cause a monumental scandal and a political earthquake. Luthor would be tried or executed. He had considered suicide and kept on his jacket several cyanide capsules, but only if he was sure that Superwoman was dead.

The official story was in the hands of Mercy Graves, who was on a forced vacation in Virginia. The order was to send his confession to newspapers and officials the next day, but he could still stop it. If Superwoman died, he could say that the monster had come out of nowhere, unwittingly mixing the pathogens or following government orders. He had thought about it, that way he could just be negligent, save the company for his shareholders and have an honorable prison sentence. The scandal would be enormous, but he would live for years. Maybe he should try that first option when he talked to the President. But the most important thing was Superwoman's death, the rest was secondary. Luthor was willing to sacrifice himself and thousands of others.

***

Flash arrived in Metropolis and all he could see around him were traffic jams, panic, and planes flying over the city. He stopped several traffic accidents and muggings. At super speed, he moved through the water and approached the island where the monster was supposed to be. Superwoman was nowhere to be seen, just an island covered in smoke and fire with a terrible sound coming from it. Soon he saw a terrifying monster in the smoke. It had a humanoid shape, but was thick and deformed, covered with horn-like protrusions or broken bones growing out of its body, with a skull also riddled with deformities and horns. The monster could move fast, but not at super speed, it had not seen him. Suddenly he saw the monster leaping towards a B52 and could do nothing as the creature crashed into the plane, splitting it in two in an explosion and falling into the water amidst the burning debris.

Clara, where are you?

***

Superwoman sat up on the shore of the island, coughing, with excruciating pain in her chest and back, surrounded by fire and smoke. She realized she was bleeding profusely from her mouth and it was hard to breathe... This can't be, this can't be happening to me... Despite the headache, she could hear the monster jumping under the sea again. This time it was not heading toward Meredith Island, but toward the middle of the canal, toward the construction site of the bridge that would connect Brooklyn to Staten Island. She couldn't stop it in that condition. At any moment she would lose consciousness.

She could still fly, so she began to slowly float despite the pain, and soared over Meredith Island while the monster jumped over the sea and sank again, getting closer and closer to the small strait between Brooklyn and Staten Island. It was dusk and there was little sunlight left, but she managed to rise above the clouds and position herself where the sun's rays were most concentrated. At super speed she would have gotten much more, but she was not able to move very fast. The sunlight and its rays entered her body like a balm, the pain diminished. She could see some of her wounds beginning to heal. She stayed like that for several minutes, praying and thinking of her parents, of Jor-El and Lara, and Joe and Martha... You don't have to go that far to help others, Bunny... Live like one of them, Kala-El, to discover where your strength and power are needed. Always hold in your heart the pride of your special heritage. They can be a great people, Kala-El, they wish to be. They only lack the light to show them the way. It is for this reason, above all, their capacity for good, that I have sent them you, my only daughter… Above all, love each other deeply, for love covers a multitude of sins... It was not enough, the cries of thousands of people warned her that the monster had almost reached the city. She still felt sore, but she was stronger and could move with some speed, though much less than she normally could.

Thousands of people watched as a thin blue and red blur descended through the dawn clouds and launched itself at the monster that was destroying the bridgework, while another red blur moved around, dragging people from the area.

***

Superwoman fell on Doomsday at full speed, still sore and low on strength, but she managed to ram it with both fists from behind and throw it back into the middle of the canal, accompanied by debris from the bridge. There seemed to be no one at the construction site, and she was about to jump into the water to face the monster when a familiar voice stopped her.

“Oy gevalt Clara! What is that thing?”

“Barry!”

Superwoman hugged Flash, but he wasn't joking as usual, but with an expression of utter amazement.

“I managed to get thousands of people out of the construction site and the docks... Are you all right?”

“Not too well... This thing…this thing…is some kind of mutant from Krypton... I have to take this thing down, it's really powerful, please keep getting people out!”

“What are you going to do?”

“Try to push it as deep into the ocean as I can to buy time. Then regain my strength with sunlight, come back for it and throw it out into space far away from here...”

“Good luck, Clara!”

Superwoman kissed Flash on the cheek and plunged into the sea. The monster was now heading towards Brooklyn, Superwoman rammed it again and pushed it deep. Pain returned to her hands, chest and back. The monster was moving underwater with more difficulty than she was, but it was unharmed.

Superwoman had an idea. She began to circle the monster at her peak velocity, creating a vortex of water around it. Attempting to hoist the whirpool out of the ocean proved too challenging due to her insufficient strength. Yet, she succeeded in keeping the creature ensnared within the swirling waters as she gradually retreated from the canal into the vast sea. However, at that moment, a series of explosions erupted around her. These underwater detonations, resembling depth charges, left her unscathed, but the beast seemed to thrive on the blasts' energy. The monster not only increased its size but also acquired enough speed to launch a swift attack on Clara, delivering a targeted blow that sent her tumbling into the seabed's mud. Meanwhile, the creature propelled itself out of the water.

***

Luthor watched in stunned silence for several minutes as Superwoman reappeared, flew into the sky, and then returned to fight the monster. He punched the table. Superwoman and the monster dove underwater, and a sort of whirlpool began to form. Waterplanes appeared dropping depth charges on the center of the whirlpool.

“Damn it! No! Noooooo! Noooooo! No!” Luthor screamed, pounding on the table.

A group of men armed with machine guns guarded the room. Luthor made a decision. He immediately radioed the New Jersey airfield where the pilots and the TELCORP private plane were awaiting his orders. He gave the command to take off and bomb the place where the Monster and Superwoman were fighting, with those strange glass warheads filled with black liquid. He had no more time to waste. He had barely finished giving the order when the sound of machine gun fire rang out all around him. Shells were flying and the window of the freighter's wheelhouse cracked. Luthor dropped to all fours and hid behind the wheel while his henchmen exchanged fire with an unseen enemy who was also firing. No, no, no, it couldn't be.

He was trying to scramble up a ladder into the hold when a rifle kick knocked him down. He turned around in pain to find a US Army lieutenant looking at him with a mixture of anger and disbelief.

***

The monster jumped ashore in Brooklyn in front of Fort Hamilton, moving with increasing speed. The troupe retreated, and several tanks and portable batteries were firing continuously at the creature. Each cannon shot seemed to pierce the creature, but it regenerated and swelled. The monster roared in rage and, to the soldiers' surprise, shot a thick, hideous laser beam at them. Superwoman, moving faster than her physical condition allowed, managed to stop the laser beams with her cape, saving several soldiers from certain death. The monster lunged at her, and before she could react, it threw her forward with a violent blow to her back. Superwoman was blown into the air, and her body went through the walls and ceilings of the fortress. She ended up buried in the rubble.

Freed from Superwoman, the creature threw itself at the tanks and portable batteries, smashing and shredding them in seconds, and at the fleeing soldiers, crushing them with its claws or disintegrating them with its heat vision. The monster killed about a hundred men in a few minutes. Planes passed overhead at high altitude, bombing the coastal strip of Fort Hamilton, not knowing that the bombs were making the monster stronger.

Superwoman, half buried in the rubble, could only hear a beeping sound. The monster's blow must have broken her a bone. She was unable to stand up. All the energy she had regained from the sun's rays was gone, and she was injured again. She felt like crying bitterly, but she sat up. She went down on her knees, trying to relax and forget the pain. You must do it Clara… You can't give up now, you must do it… Thousands of lives depend on you… You can't fail now; you can't fail them. Letting out a scream that was a mixture of pain and hope, Superwoman took off.

Flash ran as fast as he could, clearing civilians and soldiers from the Fort Hamilton area. He managed to clear ten people per second. In about ten minutes, he had six thousand confused and disoriented men, women and children on the other side of the canal, on Staten Island. Meanwhile, the monster was busy demolishing buildings around Fort Hamilton and Baker Beach Park and smashing cars and tanks. Most of the people had been rescued by Flash or had fled, but a few hundred unfortunates had perished under the rubble. The roar of the monster could be heard for miles around.

Superwoman had barely made it fifty or sixty miles. She was hovering above the stratosphere. The Maid of Might had arrived almost bleeding to death, with excruciating pain in the middle of her body, and could barely move one of her arms. Below her, she could see the blue of the ocean and the green of the earth. The clouds blurred below as if they were small waves of vapor under her feet. She flew to stand in front of the sun's rays and closed her eyes. Superwoman tried to clear her mind and let herself float in space. Again, she felt the strength, again some of the pain disappeared, again the bleeding stopped. It was not enough, it would be hours before she could fully recover, but the World could not wait. As soon as she could move both arms and hands despite her weakness, the Woman of Tomorrow knew she was ready. A memory of her childhood, the first time she felt physical pain, the first time she saw her own blood, flashed through her mind. The look of surprise on her parents' faces as they healed her. The memory seemed miraculous to Clara, she finally understood.

 27 May 1949, Metropolis Bay, 19.40

The small but powerful tanks under Colonel Brewster's command had decided to stop firing. Each shot seemed to enrage the monster more and more, driving it toward the military lines. If they left it alone, the monster would amuse itself by destroying the buildings around it. The area was evacuated. The Army had a few minutes, maybe a few hours, before it approached populated areas again. Panic gripped the entire city. The planes flew incessantly overhead, but the High Command had concluded that the bombing was inexplicably strengthening the hated monster. But where was Superwoman? She was disappearing and reappearing every time… Everyone wondered how it was possible that she was not successfully fighting the monster or taking it away.

In the basement of a small house, Benjamin Parker, a bus driver, hugged his wife and sons, Ben Jr. and Richard. They had tried to flee the neighborhood, but the monster had cut them off. They had returned home and locked themselves in the basement of their tenement with another family and an old woman. They were in the dark. The monster's roar and the cave-ins sounded close and frightening. At Ben's direction, everyone had positioned themselves in the corners of the room where they would be less likely to be hurt by a roof collapse. Some people were praying, but Benjamin told them to pray quietly. They didn't know what the monster was doing to the people or if it could hear them. The monster sounded closer and closer as he hugged his wife and children tighter and tighter. A landslide and a roar sounded as if hell was beneath their feet... Or rather, above their heads.  Another collapse sounded too close, and a shower of wood and bricks fell in the center of the basement.

“Don't move," Benjamin cried to those sheltering in the other corners.

An ominous roar muffled his voice and a red light seemed to flicker among the ruins that covered them. A fiery sensation that lasted barely a second startled Benjamin, but immediately faded. Some kind of translucent red cloth protected him and his family. Immediately, he felt himself quickly and disorientingly dragged by some kindly hands that dropped him on the ground. When he managed to sit up, he found himself beside his wife and children, surrounded by his neighbors, in a distant street. Superwoman floated in front of them, looking injured and exhausted, but smiling at them.

“I'm so sorry about your house, really sorry. Please leave, the military lines are just around the corner... I'll take care of the monster.” Superwoman landed and helped the old lady up with the help of the ten-year-old Ben Jr. who gawked at the superheroine.

“Thanks, buddy, take care of your parents and your little brother. We must take care of each other, right?” Superwoman flashed a wink at the child while Benjamin pulled at his own and his wife's attire, expressing gratitude for the gift of life.

Superwoman lifted a car with her hands and flew toward a cloud of dust and fire where the monster was.

“Come on, let's go, everybody," Ben Parker shouted.

***

In the Oval Office, President Truman bowed his head in despair, surrounded by key members of his administration and the army.

“Mr. President...”

“Mr. President, Luthor is a monster, but he is right.”

“Mr. President, the destructive event began three hours ago. It appears that the speedster Flash and Superwoman are managing to contain the monster on the south shore of Brooklyn, but the military reports are confusing, Superwoman appears and disappears and doesn't seem to be able to do anything but momentarily contain the creature. Every bomb we drop makes it stronger.”

“We've evacuated nearly half a million people from Brooklyn and Staten Island to Manhattan and New Jersey. Right now, of the ten million people in the Metropolis area, all but a hundred thousand or two hundred thousand are out of bomb range.”

“If the monster gets to Manhattan or New Jersey, it will be a massacre. We don't know how to stop it. We can do the bombing in an hour and a half. Is our only chance.”

“Luthor assured us...”

“Luthor is a traitor.”

“We don't know for sure, maybe he was working alone. He hates Superwoman, he's always hated her. He took advantage of her security clearance and cooperation with us, but I don't see...”

“We must summon the Soviet ambassador immediately.”

“Luthor claims it was negligence; he tried to take his own life with a cyanide pill.”

“Mr. President, I don't think Luthor is a spy, I think what he's done is unforgivable and creates an unprecedented political crisis, but we must listen to him with the bomb.”

“Oh, please, McArthur, negligence... We found a TELCORP-owned plane full of the damn Pathogen.”

“As chief scientist, I refuse to let us use the Pathogen, we could make the situation worse or hurt Superwoman.”

“Luthor has already explained that he prepared the plane as soon as the monster appeared; they spent hours trying to contain it at the Meredith Island facility.”

“He gave his employees all week off, he took his wife and daughter out of Metropolis... We're looking at a monumental betrayal, he's gone insane…”

“Mr. President!”

President Truman spoke for the first time.

“Send the bomber with the nuclear bomb, we can't waste time. Once it's over the area, we'll decide. I want a direct line for the pilot and the military commander on the ground. I will make the decision. If Superwoman succeeds in containing the monster or taking it away, we'll wait a bit. But if the monster frees again, we'll drop the bomb. We've got an hour and a half, right? That's the minimum. Let's pray that woman can get this thing out in time.”

***

Superwoman threw the car at the monster with all the strength she had left to test her theory. The two-ton car pushed the monster several feet, knocking it to the ground. The creature sat up and lunged at her, but she dodged in time. She grabbed another car and began hitting the monster at full speed with it. The monster seemed to recoil and was confused. Then she hit it with her fist in what should have been a knee, and although it was a painful blow for her, the monster fell back to the ground and rolled several hundred yards, through houses and trees. The monster was back at the water's edge. Superwoman hit it again and managed to push it into the ocean. She tried the whirlpool tactic once more, swimming at super speed around the monster and managed to pull it into the center of the canal. The monster tried to emerge from the sea as Superwoman flew into the sky.

Colonel Brewster watched the battle through binoculars with bated breath. He saw Superwoman come out of the water and disappear into thin air... Now she's gone again, what's happening? Damn it! What's wrong with that woman, is she hurt? Night began to fall. From the disturbances in the water, it was clear that the monster was approaching the shore again. Then a very strange and hard sound startled him. Above them floated the huge hull of a freighter of some twenty or thirty thousand tons. The ship was flying at full speed, like an airplane... What the hell?

Superwoman breathed in and out. Twenty or thirty thousand tons was not a big deal for her under normal circumstances, but injured and exhausted, she was making the greatest effort. She had flown to Manhattan and lifted the biggest but empty freighter she could find. With her x-ray vision, she knew where in the canal the monster was, even though it was already dark. She dropped the huge ship onto the monster. The noise was deafening on both sides of the canal and the monster was trapped by thousands of tons of metal. Well, this will keep that thing entertained for a few minutes.

Superwoman flew to Meredith Island. Recalling her early teen years. She was engulfed in a wave of furious emotions when her adoptive parents disclosed her true origins and revealed the pod that had brought her to Smallville, which they had secretly buried. Clara despised that pod deeply. She was overwhelmed with confusion, unable to discern whether it was the creation of a deranged inventor, a mysterious artifact from a foreign land, or if she was an extraterrestrial being akin to those in H.G. Wells' stories. The revelation was excruciatingly agonizing. One day, in a fit of rage, Clara attacked the pod, striking it repeatedly in a futile attempt to shatter it, only to succeed in denting it while severely injuring her hand. Yes, metals with traces of Kryptonite could injure her; it had happened many times before. Superwoman descended through the gaping hole that had been Luthor's experimental vault. There were metal plates with Kryptonite on it, those plates had to be in the rubble. If the monster was Kryptonian, it was possible that the Kryptonite could hurt him. She had to try.

Superwoman searched among the rubble at super speed and found three metal plates with Kryptonite alloy. She could acknowledge it thanks to the strange greenish color and the stinging in her eyes and mouth as well as headache when she approached them. Then the Maid of Might set her plan in motion.

Kala-El, my child, this is your home. You are human, you grew up with them. It is a miracle that we are so much like them. When the first Kryptonians arrived on Earth, they were ecstatic, it was like a larger, more fertile version of Krypton, populated by beings so similar and yet so primitive. Krypton had its chance, and it failed. Your father and I want you to be proud of our sacrifice and what our civilization was or could have been. But you are also human, understand yourself as human. You owe it to them. You must be as Kryptonian as you are human. No matter how far detached you may feel from them, you must be one of them. That is our advice. We sent you to Earth to live, to live a full life. As a woman from Earth…

Her hands burned and she continued to cough. Tears flooded her eyes. With her super strength, Superwoman tried to bend and compress the metal plates. She tried again and again as she pounded the metal with her fists and heated it to a near melting point with her heat vision. The Woman of Steel punched, melted, and then blew the plates with her cooling breath. The process was exhausting, and she kept coughing, sometimes having to stop because she was choking. Her hands were swollen and full of burns.

Clara, I beg you, for God's sake. You must understand. We love you. We are your parents. We're not doing this to hurt you, or to spite you, or out of fear. You can't show your abilities. You can't. Don't let your left hand know what your right hand is doing. I don't mind you helping those who need it. I couldn't, it wouldn't be Christian. But you must do it quietly and in the dark….

One of the plates had already become an irregular cylinder with a sharp tip. Clara repeated the operation with the other plate, using her feet and elbows because she could barely feel her hands.

Miss Clara Kent, best graduate of the Mary Ann Day Brown High School... Clara, you must come with me, your father is seriously ill, your mother is with him... Clara, I can't marry you, I don't know who you are, it's too much, it can't be... Do you have experience as a nurse, Miss Kent? Yes? We need good girls in the Navy Nurse Corps, I'm glad you have experience…

Superwoman had already created another cylinder, the pain in her hands was unbearable. She had to stop to vomit. The Maid of Might joined the two cylinders with her heat vision. She had to use a third plate to give it thickness.

Miss Kent, believe it or not, I appreciate you as a reporter and I don't dislike your company excessively, so much so that I'm willing to overlook your continued rudeness and indiscipline. If you think this is charity work you can leave the Daily Planet and tell your acquaintances that you have resigned because you can't stand Louis Lane... Look up, is it a bird? Is it a plane? No! It's Superwoman... Miss Superwoman, my cat has climbed a tree and doesn't know how to get down…

She managed to bend and melt the third metal plate with kryptonite. She lay on the ground on her back in exhaustion. Next to her was a spear made of crumpled metal with greenish traces.

***

The monster that would later be known as Doomsday had once again leapt upon the south shore of Brooklyn. It was more rabid than ever and was leaping over buildings collapsing them with a single blow. It had trouble walking upright, so crawling at full speed like a hideous ape he dashed toward wherever it detected movement. In a few seconds an army battalion was wiped out. The monster was crushing a tank when it received a hard blow on its back and turned furious.

A weeping, exhausted, wounded Superwoman looked at the monster defiantly, who answered her by throwing terrible laser beams. Without letting go of the spear, the superheroine took off and at super speed drove the soldiers who had survived the monster's attack away from the scene. The monster chased her roaring and crawling, razing buildings and crushing cars in its path. Fortunately, the entire neighborhood was evacuated. Superwoman stood in front of the monster holding her spear. When it lunged at her, she took off and flew slowly, letting the monster chase her. She led the monster to an empty esplanade that hours before had been a park. She stared at the monster. Its eyes were like two jagged sockets filled with fire. The monster suddenly let out an almost tearful roar, then another. Clara felt a pang of doubt or strangeness. After several roars she seemed to understand a phrase... Something like Teke-Li-Li. Within its roars, one could almost discern that eerie, subterranean phrase, Teke-Li-Li... Is it Kryptonian? Well... It doesn't matter, it's not a thinking being, it's a monster, I don't have to feel pity for it.

Superwoman brandished the spear that burned in her hands and launched herself at the creature. She managed to drive it through its head between its eyes. A dark liquid gushed out, fiery and fetid. The monster let out the loudest roar it had ever let out and struck Superwoman, who lost control of the spear and rolled several hundred feet injured. She managed to get back up as the monster shot bolts of heat out of its eyes at everything around it and howled in pain. The Woman of Tomorrow grabbed the spear again and flying at super-speed stabbed it several times into the monster's chest, causing the hideous liquid to gush out. The monster fell to the ground writhing, its roars losing volume, but the strange phrase became clearer... Teke-Li-Li! Teke-Li-Li! The superheroine lost control of herself and stabbed the spear hundreds of times into the monster’s body, until it stopped writhing, the lightning from the eyes ceased and she herself fell down exhausted.

***

 “Mr. President? This is Colonel Brewster.”

“Colonel Brewster… How are you?”

“I've been better, Mr. President... I’ve been better. I've lost two battalions almost completely.”

“It pains me deeply to hear that.”

“We've had no contact with the creature or Superwoman for several minutes... There is no sound of destruction or roar. Two reconnaissance planes have passed by, but we can't see anything because of the darkness and the ruins.”

“Could they be underwater?”

“No, they both came out of the water.”

President Truman wiped a handkerchief across his forehead and turned to the others in the Oval Office.

“They lost contact with Superwoman and the Monster minutes ago... No sight or sound... Order the plane to land at the nearest base immediately but be prepared to take off and drop the bomb, I'm ordering a total evacuation.”

“Mr. President.”

“Tell me, Colonel.”

“I think I see something.”

Colonel Brewster gave the order to turn on the anti-aircraft lights without hanging up the phone. The light illuminated in the darkness against the stars a familiar flying female figure in a tattered red cape, carrying over her head some kind of monstrous, shapeless corpse. Both soared skyward, beyond the reach of the spotlights. A huge round of cheering, clapping, and wailing drowned out Colonel Brewster's voice.

“Colonel?”

“Mr. President, Superwoman did it! We just saw her!” She flew away taking the creature with her… The monster seemed motionless. I think we're safe!”

A wave of joy swept through the Oval Office as Truman slumped back in his chair and closed his eyes in exhausted relief.

EPILOGUE

May 28-June 10, 1949

Metropolis

With the first light of dawn, Louis Lane, accompanied by his daughter Emily, Krypto-Clara's dog-, and Pat, his still-wife, quietly returned to their Park Avenue home. They had been stuck on the freeway for hours until they received orders to return to their homes; the danger had passed. Pat had insisted on going with him and not being separated from their daughter. They put Emily to bed and sat facing each other in what had long been the living room of their home. Pat confirmed over the phone that their families were safe.

She stared at him.

“Where is Clara, Louis?”

“She left early this morning for Kansas on a medical matter... I don't know where she is,” Louis lied with conviction.

They slept cuddled on the couch and their daughter found them there in the morning. She had never seen her parents cuddling before. Krypto paced around the house curiously.

***

At the Daily Planet, Perry Weiss lit up the umpteenth Cuban cigar he had smoked in the wee hours of the morning. He had been in the newsroom for nearly 24 hours, like the captain who refuses to leave his ship. Half the newsroom was missing, but he knew mostly everyone was safe. At 2 a.m., Jimmy Olsen and his daughter Lucy arrived with photographs from Staten Island. The photographs could barely make out the monster or Superwoman. One of the snapshots showed a huge ship falling from the sky into the ocean.

Perry opened the morning's first edition and went over the headlines while Cat Grant, who had also spent the night in the newsroom, finished her umpteenth scotch.

NIGHT OF TERROR IN METROPOLIS.

MONSTER EMERGES FROM MEREDITH ISLAND AND WREAKS HAVOC IN SOUTH BROOKLYN.

SUPERWOMAN DEFEATS THE MONSTER AND DISAPPEARS. THOUSANDS OF LIVES SAVED BY THE ARMY AND SPEEDSTER FLASH.

218 CONFIRMED DEAD, INCLUDING LEX LUTHOR. NEARLY 1,000 MISSING. LARGEST DISASTER IN METROPOLIS SINCE GENERAL SLOCUM'S FIRE.

GOVERNMENT HAS NO TRACE OF THE MONSTER'S ORIGIN AND IMMEDIATELY LAUNCHES AN INVESTIGATION.

CHRONICLE OF THE FOUR HOURS OF PANIC EXPERIENCED BY METROPOLIS' TEN MILLION RESIDENTS.

***

At noon, Benjamin Parker and his oldest son, Ben Jr., approached the ruins of what had been their home and neighborhood. The Army was patrolling the area and, with the help of the Flash, began clearing the rubble.

“Where is Superwoman, Dad?”

“I don't know, son, she probably needs to rest.”

Tijuana

Many miles away, Baroness von Gunther crossed the Mexican border with a false Czechoslovakian passport she had been issued just the day before. She had begun her flight the noon before, after a man with a strange Slavic accent handed her a note in a matchbox at the door of her hotel, telling her that the U.S. Army had discovered her treason. She was offered a reunion with her brother on the other side of the Iron Curtain. It was one more time in her life that she had switched sides. She felt a deep sense of desperation. She was picked up by a group of silent, Mexican-looking men in suits.

Virginia

In West Virginia, in a beautiful country home, Leda Luthor mourned bitterly over the published news of her father's death, while her mother, Aline, read and reread the newspaper with a look of deep suspicion and stupefaction.

Far away, on the coast of Virginia, a group of military men arrested Mercy Graves at the hotel where Luthor had sent her days before, forcing her to hand over a series of letters and vinyl records Luthor had given her, as well as his instructions.

Kansas

Martha Kent knew her daughter, so she waited a day or two for her to reappear. When she fought the Kryptonian invaders, she also disappeared for a few days. On the third day, she became very concerned. Clara, my love, where are you? Was she in Alaska, where her daughter had some kind of sanctuary? Was she busy saving people? The newspapers and radio stations wondered where the superheroine was. Her anxiety grew. She spent her afternoons on the phone, calling her daughter's house, her daughter's neighbors, who had not seen her since the day before the monster's arrival. She called Louis Lane's house but hung up when the phone was answered by a woman she didn't recognize as her daughter. She refused to call the newspaper office. At night she cried and turned over a picture she had of her daughter and her husband at her daughter's high school graduation... How far away 1936 seemed.

A week later, at dusk, a new car parked at the gate of her farm. The dogs approached the driver affectionately, some of them knew him very well. Pete Ross got out of the car dejectedly, and from the passenger seat got out a silent, pregnant, Lana Lang. Martha liked them, they were good people. She had forgiven what to her was a betrayal of her daughter... But the three of them had always been too close. A person shouldn't have two loves, but one could get confused. She couldn't blame Pete Ross for breaking off the engagement to her daughter when he discovered her powers and where they came from... Nor did she blame him when he quietly married Lana Lang after Clara left Smallville. She was aware of the pain it caused Clara, but her daughter had always maintained there was no betrayal or wrongdoing. They made for an attractive pair, and Pete had found some prosperity in the grocery business, even managing to open a second outlet. His smile was as wide and his expression as innocent as ever as he made his way to the porch door in a subdued manner.

“Mrs. Kent...”

“Hi, Pete.”

“We just came by to ask...”

“How is Clara?”

“Yes.”

Martha sighed and looked at him sadly.

“She's fine, son.”

Pete's face broke into a small smile.

“We... Lana and I... appreciate her very much... We still appreciate her very much.”

Martha fought back tears.

“She's tired and busy, so don't worry. She also has a deep affection for you both.”

Pete nodded and went back to the car. Lana Lang also nodded silently and followed her husband.

Late that night, the radio blared, "The government claims to have made contact with Superwoman. It was confirmed by the Secretary of State at the UN this afternoon. The superheroine is resting and recovering and will be back in action soon. There are great signs of joy in Metropolis and around the world."

Martha immediately knew it was a lie and began to weep bitterly.

Metropolis

Louis Lane spent his days shrouded in darkness in his office, with the curtains perpetually closed. It had been a week since he last penned an article, this one focusing on the diplomatic strains and the Republican Party's backing of the President amidst the turmoil. He had submitted his resignation to Perry and Cat on multiple occasions, only to have it declined each time.

He told the same lie to everyone who asked him about Clara. Clara has gone to Kansas for a family medical matter, nothing important, but she is very stubborn. She only trusts one doctor and it is the one in her town. She will come back in a few days; I have authorized her trip. Lucy Weiss and Jimmy looked at him suspiciously, and he saw fear and worry in their expressions. Perry also looked at him with sadness.

The anger and frustration were gone, he just wanted to get away, away from the paper and away from Metropolis if possible. Pat returned home temporarily. They barely spoke to each other, but after the scare with the monster, it was the best thing for Emily for a while. His relationship with his wife was strange, like that of a distant sister or a sister-in-law caring for a widower. However, there was a certain closeness and mutual friendliness, and Louis now wished he had some kind of friendship with his former wife, as if she were the other castaway on a desert island.

Of course, Louis thought about Clara all the time. He thought about her life, her secrets, the shadow play and double life they had practiced for nearly four years. At times, his feelings for her were a mix of adoration and intense longing; at others, he wished he could erase her from his memory. There were moments he felt he didn't deserve Clara, and then there were times he hoped never to speak to Superwoman again. He would spend hours pondering if Clara Kent was merely a facade, a character donned by a super-powered alien... And other hours questioning if Superwoman was the actual deception, with the genuine persona being Clara Kent, a kind, tender-hearted, slightly headstrong woman from a Kansas farm, thrust into the role of a deity amidst the chaos of the 20th century due to extraordinary circumstances. The third drawer of Clara's desk, filled with letters, remained unopened by him; he was hesitant to read Clara’s confessions. He longed for her return, believing that her presence could resolve everything, even if it meant distancing himself from her. The outcome would be clear then. Without her return, he feared he would be eternally trapped and scarred by time. A peculiar phone call from Bruce Wayne inquiring about Clara had reached Louis, to whom he repeated the same falsehoods shared with everyone else... Wondering whether Bruce Wayne might be Batman or the Flash. It mattered little to him. Louis found himself visiting the church daily, wrestling with the desire to confess but uncertain of his sins.

Cat Grant cautiously entered his office.

“My dear Louis, you look like you're hiding.”

“No, I'm just... Well... I've resigned several times.”

“You're breaking Perry's heart... He loves you like a son, and he thinks that if you focus on reporting you'll be the best at the paper, along with me and Clara.”

Cat sat down on his desk and took his hand.

“Don't go away completely, accept the position of deputy editor of the weekly WORLD. The weekly is pure politics and diplomacy, you love those things. Forget about reporting but stay close to us. You won't die for writing a little now and then, and you won't have to go through this office. Alina is a good friend of yours and mine, but she must find her way. She is a Russian who has been wandering around England and France for thirty years, she must adapt to America. She will be an excellent director for WORLD, but you must help her.”

“I'll think about it.”

“Your father is still a shareholder in this newspaper, even if it's only a small percentage, and you're still part of the family. You have my and Perry's utmost confidence.”

Cat looked sadly at Clara's desk.

“What do you know about the Woman of the Year?”

“She's fine... She's still in Kansas...”

Cat looked at him sweetly, obviously not believing him.

“Is she coming back from Kansas?”

“I hope so.”

“What if she doesn't come back?”

“That would be a problem for everyone.”

Cat snorted in disgust.

“She can't leave. She must stay if she comes back, of course. We need her here. Perry would go up in flames if you both left at the same time. He has signed her promotion to senior reporter as soon as she walks through that door... I promise not to be monstrous to her and give her the freedom and leeway you've given her.”

“I don't think she and I... That’s over...”

Cat got up and walked around the office.

“Women and men are very complicated. You know my… “condition”. We may share similar problems, in some ways. And of course, I do not understand love perfectly well… Love is a very hard issue... You and Perry are the only ones here who know how hard it's been for me... Leading a double life for love is not easy at all, nor is feeling sick.”

“No one thinks of you as sick, Cat.”

“I think of myself that way. And practically all of society, and maybe they are right.”

“Don't be silly, Cat, please, Perry and I would never...”

“What I mean is that I've lied and led a double life for love... You do a lot of things for love, even bigger things than lying.”

Cat seems you know the truth… You know it perfectly well, it's obvious. Anyone with two eyes and some attention would find out... What an embarrassment.

“Cat...”

“We chase shadows, but we are shadows too... An Argentinean writer said it when I was in Buenos Aires last year. I liked it. Clara is a good girl… And a great woman. And you are a good man. If it can't be, it can't be, but let's try to be in the same boat, don't you think?”

“I agree.”

“For me it's a relief that it's Clara... Well, that Clara is the way she is.” Cat said cautiously.

Louis waved his hand to stop the conversation. Cat nodded.

“Well, I'll try to make her feel comfortable and free. I'll take her for a silly, rebellious country girl now and then, so she doesn't run wild and remains a discreet girl. I'm going to leave her in this office. I know she needs privacy and a big window. And I'll keep Katz and Mailer from bothering her too much. Maybe I'll have Ronald Troupe fill in for you on your issues.” Cat continued.

“I'm fine with that.”

“Well, let's go to Perry and explain it to him. Remember, you're a son to him.”

They both left the office.

Far away, Venus, Solar System

Superwoman crossed flying the hot, gaseous atmosphere of Venus. She had been traveling through space for several days, receiving more direct sunlight than she had ever received in her life. She was hungry, tired, sleepy, she had never held her breath so long... But the closer she got to the sun, the stronger she felt, and the less she needed to hold her breath. Superwoman could also move faster. Those days had been strange for her, like a strange dream. The Woman of Steel doubted she had been awake or conscious during the entire journey. It was strange to propel herself through space, it wasn't exactly flying, it was more like swimming or gliding. All her wounds had healed, but some scars remained on her hands and body. She had always prided herself on the perfection of her skin, but now she was proud of those wounds as well. She was still pushing or dragging the corpse of the monster that was not her doomsday after all, which seemed to have frozen during the journey in space.

Superwoman felt as if a long time had passed, as if things had enormous logic for her, and most of all, she felt calm and at peace with herself. She felt a strange warmth and gratitude, and pride in having done her duty. She wanted to go home to Earth, but she was at peace.

Venus was a scorching, desert-like place, with a strange yellowish light, full of fire and storms. Hell must be like this place. Flying over the surface of Venus was not unlike Earth, although it felt a little lighter. Her suit was half undone, she felt embarrassed, but fortunately no one could see her. A mountain was throwing lightning and a strange fire, Superwoman flew over it. The mountain was a volcano. She could see a fire pit. The monster’s body was softening and deforming. Without even looking at it, she threw the creature’s body into the fire of the volcano, which seemed to devour it indifferently. She stared at the flames of the volcano for some minutes… Teke-Li-Li... What could that mean?

It's over, I must go home.

Like a bolt of lightning, she took off and, in a few seconds, as if she was a particle of light, she found herself outside Venus, reaching out to the sun in the middle of space. She had never felt so strong, so light, so at peace.

Time to go back.

She pushed herself to full speed. Space lost its shape, everything was a tunnel of blurred light, interspersed with memories of her own life and desires, but she knew she would find herself home eventually.

Smallville, Kansas, June 10, 1949

Martha was walking the dogs in the field as she watched the sunset. She carried a Bible, a photo album, and a portable lamp. The sunset was warm, and the cicadas were chirping. She thought about sitting in a tree that Joe had cut down many years ago when Clara accidentally trunked it while jumping. Martha was still sad and nervous... Where would her daughter be? She turned automatically towards her house and on the second floor of her house, in Clara's bedroom, she saw a light on.

“Clara!” Martha screamed at the top of her lungs and ran towards the house, knocking over the lamp, while the dogs followed her barking. Before she reached her house, Clara, dressed in a simple nightgown, was standing levitating in front of her.

“My dear Ma!”

“My daughter... Where have you been?”

“I had to recover and get rid of the monster far away from here... I will tell you everything.”

Mother and daughter hugged each other crying.

***

Hours later, Clara was in the Fortress of Solitude, sitting on a cyclopean metal stool while Kelex buzzed around her, repairing her Superwoman costume and cape.

“Soon it will be ready, Milady.”

“Who taught you to talk like that, Kelex? How many radio shows do you listen to a day?”

“67 from 14 countries, Milady.”

“And why Milady?”

Kelex didn't answer, the robot concentrated on emitting a kind of laser that replicated the texture next to a tear in her suit or cape. Soon the supersuit was fully repaired and shinier than ever. Superwoman extended her cape and watched herself on a wall as dark as obsidian that acted as a mirror.

“Kelex, please bring me up to date on the events of the past two weeks.”

The robot began a rambling summary of everything it had picked up over the radio. Kelex had learned just about every language on Earth by listening to the radio and translating it into Kryptonian, but the construction of its human language sometimes seemed strange. In the superheroine’s absence, diplomatic tensions between America and its allies and the USSR had reached a breaking point, as had crime. The government was accused of lying about Superwoman's status and about the origin of the monster, which had been blamed on negligence in a private, illegal experiment by the late Lex Luthor.

“Lex Luthor, dead?”

“That was what the Radio said, Milady.”

Clara couldn't believe it.

“Kelex... Do the words "Teke-Li-Li" mean anything in Kryptonian?”

“Yes, Milady, it means "The Eternal Course," it's a popular statement from Krypton's past, from the era of space exploration, between fifty and eight thousand years before the destruction of Krypton. Such a motto later fell into disuse. It speaks of the Kryptonians' manifest destiny to dominate all species in the universe and spread to the stars. Of their duty to colonize, conquer, multiply and know the entire universe.”

Teke-Li-Li... The Eternal Course

“Thank you, Kelex, you can go back to listening to the radio, dear.”

Superwoman looked thoughtfully at the robot. Kelex, lacking human-like features, possessed odd, cyclopean forms. Yet, there was an unexpected tenderness to him, and she found herself feeling a warm affection towards him. The robot appeared to genuinely relish listening to the radio, and it had mastered the art of reading books and retaining their information. Perhaps one day she could share Kelex and his vast knowledge with Earth's scientists.

Superwoman left the Fortress of Solitude and took off at superspeed, thinking of the phrase the monster had said before it died... Teke-Li-Li... The eternal course... Zod had also referred to this phrase during his confrontation with her. And Luthor? Was he really dead?

***

Radio around the world reported Superwoman's return and all her rescues and appearances everywhere. Superwoman's first rescue was helping a Girl Scout trapped in a canyon in Wyoming, scolding her and taking her back to her hometown. Then came muggings and accidents, humanitarian aid, a landslide in Ethiopia, a fishing boat wreck in Portugal. In the wee hours of the morning, spinning like a top at super speed, she formed a whirlwind and took into the stratosphere all the horrible London smog that was collapsing the hospitals. Everywhere she went she received applause and glowing looks of appreciation. She felt happy and fulfilled.

Superwoman's return scuttled Stalin's plans for increased military and diplomatic pressure, and the U.S. delegation walked away from the negotiating table over the status of Romania and Poland. Many criminals were convinced that the superheroine would not return, and Superwoman had more work to do than ever since her red-caped beginnings. She flew around the world nonstop for 24 hours, helping anyone in need. Then she flew to Washington D.C. to talk to the President.

***

Superwoman listened with shock and sadness as President Truman explained how she had been completely unaware of Luthor's plans and actions.

“It is national security, Mrs. Kala-El, and the protection of our democracy. It is the greatest betrayal of the last century in our country. If the truth were known, paranoia about espionage would be total, and our entire intelligence and technological effort would collapse. The political atmosphere would be unbreathable, and we would be forced into a much more open confrontation with the USSR. We are using Luthor's betrayal to pressure the USSR government for a peaceful solution in Eastern Europe, and we have stopped almost all experiments with Kryptonian elements or technology... We are willing to sign treaties with the USSR to stop the arms race and research into alien technology with offensive intent. If we can bring Stalin to the negotiating table, perhaps joint working groups can be formed for the space race and to guarantee the right of self-determination for Eastern European countries.”

“812 people died, Mr. President, 812, and millions could have died.”

“Fortunately, you were there to prevent it.”

“Luthor is being held illegally! The truth is being hidden from the American people and the world!”

“To avoid chaos, war, and death. Truth and peace are two different things.”

“Luthor deserves a fair and public trial!”

“He will receive it. Under the laws of national security and war. Luthor is a colonel in a foreign army, as far as we know, and has held a Soviet passport for five years. He is being treated as a prisoner of war of the highest sensitivity.”

“This is a fraud of the law!”

"Mrs. El, are you a lawyer?" the President asked with a mocking tone. "From the bottom of my heart, I thank you for what you’re doing. But we need your help in more than killing aliens. Help us broker peace with the Russians, to avoid wars...even monsters. The government is willing to shoulder part of the blame. We’ll cover half of the compensation for the victims, acknowledging that allowing Luthor, an 'irresponsible' man, to conduct dangerous experiments was a failure on our part. TELCORP will be dismantled, broken into smaller entities, and our entire approach to alien technology and organic remnants will change." He paused, his gaze sharp. "You now know the truth. But don’t tell me how to run my country. If saving lives and peace is what you desire, take my place, run for office."

Superwoman bowed her head, doubt clouding her features.

"I have something for you, Mrs. El," the President continued, signing a document with a flourish before sealing it. "This is your authorization to visit Luthor in his prison. Let this show you the level of trust I’m placing in you. But don’t be reckless. You are a citizen, bound by the same duties and rights as everyone else." He handed her the paper, his warning lingering in the air.

***

Superwoman descended into a barren wasteland in Nebraska, the remote location the President had instructed her to find. It took time to locate it—a small, isolated military base in the middle of nowhere. The soldiers were clearly expecting her arrival, but their response left her unsettled. She felt both distressed and insulted as the guards pointed her out, as though she were an anomaly. The Woman of Steel was soon approached by the base commander, who greeted her with a formal tone. "I've already spoken to the President," he said, his expression unreadable, while reviewing the sealed letter.

She entered quietly; her presence met with suspicious glances from the soldiers—looks she couldn’t quite comprehend. So this is how the government has decided to redefine our relationship, she thought with sorrow. As Superwoman moved deeper into the base, her eyes fell on a barbed-wire enclosure in one corner, where a row of flowerpots stood incongruously amidst the desolation. And there, unmistakably, was Luthor. He wasn’t in prison garb but dressed in casual summer attire—a pair of pegged pants and a simple white shirt. Superwoman stepped closer to the fence; her gaze fixed on him. Without turning fully, Luthor cast a sideways glance at her, acknowledging her presence with a silent, knowing look.

“I was wondering when you'd show up.” Luthor greeted her with his sardonic smile.

“I warned you many times that you'd end up in prison, Luthor.”

Luthor turned with a mischievous expression.

“This is, Kala-El, not a prison. It's an illegal detention center. I am a missing person. I was arrested in violation of my constitutional rights, denied a fair trial, and treated like a secret foreign prisoner of war. All while lying to the world about my whereabouts and my death, and lying to my family... Is this the American way?”

“You caused the deaths of hundreds of people... They say you are a traitor.”

“The United States of America is an administrative accident and a productive unit. It is stupid to be loyal to it... I am a patriot of humanity.”

“You could have killed millions.”

Luthor looked at her thoughtfully.

“That is a price I was willing to pay. You, unless someone stops you, will be directly or indirectly responsible for many more millions of deaths and ultimately the extinction of mankind or all that is good about being human.”

Clara was frustrated by Luthor's cruelty and harshness.

“You understand nothing, Luthor, absolutely nothing... A man as brilliant as you, and with so many supposedly good feelings... How did you get into so many crazy things and become an outlaw and a mass murderer?”

Luthor turned back to the flowerpots.

“Because I do not follow your rules or your lies. You claim to stand for love, truth, justice and the American way... But you stand here before me and allow a citizen, no matter how criminal in theory, to be deprived of a fair trial to which he is entitled by law. You allow obscene lies to be told to the entire American people and all the peoples of the World... Anyways your own life is a lie, you probably lie to yourself, too many remnants of a human education. But sooner or later you will understand the truth and you will understand that you are not one of us and you’ll never be. You will understand that we are not compatible. I only hope my fellow humans are ready for that day.”

Luthor smiled as he saw a tear fall from one of Superwoman's deep blue eyes.

“They won't kill me, Kala-El, and they won't send me back to the USSR. They need me, I know you best, I know your kind best. I lost control, some incompetent Soviets let themselves be captured and left me unprotected. The alternative was to end up here immediately or to end up here and try before taking one last shot to finish you off. And I almost succeeded. I was half an hour away from bombarding you with the Pathogen...”

“What is the Pathogen?" Superwoman asked him in an authoritative voice that hid some fear.

“Oh... They didn't tell you. That's a good sign!”

He's provoking me, he just wants to provoke me.

“Kala-El, both in Washington and in Moscow they know that eventually they will have to do something with you, against you. They will continue to work on it. I am being punished here because I have broken their bureaucratic rules and outdated loyalties. But I know you best. I haven't even told them your secret identity, that little game of double life you cling to so tightly. It's my life insurance. They have a psychological profile of me, they know I'm physically weak but mentally strong. Torture would be useless; I would die or be useless before I could speak. Kala-El's "human" identity is my little secret, it will be until they present me with a good plan to protect humanity and get you out of our lives.”

“You'll never get out of here, Luthor.”

Luthor laughed.

“I am the man in the iron mask,” Luthor said, his voice calm, almost indifferent. “Getting out of here isn’t as important as you might think.”

“I pity you, Luthor,” Superwoman said softly, her gaze steady. “You’re consumed by hate and fear, trapped in a warped, delusional understanding of love—love for others, for humanity. In many ways, you are far less human than I am. You’ve alienated yourself from all of us.” She paused; her voice tinged with sorrow. “I believe in forgiveness, in redemption. I’ll pray for you. You’ll have plenty of time to reflect on the destruction you’ve caused and the lives you’ve taken. May you come to understand, repent, and find peace.” Superwoman’s expression softened further as she added, “I’ll visit you from time to time. You’re not insane, Luthor... And I hope, despite everything, you’re not a monster either. Think, reflect, and find your way to repentance.”

Luthor tried to play a contemptuous laugh but was left with an awkward grimace. Superwoman looked at him with infinite sadness. The soldiers were keeping a safe distance.

“Kala-El, don't forget that you are complicit in an illegal detention and disappearance, and a great lie to the American people and the entire world.”

Superwoman turned her back on him and took off noisily. She was lost in the heights. 

Moscow, KGB Headquarters, June 12, 1949

In an austere white room, a man in a general's uniform handed out folders to civilians and military personnel.

“Here is the report on the event in Metropolis two weeks ago and the return of the creature known as Superwoman, or how we prefer to call her, Super-Lackey.”

“What do we know about Luthor?" another uniformed man interrupted.

“Arrested by his government at an undisclosed location. In any case, we must forget about him.”

“He is a colonel of the Soviet Army and was our best agent. We have never had an agent so well positioned in the high spheres of the enemy. Thanks to him we have the atomic bomb, a working principle for the hydrogen bomb, and we know the specific state of all American research in alien technology and biology,” A fat but elegantly dressed civilian interrupted.

“But no doubt, because of his upbringing and psychiatric problems, he had obvious limitations that we were unable to detect in time. He was a romantic, hysterical, egomaniacal bourgeois… Basically Hitler with considerably more intelligence and no racial prejudices. He was never properly educated in socialism. He had too much power and autonomy to be a loyal agent.” A serious man in a colonel uniform countered.

“We want someone in the Politburo to take responsibility...Who had the fantastic idea of sending the body of a living Kryptonian we took from the Americans back to Luthor in Metropolis? We lost a useful agent, however deranged, and a first-rate offensive weapon. The logical thing to do would have been to keep the body and get Luthor's extraction,” The intervention of this civilian startled everyone in the room… He was talking about responsibilities.

“Luthor did not want to be extracted, it is one of his inconsistencies and hysterics. And we lack the technology and raw materials to experiment on the body of a living Kryptonian, Luthor had it.” The colonel spoke again.

“It is an unforgivable mistake. We were as impatient and hysterical as Luthor.”

“The Americans are still working on weapons to neutralize Superwoman. They never know when she might turn against them. She is an alien, after all.”

“In this connection, I want you to know that we have sent to Metropolis one of our best agents, Ballerina, who served us so well in the war and in the 1930s, and who is an excellent spy in reactionary circles. Harold, another of our jewels, has just arrived in Washington.”

“What will Ballerina do?”

“Watching people Luthor has identified as part of Superwoman's entourage or interest. We are very close to discovering her secret identity and therefore her weaknesses, the human factor of the Superwoman case.”

“If there is any human factor there… I have my doubts…”

“We already have Baroness Von Gunther in Moscow. We are all repulsed by fascists, but she is a brilliant scientist, and she has a great deal of information about American technological efforts that complements the information Luthor has sent us.”

“That's all well and good, but I think the priority is to discuss the radio signals we're receiving from space, from a place we've calculated to be near Titan. The presence of more aliens is of immense severity, and we need a containment plan. I think we must deal with this radio signal problem on a planetary scale and not from a political point of view. We must convince Comrade Stalin to share this information with the Americans. There must be no repeat of 1946, nor can we rely on Super-Lackey...”

Planet Building, Metropolis, June 11, 1949

Louis Lane nervously read the front page of the newspaper…

SUPERWOMAN RETURNS!

A full-length photo of the superheroine flying above the crowd took up the rest of the front page. Louis was relieved. He had cried for the first time since the liberation of Dachau when he heard on the radio of Clara's return. The joy in the city was total. At the newspaper, the exaggerated joy of Lucy Weiss and Jimmy Olsen made him suspect that they knew what he also knew. But anger and fear soon returned. He did not want to see her. He was happy and relieved that she was back, but he didn't want to see her or talk to her. But he had to. It would be a hard pill to swallow and then he would be at peace.

He heard some greetings and a familiar voice outside the office. Clara was there. His heart skipped a beat. She heard Cat Grant's voice.

“Luckily Superwoman got back before you did, Clara... We were told by Louis that it was a doctor thing... What did the quack doctor tell you?”

“Oh, I was just really scared because of some articles I had read about heart disease, and I wanted to make sure my doctor ruled out any fears.”

“Here's the least hypochondriac woman in the world,” Katz dryly interrupted.

“Actually, and this is a consensus around the world, the worst patients are and always will be men, which is why Moliere's The Imaginary Sick Man has a man in the lead role," Cat countered with a funny voice.

Clara slipped away; she was also very nervous. With her x-ray vision she could see that Louis was standing in his office, dejected. She had too many mixed emotions. Clara sighed and went in. Louis looked at her with kindness and some distance. She was wearing a cream suit, a burgundy shirt, a dark ribbon in his hair and a hummingbird brooch. She was not quite aware of the look of love and longing she was giving him. Clara shut the door behind her.

“You're back.” Louis said in a low voice.

“Yes.” Clara was more nervous than she had been in the last days.

“I'm glad to see you.”

Clara rushed towards Louis, longing to kiss him, but he stopped her with a sweet gesture on her shoulders and instead gave her a short, light kiss on the cheek. Clara felt enormous pressure in her heart.

Silence dominated the office for a few seconds. Finally, Louis spoke with aplomb.

“I think we need to talk Clara, maybe later when you're calmer and more settled... And tell me how you've been.”

“I'm fine Louis, I had to go far away to recover from my wounds and make sure that the monster was completely eliminated,” Clara replied in a voice that was too high-pitched and filled with anguish.

“Please lower you voice… I'm happy to hear that.”

“And you?”

“I... I'm leaving the paper today.”

“How?” Clara nearly shouted.

"I'm going to be the deputy editor at WORLD magazine—same publisher, same building. I'll still report to Perry, but I won't be as involved. It's just a transition period. I'll be writing opinion columns for a season, until Alina Baristova-Baker, the new editor from Paris, gets more settled in."

Clara's chin trembled.

“What about me?”

“Perry and Cat have some very good news for you, I can tell you. You're a senior reporter now, with this office all to yourself. Cat is going to give you very few orders... You're going to keep your autonomy.”

“I mean us.”

Don't do this to me, please, you stupid man, you said you loved me, that it didn't matter...

Louis looked at her with a sad expression and turned away.

“I think the situation is quite difficult and confusing right now. We both need to think about it, we need time.”

“Louis, you said you loved me and that it didn't matter!”

Louis reached over and took her hand.

“Keep your voice down, for God's sake!”

“What happened these days? Didn't you miss me? Weren't you worried about me?”

“These days have been hell; I haven't stopped thinking about you.”

“Don't you love me?”

“Yes, I love you, but...”

“But you had to comfort me because I had to kill a monster, and I just saved your life.”

“It's not that, Clara...”

“Then what is it?”

Please don't, Louis, you still don't understand, don't do this to me.

Clara, I don't know who you are, I don't know who you are, I can't, I can't stand it.

“Clara, right now I don't know who I love... I don't know exactly who you are...or what you need. I don't think I'm the right person to accompany you.”

“Louis, everything I've done...”

“Clara, I don't blame you for anything, absolutely nothing. I don't even think that what you've been doing all these years can be called lying. But God bless you, be aware of who you are, all these years I've...”

“I am exactly the same woman, the same... I am always Clara Kent... There is not a moment of the day when I am not Clara Kent... Superwoman is just what I do. The duty I must fulfill.”

“I need Clara Kent, but I don't understand Superwoman. On the other hand, the world does need Superwoman.” Louis said, trying to be conciliatory.

“Of course, the world needs Superwoman," Clara replied in a low but passionate voice, "Unfortunately, it does. I can't give up helping others or being Superwoman.”

“I didn't ask you to.”

“It is my eternal course...”

“Excuse me?”

“I say, being Superwoman and helping others is my eternal course..." Tears streamed down her face, and Clara felt as if she had understood something she had refused to understand for a long time.

“Indeed... It is so, it cannot be otherwise. I can be with Clara Kent and give myself to her. But I cannot live to share Superwoman with the world. I am a mortal, and I cannot live with a goddess.”

“I'm a mortal too... Or didn't you know that monster almost killed me?”

“Clara, I...”

“Please read my letters, read them... I don't want to talk anymore, I can't… Read them. Read them. There are too many things to say and right now I feel very tired and upset. All these years...”

“We've been in love in silence, while you hid from me that you were the super-powerful being I denounced as a danger every week in the press and on the radio.”

“And what did you want me to do?”

“I told you that I didn't blame you for anything. This is a difficult situation to get out of. We need time and nothing guarantees that we will succeed.”

Clara wiped away her tears, not sure if she was angry at Louis, at herself, at the red cape she wore under her clothes, at the world, or if she was just upset and disappointed. Cat Grant unexpectedly opened the door.

“My dear Atalanta and Hippomenes, Alina is here. Please come out to greet her.”

Louis left the office in one bound and closed the door behind him. Clara wiped her tears and cleaned her glasses as she put her makeup back on. She went out. In the center of the newsroom, a group of people surrounded a remarkably elegant woman in a huge hat. She looked a little older than Clara. She had a round face, like a little girl or a doll, but feline green eyes. All her hair was hidden inside the hat, which looked like an extended turban. Perry Weiss kissed her hand.

 “Alina dear, this is Miss Clara Kent. I would tell you that she is one of our young promises, but she has more than fulfilled her promise... Clara, this is Mrs. Alina Baristova-Baker, the new editor of WORLD magazine.”

Clara held out her hand with a vague smile.

“No hands, Cherie, I'm Russian and English but educated in France, give me two kisses... I've been told you're a really wonderful lady.”

Aline kissed her twice on the cheek. She forced the pronunciation of each word, sometimes insisting on a French accent, sometimes as if she was Russian, and other times as if she was Scottish. Clara felt intimidated by Alina's flamboyant presentation.

Alina tugged at Louis' cheeks.

“I've been acquainted with this young man since his arrival in Paris in 1933, and later, I joined him in Spain during 1936 and 1937... Perhaps it's best to leave that chapter behind, my dear? Franco's nationalists couldn't fathom that a Russian Jewess, albeit a beautiful white émigré, and an American Jew, despite his catholic baptism, could be sympathetic towards them. They almost executed us in Santander. Such discourtesy.”

Some people smile uncomfortably.

“We've all been around a lot; the world is really loko-loko,” Alina continued with a big smile.

Some flattering laughter broke out.

“Alina was in the anti-Nazi resistance in France!” Perry said to the others.

“It's just that the war touched me in Paris when I was trying on evening gowns, and I couldn't escape to London. Captain Baker took advantage of it to get rid of me, and I had some modest adventures... Perry's an exaggerator. I delivered a few letters once. But I was mostly hiding from the Vichy filth in a basement writing a war diary.”

“It's one of the best sellers in France.” Perry added.

“How is General DeGaulle Alina?”

“He is such a gentleman, such a handsome man, such a good father... I can't wait for him to come back to power and give the Communists a broom. Right now, the three greatest men in the world are General DeGaulle, the Pope, and Ben Gurion. Now... Which one of you will take me to the best restaurants and bars in Metropolis? Di liebe is zees, nor zi iz gut mit broyt!”

Perry laughed loudly while lighting a cigar and replying in Yiddish to Alina’s jokes.

“Cat, I didn’t know you had a lost European twin sister,” Clara tried to make a joke, but nobody laughed.

Lucy Weiss grabbed Clara's arm; Lucy had just realized Clara was back.

“You make me the happiest woman in the world by being back here... Don't listen to this parrot. She's a quirky friend of Louis and Cat, from the French center right. She got the WORLD Magazine position because she's friends with half the politicians in London and Paris," Lucy whispered.

“I have a lot to tell you," Clara told her in a very low voice.

“I know, I know…”

Clara's super hearing picked up Alina talking softly to Louis.

I'm looking forward to working with you, my ochi-chyornye. You haven't written to me for months! You're a very absent-minded boy... Oh, Kim Philby is in Washington as First Secretary at the Embassy, he's looking forward to seeing you and all the Angleton boys. He gets funnier and more charming every day.

An editor loudly interrupted the scene.

“The Toyman has escaped! They don't know how! A damn tunnel to some pipes! They can't find him!”

A murmur of astonishment ran through the newsroom.

“Who is the Toyman?” asked Alina.

"A psychopath," Louis replied. "He used to be an inventor and entrepreneur, but during the Great Depression, he lost his mind and turned into a serial killer. He's been in prison for over fifteen years now. He’s the one who hid explosives inside toys—killed dozens of people."

“Ah, what a lot of colorful characters you have here in Metropolis. Is going to be a very funny life,” Alina was nearly laughing.

My eternal course...

Clara slipped out and went to her office, quickly making sure no one noticed… But she could sense a discreet and sad glance from Louis. Clara closed the door behind her, removed her hair tie and let her curl fall over her forehead. Then, she took off her glasses and jacket as she opened her shirt to reveal her blue tights and the red and yellow crest of the House of El. She pulled down her stockings and skirt as she unfolded her red cape. Clara looked at herself in the windowpane for a moment. She looked strong and beautiful, despite her look of sadness.

Up, up, and away!

The Woman of Steel opened the window and flew into the sky to descend upon the prison from which the Toyman had escaped.

Joy was returning to her heart.

This is a job for Superwoman!

POST SCRIPTUM

(Selected dropheads from the Daily Planet)

July 18th, 1949

"Superwoman spotted with a strange man in armor and trident off the coast of Peru, rescuing ships during a storm."

August 9th, 1949

"Superwoman Makes First Official Visit to Soviet Union, Accompanied by Secretary of State".

August 13, 1949

"Leda Luthor, universal heir to Lex Luthor, succeeds in stopping the expropriation of TELCORP and accuses the government of engineering the Meredith Island experiment that created the monstrous creature."

September 7, 1949

"Gotham District Attorney Harvey Dent arrests Commissioner Gordon and 27 other police officers on charges of criminal association with the Batman. New York District Attorney Morgan Edge says Superwoman may also face criminal charges.”

September 16, 1949

"Major Louis Lane, winner of the Pulitzer Prize, former Daily Planet reporter and deputy director of World Magazine, joins as advisor the Un-American Activities Committee. Major Lane enters the Committee claiming respect for civil rights in the investigations and accusing Alger Hiss of espionage.”

October 20, 1949

"TOYMAN'S LETTER. After months of disappearance, the Toyman announces his terrible revenge on the citizens of Metropolis. The city is on high alert."

November 6, 1949

"The governments of the USSR and the U.S. admit that they have received extraterrestrial signals which they have been unable to decipher. Superwoman has been invited to assist in their understanding."

Chapter Text

October 4, 1949

Washington D.C.

Captain Hal Jordan reread the document slowly, trembling from head to toe. He couldn't believe what he was reading. The document appeared to have been clumsily typed on a yellowed, overly thin sheet of paper. The ink was purple—different from most of the documents he was reviewing.

Two relatively blurry photos were attached to the left side of the paper. The lower photograph was unmistakable—recognized by everyone—the Woman of Steel, the Woman of Tomorrow, the Maid of Might, the Protector of Earth, the Caped Wonder, the Last Daughter of Krypton, the Princess of Krypton, Mrs. Kala-El… Superwoman. A half-body shot, soaring through the sky. The other photo depicted a woman in her late twenties, very beautiful, with a somewhat melancholic gaze hidden behind big round glasses and dressed in an office suit that struck a balance between elegance and austerity. Despite the glasses and her neatly tied-up hair, the resemblance was undeniable.

With growing distress, he reread the document once more.

CLARA JOSEPHINE KENT

Born February 28, 1918 in Smallville, Kansas. On the same date a meteor shower struck the same county and other parts of northeastern Kansas. SOURCE: Report 47/D/19 and Kansas City Observatory report March 19,1918 (forwarded to Mr. Luthor as report K27/18).

Parents were farmers. No details of significance. Athletic and dancing ability. Good academic record. No college education. Nurse's aide and academic assistant at Smallville Elementary School between 1937 and 1940. Unknown whereabouts between 1940 and 1941. Enlisted as a nurse in the Navy, December 1941, Anchorage, Alaska. Stationed in the Coral Sea, Guadalcanal, Papua-New Guinea, and the Philippines. Present on USS SHUSTER during Japanese attack. Unknown whereabouts between December 1944 and September 1945. SOURCE: Service record attached to report 47/D/19.

Metropolis. Hired September 3, 1945, as assistant reporter to Major Louis Lane. August 29, 1945, rented in Yorkville. Arrival date unknown. Her articles focus on crime and police issues, refugees, civil rights, and the military-industrial complex. Seems to work completely independently of Major Louis Lane. Regularly attends Manhattan Friends Meeting (NYYM Quakers). Registered as an independent voter through a Metropolis Liberal Party campaign. March 1946 (undated, attached to report 47/D/19).

PHISICAL DESCRIPTION: Brunette, wavy hair. Athletic build. Estimated height: 5ft 10 in. Blue eyes. Eyeglasses.

SUPERWOMAN/KALA-EL

Allegedly a native of Krypton (Orion belt?). First public appearance October 1, 1945. First sightings in Metropolis since September 1945. SOURCE: Initial report S-S-01.

OTHER EARLIER POSSIBLE SIGHTINGS:

Rescue from train wreck in Nemaha, March 18, 1939. SOURCE: Initial Report S-S-01.

Flying Creature in Alaska. Sightings Spring & Summer 1945. SOURCE: Initial Report S-S-01.

Nurse with cardboard mask cauterizing wounds with heated eyes on Guadalcanal. SOURCE: Report 48/3/B, 48/7/A

Woman covered with veil but wearing nurse's uniform, able to jump several meters and carry several people. Papua New Guinea and the Philippines. SOURCE: Report 48/3a/C, 47/1/A, 48/4/B

Miracle of the USS SHUSTER. Hospital ship stays afloat despite two torpedoes. December 17, 1944. SOURCE: Navy Report 2872/16-1945, Report 48/2/A, 48/2/B

Believed to be living in Metropolis.

PHISICAL DESCRIPTION: Brunette, wavy hair. Athletic build. Estimated height:  5ft 10 in. Blue eyes.

The coincidences in the texts, the uncanny resemblance of their features—it all crowded his mind. It couldn’t be. Could that almost anonymous journalist and Superwoman be one and the same? The dates, the places, the two photographs... A defiant kind of bravery seemed to lurk behind the melancholic gaze framed by the journalist’s round glasses.

What to do?

***

Captain Hal Jordan did not hate Superwoman. If anything, he hated his job.

Regardless of the fact that she had likely saved all of humanity from those near-faceless invaders in Hudson Bay—the ones who claimed to come from her planet—back in 1946, three years ago, an eternity ago... Regardless of that, he owed her his life. Two years earlier, he had been sent on an emergency flight to Florida with another team of pilots—naturally, at the request of Colonel Henshaw. A storm had hit. Zero visibility. He wasn’t the one flying, but it didn’t matter. He knew they were going to die. They couldn't reach land; fuel was running out.

Then, through the rain and lightning, he saw it—a long red cape billowing outside his window, and beneath it, a familiar cascade of wavy black hair. She took control of the aircraft with unshakable precision and guided them to solid ground. She landed them safely and vanished before he could see her face. But it was obvious. It was her.

Now, before him lay the documents on Mercy Graves—Lex Luthor’s secretary. She had been arrested weeks earlier, after Luthor’s death and the attack of that monstrous being now called Doomsday. Defeated, of course, by the Woman of Steel. There were more documents, he knew that much. But he and his three-person team had been given only this pile—the contents of Mercy Graves’s safe. Lex Luthor’s own safe was simply empty.

Hal Jordan worked for Colonel Hank Henshaw now. Or was he more of a prisoner? He functioned, for all intents and purposes, as a personal secretary within naval aviation intelligence—or so they had told him. The truth was, he worked in a tiny, insulated unit. Recruiting and investigating test pilots. Transporting documents from one military base to another, including to that so-called “secret” facility in Nevada—whose existence the press had already exposed. Reviewing and responding to correspondence. Photographing schematics he didn’t understand and never asked about. Always under the unblinking, menacing gaze of Colonel Henshaw.

Henshaw.

Hal Jordan felt like his captive.

Shortly before the war, his best friend, Alan Scott—then a civil engineer in the defense department—had introduced him to the colonel. My friend Hal is a real ace in the air, the best pilot I know, Alan had said. Hal had always known the truth about Alan, nearly from the moment they met. Henshaw was a little older than them. And Hal never suspected the true nature of Alan and Henshaw’s relationship—until he saw them once, in the dim light, simply looking at each other. He knew Alan well enough to understand.

He did not feel disgust or contempt toward people like them—only a vague unease and the quiet fear that Alan might be found out. But knowing Henshaw’s secret, too, unsettled him. And Henshaw knew that he knew. That was why he kept Hal close, why he needed to keep him under control.

They fought well together in the war. Same squadron. Under his orders. Henshaw had never said a word about Alan, never hinted at anything. Alan had died in that horrific train accident back in ’42. His body was never found. Henshaw had reacted with staggering violence. Now, Hal worked for that same man—young, ambitious, authoritarian, relentless. Drowning in a flood of chaotic intelligence reports about aliens and grotesque experiments.

He hated it. And he hated Henshaw. Because he knew, deep down, that Henshaw was not a good man.

Captain Hal Jordan couldn’t take the paper out of the room. Every member of the small team was thoroughly searched upon leaving—no documents, no notes, nothing could be smuggled out. He began tearing up the yellowed sheet with its strange purple ink, the two damning photographs. He crumpled the fragments, stuffed them into his mouth, and swallowed. The paper felt like poison going down. He combed through the rest of the documents. Nothing else mentioned Superwoman. Nothing else hinted at her secret identity. That night, he made a decision. He would go to Metropolis. He would ask for a few days of leave—Henshaw was oddly flexible about that. And he would call Carol Ferris.

He missed her. And he was finally ready to accept her offer.

***

Hal Jordan spent two days lingering around the Daily Planet. Afraid he was being followed. Hours passed as he sat in the building’s lobby, scanning the faces that came and went. He searched for her. He needed to see her. He had no intention of speaking to her, only of looking at her—of seeing her in person, of confirming her existence. It was of extraordinary importance, though he wasn’t entirely sure why.

At the end of the second day, he spotted her.

It was her.

The same eyes.

Clara Kent stepped alone out of the elevator, taller than he had imagined. The almost divine figure from the photographs—the blurred vision framed by the cockpit window—was now wrapped in a blue office suit, a hat perched atop her head. Her glasses were smaller than the ones in the photo. The disguise was clever, but to him, who believed he knew the truth, it was unmistakable. She was the Woman of Tomorrow.

The woman smiled warmly as she parted ways with her colleagues, but the moment she was alone, a shadow of sorrow crossed her face. Hal followed her at a distance along the avenue. She didn’t walk quickly. The woman stopped at a newsstand and bought a film magazine. Then, a bouquet of flowers. Did she live alone? The document had said she did.

She headed toward the subway. He was too close now. At the entrance, a boy of ten or eleven sat on the ground, asking for change for a ticket. Clara Kent paused beside him, knelt down, and spoke softly. She placed a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder and led him inside. Hal followed. She bought the boy a ticket and kissed his cheek before turning away with sudden resolve.

For a fleeting moment, Hal thought the nervous yet determined look in her eyes was meant for him—but no. It was directed at nothing. At empty space.

Then, she ran. Hal couldn’t keep up. She was gone. Seconds later, as he emerged from the subway, he caught sight of it in the sky—a red and blue blur streaking through the clouds.

He had been right to destroy that document.

***

Hal Jordan returned to Washington by train. The secret weighed on him, but he would bury it deep within himself—alongside the truth about Alan and Henshaw. He had been trained for this in aviation, to withstand interrogation, to suppress information even under torture.

Carefully, he rehearsed how he would explain it to Colonel Henshaw. That he wanted to go back to being a test pilot. That he needed to live near Carol Ferris. That his career in aviation intelligence meant nothing to him. That he would resign. That he would always be grateful, always at Henshaw’s disposal, even if he worked for Ferris Aircraft. That the documents from Mercy Graves contained nothing of significance.

He could only hope that Mrs. Graves—the woman who, according to rumors, refused to say a word about his late boss—would keep the secret as well.

He would go west. California. Nevada. He would be free. He would fly again. And Carol would be there.

March 18, 1939

Smallville, Kansas

The cold days seemed to have passed. A radiant sun streamed through the windows, filling the room with warmth. Clara had known since childhood that she was almost indifferent to heat and cold. What she truly loved was light—she felt more alive, more joyful when the sun shone… and stronger. What had once been a source of wonder, something that made her feel special, had also been a cause of frustration, confusion, and, at times, sheer horror. Now, it only brought her pain. She turned away from the window. The pain was sharp, relentless.

Two weeks before her birthday, she returned to the barn’s basement—to that strange, metallic object her parents had told her was the vessel that had brought her to Smallville. She wept bitterly as she thought of her father. Three years since he passed away. In a fit of anguish, she struck the thing. And then, a metal sphere inside transformed into something else—some kind of machine, a mechanical being. It spoke first in an unfamiliar language before shifting to her own, revealing the truth she had never imagined. It told her where she came from, who her real parents were. The revelation was unbearable.

Clara saw images—two figures dressed in strange, regal garments, reminiscent of something ancient, almost Egyptian, yet more alien. They spoke to her in her own tongue, calling her by a name that sounded distant and foreign—Kalah-El… or something like that. They spoke of a place called Krypton. She couldn’t take it anymore. Enraged, she lashed out, pounding her fists against the machine until it closed in on itself, shrinking back into a lifeless metal sphere. She wept bitterly in her mother’s arms. And then she made a mistake.

Pete, her fiancé, had always known she was different—special. But he had never truly grasped just how different. Only a handful of people did: her parents, her uncle Seamus, Dr. Baxter, Lana… Pete had spent years by her side—classmates, friends, three years as a couple, two months engaged. They were just kids, barely 21. They never should have gotten engaged.

He couldn’t handle her confession. Clara had tried to show him, to share her secret, to demonstrate what she could do. But the look in his eyes said it all—fear, horror, nearly madness. Pete saw her as something unnatural. She was. He tried to hide it, tried to pretend for a few days, but the unease was too obvious.

So she broke off the engagement before he could. It hurt, but she told everyone that he had ended things—that they were too young, that they didn’t understand each other. Pete accepted the excuse with quiet relief. Lana, however, distanced herself in a way that stung more than Clara had expected. The three of them had always been inseparable—Clara, Pete, and Lana. Now, that bond was shattered.

In Smallville, the reaction was mixed. Some showed her kindness, even esteem. Others whispered behind her back—calling her reckless, unfeminine, an unsuitable wife. They gossiped about how she had dreamed of going to college, even though her family couldn't afford it. They also talked about how frustrated she must be now that her father's death forced her to stay in Smallville.

Laura Baxter, daughter of Dr. Baxter and the school nurse, noticed the sorrow in Clara’s eyes and offered a tentative smile.

“It’s a beautiful day, Clara. If you’d like, we could go for a walk later. The Grahame brothers just got back from Kansas City!”

“Oh, I can’t. I must tutor the third graders in math. I also have a class later at the parish school.”

Clara forced a smile, appreciating Laura’s kindness but unwilling to be seen with any young, unmarried man—not now. Besides, she truly did have lessons to teach. She wasn’t certified to work at the public school, but she spent her afternoons tutoring at the parish school and the town hall.

“Oh, right! No worries, another time.” Laura nodded, then shifted to work mode. “Alright, let’s go over the vaccination list. We’ll get the official records in two weeks—measles and tetanus. The kids are already talking about it. I have a list of those whose parents have raised objections or who have medical concerns. We need to review it with the principal and my father. Would you mind typing it up?”

“Of course.”

Laura flipped through her notebook while Clara’s fingers moved swiftly over the typewriter keys.

“You know, Clara,” Laura mused after a moment, “You’re really good with that typewriter. Have you ever considered working at the town hall or over at Potter’s factory? You’d make a lot more than you do here—or as a tutor.”

Clara shrugged. “This is fine. I think if I work five years as a nurse’s assistant, I might be able to shorten the practical training and just go to Kansas City to take the exams. It’d be easier for me and my mother—less money, and I could stay in Smallville.”

Laura shook her head. She didn’t know Clara Kent quite well, but she had genuine affection for her. She admired her maturity, intelligence, and quiet strength—though perhaps she was too stubborn, and utterly uninterested in vanity or flirtation. That was probably why that fool, Pete Ross, had let her go.

A sudden commotion outside the school’s administration building pulled them from their conversation. A thunderous mix of voices rose from the street below. Clara, despite herself, picked up every word in an instant. She tried not to use that unnatural ability—the one that allowed her to hear things from impossible distances, even whispers. It felt invasive, unacceptable. But sometimes, it simply happened.

“Hey! We’re trying to work here!” Laura shouted, half-exasperated, half-amused. “This is a primary school—there are children in class! What’s with all this racket?”

She strode to the window, and Clara followed. Below, nearly a dozen men had gathered alongside three cars and a truck.

“Ma’am, forgive us,” one of the men called up urgently. “We’re heading north, near Nemaha—there’s about to be a disaster!”

“What the hell is going on?” Laura demanded, her amusement vanishing.

“The Neuchatel Railroad Bridge—it must’ve collapsed, or at least part of it! Vincent Jensen’s cousin called us—he lives nearby. There’s a train coming from Kansas City, a big one, always passes around noon. We have to stop it! It’s packed with people, ma’am, always is. We need to get there in time.”

"We’re closer than the folks in Nemaha, but they’re on their way too. There aren’t many people in Neuchatel—God, they’ll do what they can, but if it’s one of those modern locomotives, they might not even listen to them.”

“If that train derails, it’s going to be a damn catastrophe,” someone muttered. “There must be at least two or three hundred people on board.”

Laura bit her lip, trying to steady the men with encouraging words. Then, instinctively, she turned toward Clara—But Clara was gone.

Her glasses and purse sat abandoned beside the typewriter.

***

Clara was running. She ran faster than anyone could imagine, cutting across fields at an impossible speed for a human. She had once covered twenty miles between her farm and the town in barely six minutes. If she leaped high, pushed herself harder, she could go even faster. She darted through crops, weaved through trees, vaulted over fences.

To anyone who might catch a glimpse of her, she was nothing more than a blur—another one of those strange, fleeting visions whispered about in Smallville. She hadn’t hesitated. She couldn’t hesitate. She could reach the bridge before the men in their cars. She was stronger. If she climbed onto the locomotive, she could warn the engineers, plead with them to stop. But would they listen? Would they see her face and take her seriously? Would she be strong enough to stop the locomotive herself? She had never tested herself against something like this.

Doubt gnawed at her as Clara ran. Why did I do this? She had never revealed herself so openly before. Her father had warned her countless times. But when she heard there were hundreds of lives at stake, she had acted without thinking. Instinct had taken over. She adjusted her path, veering north. Closer to the northwest. The railway line to Smallville came from the east. If she got turned around, she’d lose precious time.

Clara kept running, rehearsing what she would say to the train engineer. Then she sharpened her hearing, forcing herself to pick up even the faintest sounds. It took nearly two minutes, but at last, she heard it—the steady, rhythmic churning of a locomotive. The sound came from the north-northwest, not the east. Good. It wasn’t the Smallville train. It had to be the Nemaha line. She ran toward the sound, praying she wasn’t too late. Then she saw it. A massive locomotive, older in design—easier to board. Twelve cars. Four cargo, eight passenger. She focused her vision, seeing through the metal and wood, counting the people inside. At least two hundred. Please, God, let me help them.

Clara sprinted toward the train, and with a single leap, she hurled herself onto the locomotive’s side. Metal groaned beneath her impact, the door denting inward as she grabbed hold. Inside, three engineers turned in shock

“Please, open up! Stop the train! Stop the train! The Neuchatel Bridge has collapsed—please, you have to stop!”

The roar of the locomotive drowned out her voice. The engineers inside didn’t dare speak; they couldn’t hear her. All they saw was something—someone—slamming against the door, trying to tear it open.

Clara struck again, harder this time, but still holding back. She didn’t want to hurt them. The metal nearly gave way. Then, one of the men, eyes wide with terror, pulled out a revolver and fired. Gunshots rang through the cab. Some bullets slipped through the warped door and ricocheted, bouncing harmlessly off Clara’s body.

She froze. For the first time in her life, she watched, stunned, as bullets flattened and rebounded from her skin. She had no time to process the shock. Turning, she focused on her vision, scanning ahead. They were close—just two, maybe three miles from the ravine. The men from Smallville never would have made it in time. A dozen figures stood at the bridge’s entrance, a truck parked hastily across the tracks. The bridge—wood and brick, supported by three arches—had collapsed at the last span.

Would those men be enough to stop the train? Inside the cab, the engineers were panicked, too afraid to react rationally. There was no time to explain. No time to convince them.

Clara leapt from the side of the locomotive and sprinted ahead. She had stopped heavy objects before—fallen beams, tree trunks on the farm. But this… She inhaled sharply, trying to steady herself. She positioned herself directly in front of the locomotive, turning her back to it. Then she reached up, hands pressing against the train’s metal face, bracing herself.

She had no idea if she was strong enough. She had no idea if she was too strong. The ground trembled beneath her feet. The shrill whistle of the train pierced her ears as the engineers, shouting in blind terror, pulled uselessly at the controls. She turned her head just enough to see it—The bridge, rising ahead like a sentence of death. Less than two miles. No hesitation. No room for doubt. Clara clenched her jaw, pushing against the train. At first, it was like pressing against a moving wall—unyielding, unstoppable.

Then the metal groaned. Her feet touched the ground, skidding against the dry earth. Her shoes disintegrated as her heels dragged through the railroad bed. The wooden ties snapped under her weight, splintering beneath her sinking legs. The rails bent. If the train didn’t stop soon, it would derail before it even reached the bridge.

Clara pushed harder, her entire body locking in resistance. She braced her back against the locomotive, using her feet to fight the relentless momentum. The steel around her arms began to warp. Drops of steam and tar hissed from the overheated engine, falling over her skin. The train screamed in defiance. She clenched her teeth, muscles coiling under the strain. It wasn’t enough. The locomotive shuddered in her grasp, but its sheer momentum kept driving it forward. The weight of the train, the force of its inertia—it threatened to crush her beneath its will. Inside the cab, the engineers were still shouting, still pulling at the controls. The passenger cars swayed violently, filled with terrified cries.

She clenched her fists, digging her feet deeper into the broken earth. The metal warped around her back and arms. The front of the locomotive crumpled beneath her hands. The wheels screeched. The entire train lurched. For a breathless second, it felt like the world itself might snap apart. And then—The train began to slow. The engine let out one final shriek before jolting forward in protest. The first car rocked. The second wobbled dangerously on the tracks. The ravine was just ahead. Clara exhaled, feeling the locomotive's movement finally give way beneath her back.

And then—the train stopped. Steam hissed from the crippled engine. The train sat motionless on the tracks, just a few hundred yards from the collapsed bridge. Clara took a step back, her breath heaving. She looked down—her dress was shredded, her arms smeared with soot and tar. The passenger cars were tilted, voices rising in confusion and fear, but—miraculously—no one seemed hurt.

The men from the bridge were already sprinting toward them. With a crash, the engineers kicked open the cab door and leapt to the ground. The eldest among them staggered forward, his face streaked with soot. And then, he stopped. Staring in disbelief, he turned his eyes to the front of the locomotive. A massive dent stretched across the metal. A dent, in the exact shape of a person. Slowly, hands trembling, the man made the sign of the cross.

Clara, hidden behind the underbrush, swallowed hard. Fear and adrenaline tangled in her chest. She couldn’t stay. With one last look at the stunned crowd, she turned—and with a single leap, vanished into the trees. Behind her, a train sat saved, a town stood in awe, and the impossible had become real.

The official story? The train had hit a fallen log—one massive enough to slow it down before being hurled off the tracks. A log that was never found.

December 17, 1944

Leyte Gulf

Ensign Clara Josephine Kent of the Navy Nurse Corps leaned against the railing of the hospital ship USS Shuster. It was just after the midday meal. She had not eaten. Her gaze drifted over the turquoise waters of Leyte Gulf, where the silhouettes of the Philippine Islands stood in the distance. Yet even as her mind seemed to soar into the heights, she struggled to focus, scanning the water with careful intent. Clara had an uncanny ability to detect enemy submarines, thanks to her telescopic and X-ray vision. To the rest of the world, however, she was merely a woman obsessed with U-boats, unusually lucky in spotting their periscopes. The crew, humoring her supposed talent, had even gifted her a pair of binoculars, which she dutifully pretended to use.

She had been a Navy nurse for three years, most recently assigned to auxiliary services supporting the Seventh Fleet. She had seen many places—Guadalcanal, Papua New Guinea, the Philippines. The war had changed her, reshaping both her view of the world and her understanding of herself. But that violent transformation had begun five years earlier, when she first discovered the truth about her origins.

In early 1940, unable to resist the gnawing doubt—or was it longing?—that consumed her, she had once again activated the strange metallic sphere that, with a hum of energy, became a kind of robot. It had told her more about her extraordinary heritage, about the journey that had bathed her in cosmic radiation, about how the sunlight and Earth's gravity had shaped her into something beyond human. She had accepted the robot’s call—and the spectral figures claiming to be her true parents—and had carried the sphere, hidden in a battered suitcase, to Alaska. There, they had told her, lay a vessel from her homeworld, a key to unlocking her past, her language, her power. She had searched for it in vain.

Anchorage became both refuge and exile. She enrolled in a military nursing school, seeking usefulness. She had brief, fruitless romances—mostly aviators who meant nothing in the end. And sometimes, driven by restless hope, she would pack the metallic sphere into a sack and wander the frozen mountains in search of the lost ship. She never found it. More than once, hunters and explorers had glimpsed a lone woman in a city coat, carrying an odd burden, vanishing into the icy wastes with unnatural speed. Rumors spread of a spirit haunting the Alaskan wilderness. The legend of the Ghost of the Glaciers made its way back to Anchorage, where Clara merely shrugged and turned the pages of her nursing manual.

She wanted to know who she was. What she was capable of. What she was meant to do. The questions tormented her. Should she reveal herself to the world? Her father, Joseph, had warned her against it. He feared that her very existence would upend the world—that she would lose what the Quakers called “Peace at the center.” That if she lacked strength and wisdom, she would become an agent of injustice rather than justice. Clara was not ready. She still feared what her hands, her eyes, could do.

When Japan bombed Pearl Harbor, she buried the sphere—its name was Kelex—just outside Anchorage and enlisted as a nurse. It was the only thing she could do. She would use her abilities only to heal, never to harm. She had no right to take a life. She alone could tear an army to shreds, but how could she do so without drowning in blood? Without becoming an angel of destruction? Without losing her “peace at the center”? Her father had been right. The war could make her a monster.

Now, three years later, the doubts gnawed at her once more. Clara had spent those years moving between islands and hospital ships, using her gifts in secret—cauterizing wounds, shielding soldiers and civilians from harm. She had even captured enemy combatants, always veiled, hidden beneath blankets, moving faster than the eye could follow. Some suspected. Some surely knew. One man, an older doctor, Dr. Dolan, had protected her. He forged documents, invented cover stories, locked her away with the wounded so she could work in secret. He never asked for explanations, nor did he pry. But he kept his distance. Her gratitude was infinite.

What was she to do? Was it enough? She no longer believed so. Her superhuman abilities demanded something greater. Martha, her mother, had always told her of the Parable of the Talents: To whom much is given, much will be required. That thought haunted her now.

“Hey, Kansas, they’re not giving you the lookout post. Get back inside.” Carol Blumen, a nurse from Metropolis, beckoned Clara back into the ship. “Come on, let’s play cards. I don’t think we’ll be docking before midnight.”

Clara smiled and followed. Carol, as always, kept chattering. “A little bird told me you’ve been writing about us—letters or something—and that a paper in San Francisco and another in Kansas published them. All good things, they say! Who would’ve thought? Our Kansas girl—nurse, lookout, and now a writer!”

“I always wanted to be a literature teacher,” Clara admitted. “I don’t know, I like being a nurse too.”

“Listen, girl, you’ve been published in two newspapers, more than once! I’ve written a thousand letters to the Daily Planet about how lousy public services are in my neighborhood, and they’ve never printed a single one. You must be damned good at those letters.”

Clara chuckled. The Daily Planet—one of the three biggest newspapers in the country, one of the two most influential in Metropolis, the largest city in North America, a forest of steel and glass. Maybe someday…

Before she could drift into a daydream, a deafening roar split the air. An explosion tore through the ship, hurling her forward. She and Carol were thrown to the floor, landing on top of one another. The hallway lights flickered, then died.

A wave of terrified screams erupted all around as the floor tilted beneath them. There it was—her greatest fear. A submarine. A torpedo. The USS Shuster was packed with more than 3,500 souls—wounded men, troops, medical personnel, and refugees from the scattered Philippine islands, all hoping to reach safety in Mindanao.

Clara didn’t hesitate. She helped Carol to her feet and, taking advantage of her disorientation, whisked her to the deck at near-superhuman speed. Outside, despite the blazing sun, the scene was already nightmarish. In mere minutes, the ship’s tilt had become almost catastrophic. Hundreds of people ran in all directions; dozens had already plunged into the sea. With her superhuman vision, Clara spotted the Japanese submarine half a mile away.

Nearly four thousand lives. The weight in her heart shifted—no longer doubt, but pure resolve. Ignoring Carol’s frantic shouts, she leapt gracefully overboard and plunged into the depths. She moved through the water at a speed beyond human comprehension, the ocean wrapping around her like a warm embrace. Her vision cut through the dark depths, pinpointing the USS Shuster’s wounded hull, listing and sinking, its metal frame torn open by the torpedo’s blast.

Thousands of lives hung in balance. She could not afford hesitation. With her X-ray vision, she assessed the ship’s structure in an instant. The explosion had ripped a gaping hole into the starboard side, just below the waterline. If she tried to lift it from a single point, the weakened metal would collapse, splitting the ship in two. The force needed to be distributed evenly.

Clara knew this—had learned it in the Kent farmyard, using her strength to move beams, lift machinery, and repair structures without shattering them. She swam swiftly, almost creating a whirlpool around her, extending her arms and feeling the ship’s vibrations beneath her fingertips. Bracing herself, she positioned her hands under the keel, the ship’s massive weight settling onto her back.

She pushed. Not wildly, not recklessly, but carefully. Evenly. She had to be precise. Drawing a deep breath, she gathered her strength. This wasn’t just about power. It was about control. Too much force in the wrong place, and she wouldn’t be saving these people—she would be dooming them.

Repeating the process several times at blinding speed, Clara gradually applied upward force, distributing the ship’s weight evenly. Slowly, the USS Shuster ceased its descent. The terrifying tilt stabilized, and the screams of panic on deck faded into murmurs of disbelief.

But Clara knew holding the ship afloat wasn’t enough. The hull was too damaged to withstand the open sea for much longer. It needed safe harbor. She turned her head, scanning the horizon. Ten miles away, she spotted a reef with a gentle enough slope to beach the vessel without capsizing it. It was the best option. Focusing her super-hearing, she listened to the desperate commands of the crew and the grinding strain of the crippled rudder. They were trying to steer toward the very same reef.

Beneath the water, amidst the sheer enormity of the task, Clara felt an unexpected clarity. It was fear and hesitation that crushed her, not action. The moment she committed, everything aligned.

Her efforts were working. She began pushing the ship forward, her arms and back bracing against its massive frame, carefully adjusting her force, uncertain but determined, making sure not to exert uneven pressure. It was like trying to move a cathedral through a hurricane. Bit by bit, the USS Shuster lurched forward. The list remained stable. Water still poured in, but the ship—miraculously—was not sinking.

Then Clara remembered. The submarine. She had forgotten it entirely. Should she destroy it? The dark shape still loomed less than half a mile away. Then she felt it. A deep, resonating tremor—like a tuning fork struck against the ocean itself, mixed with a splashing vibration. A second torpedo. Clara released the ship and darted toward the incoming missile. She had barely trained with her heat vision. But there was no time for doubt. She focused with all her will, feeling a strange energy build behind her eyes. Then—suddenly—scarlet beams lanced through the water, cutting through the depths. The torpedo detonated in an eruption of foam and fire, swallowed by a churning vortex of bubbles. She had done it. A stunned exhilaration surged through her.

Clara turned back toward the ship, improvising silent prayers over and over as she raced to save it. On deck, confusion reigned. No one could explain how, suddenly, the ship had stopped sinking and was now gliding toward safety. The current wasn’t nearly strong enough to drag it along at such a pace, and the ship’s failing electrical systems no longer had the power to keep the propellers turning. Nurses, refugees and soldiers clung to anything they could, feeling the inexplicable motion beneath them.

Beneath the waves, Clara pressed on. She pushed, braced, created whirlpools to reduce resistance. The ship inched forward, agonizingly slow but steady. With one final effort, she heaved the USS Shuster onto the flattest part of the reef, allowing its deadly tilt to level out gradually. She didn’t realize it then, but as she first grounded the stern and then lifted the bow, she exerted so much force that, for a brief moment, she made the entire ship hover inches above the water. Some onboard felt it.

Clara, unaware, remained half-levitating just above the waves, holding the ship’s bow in her grip. Then, with a groaning protest of metal and a final shuddering lurch, the USS Shuster settled onto the reef. The sea around it stilled. It was safe.

She swam along the hull, scanning the structure, ensuring it would hold until reinforcements arrived. The panic on deck had transformed into something more controlled—officers barking orders, lifeboats swinging into the water, people beginning to grasp that, somehow, somehow, they had been saved from certain doom. Thousands of lives. She had been pushing for over an hour. At times, she had moved the massive ship at nearly twelve or fifteen knots, almost its full speed. The feat defied reason. There would be no explanation.

Clara surfaced, swimming slowly toward the nearest lifeboat. The sun was dipping low, casting a golden glow over the ocean, the ship, the wreckage. Escort vessels were closing in, their boats rushing to aid the evacuation, while a minesweeper had already set off in pursuit of the enemy submarine.

In the lifeboat, as a kindly sailor offered her a cigarette she was unable to light, Clara broke down. Tears of relief and overwhelming emotion streamed down her face.

"You're safe, lady, all is well, the ship is saved! Wow! That crew really pulled off a miracle.” Clara continued to cry, but it was with joy and relief and a decided sense of liberation. The decision she had made went beyond keeping ships afloat.

August 1945

Alaska-Smallville, Kansas

"NO."

Clara bellowed, yet with serenity. Her voice echoed through the vast, metallic, semicircular chamber, its surface gleaming under the dim, artificial light. Beyond the great honeycomb-shaped window, the void stretched endlessly. That chamber had been her home for the past six months.

Six months since she had seized the opportunity, granted leave after the attack on the USS Shuster, to return to Alaska. Six months since she had unearthed Kelex and trudged through the darkness, across endless ice, until they had found it: the ship, buried beneath millennia of snow. With her laser vision, she had melted through the ice, stepping inside alongside Kelex. The robot had taken control of the vessel.

Six months. Six months of speaking, learning, and watching… watching projections, mere echoes of voices long extinguished, yet perfect in their replication of what her parents might have said, had they lived. It was as if the images had stepped off the cinema screen, granted life and thought. Six months without truly sleeping, eating, or drinking. Devoted to understanding, to reflecting, to mastering herself. Six months that had proved her faster, stronger, capable of wielding every power her eyes could summon. And most important of all: she had learned to fly. To hurl herself skyward, an experience as exhilarating and defining as when she had kept the USS Shuster afloat. She had donned the strange yet magnificent Kryptonian ceremonial suit Kelex had carried in her pod, the long red cape billowing behind her. She did not fully understand why, but wearing it filled her with pride that burned in her chest.

Those images—her Kryptonian parents—were an intelligence, artificial perhaps, but one that carried the thoughts, the wisdom, the ghosts of those who had perished long ago. They were like her, and yet unlike her. Just as Martha and Joseph were.

Her father, Jor-El, was an intellectual, a dreamer, a believer in humanity and in a redemption of Krypton, for which she was the only heir. He had shown her how Krypton had destroyed itself, but also its feats, those bright, hopeful moments, the sagas that had fought to keep freedom, love, and hope from being swallowed by the machinery of war, the clones, the castes, and a mad quest for immortality. Yet he was also cautious, at times wary. Sometimes naïve, sometimes solemn beyond measure. Her mother, Lara Lor-Van, was resolute, wise, unyielding—more rigid than Jor-El, yet braver. Clara saw pieces of them both within herself. They had taught her more than she ever imagined possible.

But now—now, she raged against them. Against them and against Kelex.

"Why did you keep this from me?" she demanded. "Kelex listens to every radio on Earth, even the military frequencies—he deciphers them all. You are one, all of you, the three of you."

Once, Clara might have lost control. Now, she simply hovered, her fury burning cold and steady.

The image of her mother spoke, "We agreed, you and we alike, that you would not interfere in humanity’s great affairs. It was your wish—not to shape the world in your image, not to stain your hands with blood. And we abide by that. We sent you here to live, and to serve as far as your abilities allowed, but not to rule."

"But those bombs! Those bombs are monstrous! They have obliterated hundreds of thousands in mere seconds! Humanity is on the brink of destroying itself!"

Her father's voice, warm yet measured, answered next. "My daughter, preventing those deaths would have forced you to make a choice over the fate of millions more. This war is the most terrible humanity has endured since they fought amongst themselves—and against the Kryptonians—twelve thousand years ago. When you return to your human home, you will also hear of horrors beyond imagination, of what has transpired in the place you call Europe."

Her mother’s voice cut in before she could protest. "Kala-El, we have also heard through transmissions that this war will end in mere days. It is over. It will weigh upon you always, but had you intervened—now or before—you would have paid a price too great. A price we could never have wished upon you when we sent you to this world."

"Kala, my daughter," her father said, his voice as gentle as it could be. "Embrace the peace that follows. It will be a painful, unjust peace—but those who have been defeated were the most heartless, the most self-destructive. The victors are harsh, but they will allow you space. And now, you must help them. Your mission begins now."

Clara trembled on the edge of an outburst. "What you say makes no sense! Am I to stand aside if humans try to start another war? Am I to do nothing? To simply fly above them?"

"Your training is not complete. This war was already finished before you could act. You would have caused more suffering, not less. Now, you must fight for peace, to ensure there is never another war like this. But you are not ready." Her mother’s words were resolute.

Her heart pounded. She could not wait. She would not wait. Every passing minute cost lives. She had a duty. She could delay no longer.

Then, her father’s voice returned, "They possess the potential for greatness, Kala-El, for in their hearts lies the desire to rise above. Yet, they falter in darkness, needing but a guiding light to illuminate their path. It is for this reason above all— their boundless capacity for good— that we have sent you, our only daughter. We took away the patronymic so you would not be Kala Jor-El, but Kala-El—because you are the heir to an entire lineage and its hopes, not just to your father, or your mother. Our culture failed. It betrayed and consumed itself. Only you remain, to keep the mistakes of our world from repeating on Earth, and to ensure that the best voices of Krypton do not fade into the eons, do not vanish. You must be their example, their protector, your hand steadying their course, so they do not share Krypton’s fate. But remember, you cannot impose their salvation upon them; they must choose it for themselves. Those to whom we entrusted you have nurtured you with wisdom beyond our greatest hopes. We ask only that you fulfill your purpose, but not before you are truly ready. You have yet to gain knowledge you will need."

"No, Father. It is enough. I cannot wait any longer."

The projections did not respond. They seemed to understand her resolve.

She turned to Kelex. "I am returning to my human home. I will be back in a few days."

Moments later, a red and blue blur, still unknown to humankind, blazed across the American skies—heading for Kansas

***

Martha Kent hurried to take down the laundry as a light cloud of dust rose around her. She paused, startled, as she caught sight of a crimson shape fluttering in the air—something that did not belong among the clothes. She blinked twice, trying to make sense of it, and then she froze.

Before her, hovering several meters above the ground, was her daughter—majestic, radiant. Yet, she was almost unrecognizable. She seemed stronger, her presence commanding. She wore an unfamiliar suit, impossibly fine, its texture somewhere between metal and skin, shimmering in deep blue and red. A bold emblem in the shape of an “S” adorned her chest, and a long crimson cape billowed behind her, catching the sunlight. Her hair was tousled, windswept, yet beautiful. Her eyes burned with an intensity Martha had never seen before, but within that fire, a single tear traced its way down her cheek.

"Mom, I'm home."

Her voice was the same, yet trembling, fragile with emotion.

Martha broke into tears. Her daughter descended, wrapping her in a fierce embrace. For a moment, it felt as if she had lifted her into the air—but then, gently, they both sank back onto solid ground.

***

Martha’s hands trembled as she poured the coffee. Clara now sat across from her, dressed in an old floral dress, her hair clumsily tied in a loose bun. On the table lay the strange suit she had worn just moments before—its fabric so impossibly light and fine that, even folded, it barely took up any space. Martha gazed at it with a mixture of awe and unease. Her daughter held her hand tightly.

"So now... you fly." Martha attempted a lighthearted tone.

"Something like that." Clara laughed softly, though the glimmer of tears still lingered in her eyes.

Martha gave her a warm, motherly smile. "I suppose I should have seen it coming." Then, clearing her throat, she began sifting through a small stack of papers. "Here’s your leave authorization… and, well, an indefinite extension of it unless hostilities resume. They say Japan will surrender tomorrow." She hesitated, then continued, "A doctor… someone named Dr. Dolan, sent a letter. He wanted to thank you. He also asked that you not return—that you're sure to be needed here in peacetime."

She set another bundle of papers on the table. "They sent all your things back from Anchorage. There are letters from Lana and Pete—I haven’t opened them, but… You know they’re parents now." Martha glanced at her daughter, watching her reaction. "Ah, and several more letters. Regarding the articles you wrote about your job and the wounded." She sighed, almost overwhelmed. "I haven’t opened those either."

Finally, she picked up a telegram, her fingers trembling as she handed it to Clara. "This one came from San Francisco."

“Allow me to extend my congratulations on your recent articles. They have been well received both here and in your home state. Your prose is exceptional—precise, eloquent, and remarkably compelling, qualities not often found in a writer of your little experience. Upon your return, we would be delighted to welcome you for a conversation at either the San Francisco Chronicle or the Wichita Eagle. We may be able to offer you a position as a junior staff writer or assistant reporter. It is not customary for us to extend such opportunities, but your writing has made a strong impression. Furthermore, I understand that Mr. Perry Weiss and Miss Catherine Grant of the Daily Planet have also expressed interest in your work. Metropolis, no doubt, could be an appealing destination for a promising young woman. Please do not hesitate to reach out upon your return should you wish to arrange an interview at any of the three publications. We trust there will still be openings available by the time you arrive.”

Clara read the telegram over and over, a dizzying sense of possibility washing over her. Wichita was close—quiet, familiar. There, she could live in anonymity. San Francisco was far, but people said life was good there. And then… Metropolis. She had always wanted to see it. The Daily Planet—one of the most renowned newspapers in the country. She had never imagined herself as a journalist, but… What if it was exactly the cover she needed for her new mission?

Martha watched her carefully, then gently folded the telegram and placed it beneath her daughter’s hands.

"You have time to think, sweetheart. How about we go into town? Catch a movie. They’re showing Meet Me in St. Louis—you’re going to love it. It’s beautiful, absolutely charming." She smiled, brushing Clara’s hand with motherly warmth. "We’ll take a walk… And you can tell me everything."

***

She chose Metropolis. Her mother had insisted. It was the most prestigious newspaper of the three. What would it be like? Would Metropolis be the right place to begin her mission? Too many questions, too many doubts. Journalism seemed like a job that would help her do what needed to be done. She could operate from the farm if she wanted—after all, every corner of the world was now just minutes away. But her mother had urged her to go. Maybe she was right. A great city. A great newspaper. Hard work.

She wanted to work—of that, she was certain. She wanted to earn her living, to carve out a place for herself as a woman, even if her true mission would always take precedence over everything else. But she didn’t want to stop being Clara Kent, even if only for a few hours at a time.

The city of skyscrapers and dazzling lights called to her like a siren’s song. Was it vanity? Perhaps. She chose not to dwell on it. She would try her luck there. And if she failed, Smallville would always be just a few minutes away.

Her mother had wanted to buy her a train ticket straight to Metropolis, but Clara only agreed to go as far as Kansas City. It would give some family friends a chance to say goodbye without raising suspicions.

Her Uncle Seamus, two cousins from Topeka she hadn’t seen in years, Dr. Baxter and his daughter Laura, the pastor… Even Pete and Lana arrived, hesitant at first, but when they shook her hand, there was warmth and sincerity that eased something deep inside her.

If she stayed in Metropolis, she knew she would return officially to Smallville only sparingly—every few months, at most—to avoid drawing attention. But most of those gathered here already knew the truth, even if they had chosen to bury it in their hearts.

Her mother was still overwhelmed with emotion. As Clara stood by the train, ready to depart, Martha reached for her arm and pressed a yellowed envelope into her hand.

"Clara, your father wrote this nine years ago, just weeks before he left. Please, read it. He wrote it with me. Don’t be too hard on him. Read it. He loved you more than anything in this world. He didn’t want me to give it to you until a day like today. He knew this moment would come. He was stubborn as a mule, but he was a good man. Read it carefully." Her voice wavered "I love you, my daughter."

***

My Dearest Daughter,

I ain't much for words, and never claimed to be. But if you're reading this, then two things have come to pass. One is natural, as all things of this earth must come to their end. The other—well, it's something greater. Something I always knew would happen, though I prayed it wouldn’t come too soon.

I’m writing this for the day you step into the light. And you will. I have no doubt. A person cannot bury a candle under a basket forever—sooner or later, the world will see its glow. And in these days, when men are cruel but knowledge increases, when the earth shakes and the hearts of many grow cold, there will be those who look to you. Not because they ought to, but because they need you. I have prayed long and hard that such a day would not come, but I reckon the Lord has other plans.

There’s not much I can give you now except this—I love you. I’m proud of you. Your mother and I have loved you from the moment you came into our lives, though we never did understand how or why you were made the way you are. That was never ours to know. We only knew to raise you as best we could, with the same love you gave to us.

I know it ain’t been easy. I know I’ve been a hard man at times. A father has a duty to guide, and I’ve done my best. But I won’t lie—I have feared for you. Feared what the world might do to you, feared what it might turn you into. I have seen how power twists men, how it hollows them out. I have seen good men lose their way, believing they were the ones to set the world right. The Lord did not put you here to be used as a tool of the mighty, nor to be wielded by those who deal in violence. The sword devours both the wielder and the struck. Stay low. Walk humbly. Do what you must, but do it without pride, without hunger for praise. And if you must work unseen, hidden from the world, then so be it. It is better to be unknown and righteous than known and led astray. This would allow you and your Mother to enjoy living in peace and quiet.

And hear me now—you have no right to take what the Lord alone gives. No right to rule over others, no right to force the world into your mold. Change what you can, but let it be through love, through mercy. Let every soul be equal before you, whether they be high or low, righteous or lost. And whatever you do, do it not for a banner, nor for a nation, nor for your own name. Do it for what is right.

And never—never—let go of your Peace at the Center. The world will roar. The nations will rage. Men will cry out for war and vengeance. But the Lord is not in the whirlwind, nor in the fire, nor in the earthquake. He is in the still, small voice. Hold fast to that voice within you. If you lose that, no power on this earth will be worth the price.

There will be many who do not understand what you are, and some will fear you. Stand firm. Stand steady. You are strong. And you are stubborn as a Missouri mule. We ain’t blood, but if you got that from me, I wouldn’t be surprised.

Wherever I am, I will pray for you. That you stay true. That you do the good you were meant to do. And that you never lose sight of the Light within.

Joseph Kent, 1936

Clara wept silently, tears streaming down her face, while the other passengers in the carriage pretended not to notice. After a moment, she felt a flicker of frustration with herself—I can’t be such a crybaby.

She clutched the letter tightly to her chest, overwhelmed by a whirlwind of emotions—joy, nervous anticipation, and a deep, aching nostalgia. Her gaze drifted instinctively to her suitcase. A few dresses, a couple of suits, some money, a handful of books… The rest she would bring from Smallville over time. But there was something far more important inside that suitcase.

A long, crimson red cape.

September 1945

Metropolis

"Nothing to see here, nothing to report. I don’t know what brought you folks down, but it’s just routine detentions. Now, kindly move along."

A stout, red-haired policeman with an almost absurdly friendly face was trying to shoo away a small swarm of reporters from the precinct. Among them was Clara Josephine Kent, an assistant reporter for Major Louis J. Lane at the Daily Planet—on probation, of course. She had only been at the paper for two weeks. Gone was the nurse’s uniform; she’d invested in a few smart suits and shirts, landed a decent little apartment—old, cramped, but with a hatch in the ceiling that would certainly come in handy—and picked up a new pair of glasses, elegant but thick, designed to obscure her gaze a little more.

The journalists groaned at the officer’s dismissal. Most of them were men, but there were also two strikingly well-dressed blonde women, polished to perfection. Clara felt a little plain, a little unkempt in comparison. She pulled out a cheap lipstick—money was tight—and began touching up her reflection in the glass door.

She needed a story if she didn’t want Major Lane assigning her only to translations and typing up dull reports, but the idea of writing about herself felt dishonest. She hadn’t made any real friends yet, though the Planet staff were polite, if too busy to chat for more than five minutes—except Major Lane, who left her with an odd mix of frustration and admiration.

Then, the precinct door creaked open. Out slipped a short, dark-haired man, middle-aged and slightly disheveled, carrying two cameras—a small one dangling from his neck and a larger one in his hand. He regarded Clara with sharp curiosity.

"Well, well! Hello there!" The little man winked.

"Uh… Hello?" Clara answered, hesitant.

"You’re new, aren’t you? Haven’t seen you around." He struck a match and lit a cigarette.

" Yes, yes - I'm afraid I'm new”. Clara offered a small smile.

"Pleasure’s mine. Leo Bernzy, photographer. And where the devil did you come from, sweetheart? Who do you work for?"

Clara shook his hand. "Clara Kent. Daily Planet. Just started a few days ago."

"Ah! But you're not a local, right?"

"No, I’m from Kansas. Smallville."

"Oh, Smallville!"

"You know it?"

"Not in the slightest, but I’m always in favor of bright-eyed Midwestern girls making their way to the big city."

Clara bristled at the remark but decided to let it slide. It was typical Metropolis banter—half playful, half intrusive, sometimes crude, sometimes snobbish. She was still adjusting.

Bernzy pressed on. "So, who’s your boss?"

"Oh, I’m assisting Major Louis Lane."

"Louis Lane’s a Major now? That chutzpahdik! Didn’t know he was back in town. Say, I know everyone from your paper. Catherine Grant’s a friend, and I grew up misbehaving in the same neighborhood as Bob Mailer. Been published plenty of times there. Just ask around for the Great Bernzyni. You’ve got the best director in the city—Perry Weiss—and the finest chief editor, George Taylor. You know ‘em, don’t you?"

"Yes, sir…" Clara wasn’t sure how to steer the conversation. Chutzpahdik? What did that mean? Metropolis was so different from Kansas. So many people from so many places… The Planet newsroom was a symphony of accents, peppered with Yiddish and Italian. She had also noticed with sorrow that the city was a bit segregated compared to Smallville. But she had expected that. She had seen it firsthand in the Navy.

Bernzy leaned in, lowering his voice. "So, Miss Kent… You and Major Lane—what do you make of these rumors?"

"Oh, Mr. Lane doesn’t think much of them. Me? I think there’s something there."

“Let’s share information, I like you. I like your newspaper.”

 Clara cleared her throat and flipped open a small pink notebook. In a softer voice, she listed the facts: "Sixteen anonymous detentions since August 27th. A hit-and-run prevented by what witnesses described as a ‘fast-moving shadow’—maybe two. A liquor store holdup thwarted by a woman dressed like an aviator. Three fires extinguished before the fire department even arrived…"

Bernzy gave a low whistle. "You’ve done your homework, huh? And they expect us to believe nothing’s going on? Ridiculous. Now, what’s really happening? That’s the question."

"Oh, maybe it's something like Gotham’s Bat."

"Bah!" Bernzy scrunched up his face in disgust. "That’s a joke. A cop or a thug in a bat-shaped tin suit, cracking skulls in back alleys? Gotham’s a madhouse. Everyone’s nuts over there. With enough money and a screw loose, sure, you can run around dressed like a flying rat. But this? This is something else. Stranger. I figured it was just the usual pile-up of absurd coincidences—classic Metropolis. Or maybe a case of mass hysteria… You know, the bomb? People lost their marbles over that. The war ending, the whole damn world changing overnight."

"Yes, yes… It’s awful." Clara’s naivety was sincere.

Bernzy leaned in. "But hell, this is different. Something big is happening here—something unnatural. FBI’s swooping in on this case, which means they’re getting ready to feed us a load of bunk. But a pal of mine let me snap a photo of something incredible…"

"Oh? The FBI?"

"A gun. Bent. Crushed. Like it had been twisted by a force no man alive could muster—not a hundred men, not a thousand. Found right beside the detainees. And that’s not the work of some lunatic in a bat suit."

"You’re serious?"

"Dead serious. And doll, if you’re looking to get ahead with this story, this photo should be yours. I can send you a copy—bit grainy, but clear enough to get you thinking. A goddamn gun, twisted like taffy. Special price, just for you—twenty bucks. A welcome gift for the new girl, and a little something to build a beautiful friendship."

***

Louis Lane peered through a magnifying glass at the small photograph Leo Bernzy had sent free to the Daily Planet, struggling not to laugh.

“Good Lord. Welcome to Metropolis, Miss Kent.”

“What do you think? I believe we might be onto something serious here…”

“Are you joking, Kent? You’ve just met the great schlepper Leo Bernzy—the best photographer in the city and also a first-class swindler, a born vagabond despite the fact that everyone admires him and bought his book. This is nonsense. That gun was put through a press or some kind of machinery to play a prank on us, to make us believe something that isn’t real.”

Clara huffed, knowing full well that she herself had bent the gun in the blink of an eye with her superhuman strength. “Well, he seemed sincere.”

“Oh, he’s sincere, all right. And he’s also a master of pulling legs. And an artist. And a man with deals on both sides of the law—the police and the mafia. For all we know, someone put him up to this, spreading the photo to stir up fear or send the city into a frenzy. He saw you as a rookie and went in for the bite. If you see him again, tell him he’s a momzer.”

“And you don’t think there might be something behind all this, Major Lane? The rumors are piling up.”

“Miss Kent, there is no ‘fast-moving shadow’ putting out fires or stopping runaway cars. There is no woman dressed like a pilot, wearing aviator goggles, arresting criminals and bending metal guns. It’s end-of-war madness. People are exhausted, ecstatic. They’re pulling your leg, Miss Kent. At best, they don’t even know what they’re seeing.”

“Then let me write a piece on that—covering it as rumors and hysteria, a chronicle of the city’s nerves…”

Louis regarded her for a long moment, then allowed himself a small smile. “It's a nice idea. Human interest. Kind of like what you wrote during the war that Perry liked so much. Let's see if the rumor picks up steam. Cat would have our heads if we published that people believe there's a mysterious figure moving at super speed, even if it's just to make fun of them.”

Clara couldn’t quite hide her frustration. “I understand.”

“Don’t get obsessed with this story, Kent. Keep pounding the pavement. They gave you a generous probation period—three months. You don’t need to bring me an exclusive just yet.”

***

Clara adjusted the aviator jacket—two sizes too big—along with the helmet and goggles. She was completely unrecognizable. She had found them at a clearance sale and thought they made for the perfect disguise, even though she moved at super-speed to ensure no one saw her. She still hadn’t decided when to reveal herself to the public in a deliberate, controlled way. The war was too recent. The bomb was too recent. She didn’t want to cause too great a disturbance—not yet. But sooner or later, she would.

Her Kryptonian suit was still there, carefully folded in the dresser of her new apartment. She had felt secure, resolute when she wore it—so why did she hesitate now? She wanted to wear it again, but the right moment never seemed to come. Soon, she kept telling herself. She had been telling herself that for a month now.

Soon, the rumors in Metropolis would spiral out of control, whether Major Lane wanted them to or not. And Clara wasn’t just operating in Metropolis. Though she moved like a shadow at super-speed, she was already acting across the world. It was only a matter of time before someone started piecing together the pattern behind these impossible, miraculous rescues. And that could lead to even greater fear and chaos. She needed to show her face—to let the world see her, to trust her.

Clara soared through the sky at great speed, then descended onto a deserted rooftop. That evening, she would patrol Metropolis. Then, the skies of the world. In Alaska, Kelex and the projections of her Kryptonian parents had trained her to sharpen her hearing to near-impossible extremes—and, just as importantly, to filter out the background noise. She had learned to listen only for cries for help, for distress signals. It was a Herculean task. Could she truly handle it?

Then she heard it—a cry for help. A child was falling. In less than a fraction of a second, she was there. Twelve floors above the street, the boy plummeted toward the pavement. Clara caught him in her arms just before he hit the ground, hovering in midair for a few seconds. The child’s eyes were wide as saucers. On the street below, people saw her. In broad daylight.

She moved fast. In the blink of an eye, she carried the boy to the safety of a rooftop corner. “How did you manage to fall?” she asked, her voice sharp with worry, the tone of a mother scolding a reckless child. “You nearly killed yourself! Do you realize you could have died?” The boy stammered something about reaching for a ball. Clara pressed her goggles tighter against her face. Below, her super-hearing picked up the excited shouts of a dozen curious onlookers. They had seen her. A woman flying through the air to save a child.

She exhaled. Then, in an instant, she vanished like a whirlwind.

*** 

The projector flickered, its final frames dissolved into white static on the small screen. The lights came on, revealing an elegant hotel room. Fifty, maybe sixty people sat in hastily arranged chairs.

At the back of the room, Clara stood frozen, gripping her handbag so tightly that she had nearly torn it apart in a fit of anger and shock. Half an hour ago, she had felt radiant. She had gone to the hairdresser to have her hair styled into an elegant bun, her makeup carefully applied—something she had never been good at. She had rented a navy-blue dress and a string of pearls, wanting to look her best. Now, her entire face was streaked with tears. Her makeup had run, her glasses were fogged over.

In the audience, many people looked disheveled, as if they had run their fingers through their own hair in distress. Some rose heavily from their seats, sighing. Others sat with their faces buried in their hands. At the front of the room, standing near the screen, Louis Lane remained motionless. Dressed in a black tuxedo, he did not look pleased, yet silently lit a cigarette. A few people attempted to applaud, but the gesture felt inappropriate. They hesitated, uncertain.

Clara stared at Louis, her gaze unyielding. He met her eyes, his expression weary and sorrowful, absently smoothing his mustache.

The small audience, mostly journalists close to Louis and a handful of well-known figures, slowly approached him, offering their congratulations with difficulty.

Clara had been invited the day before, after a heated argument with Louis about the credibility of witness accounts describing a flying woman saving a child. She had been excited to receive the invitation, despite knowing that the event was bound to be dark, heavy, suffocating.

Finally, she made her way toward Louis.

“Are you alright, Clara?”

“Yes… Excuse me, it was just… a little overwhelming.”

She felt foolish, but Louis smiled at her.

“I perfectly understand Clara, thank you very much for coming.”

“Thank you for inviting me, I’m very grateful.”

“I think it’s important that we all see these things.”

“Yes… Are all these yours?”

“The Dachau footage? Yes. The Nordhausen reels were shot by a friend of mine. I couldn’t visit any of the extermination camps in the East—I was not allowed due to…bureaucracy. But this… this gives us an idea of the scale.”

Clara lowered her gaze, murmuring a quiet thank you.

No one had the heart for the cocktail reception that was supposed to follow. She declined Louis’s offer to call her a taxi. She walked for a while, then, when she was certain she was alone, soared into the sky. Above the clouds, Clara curled into herself, floating weightlessly.

Tomorrow, she would wear the cape.

Tomorrow, she would reveal herself to the world.

She needed to act freely.

October 1, 1945

Metropolis, Afternoon

Clara stood uncertainly in front of the mirror, undoing her shirt again and opening it slowly, gazing with lingering disbelief at the red-and-gold crest of the House of El and the vivid blue tights beneath. Her fingers gently traced along her back, feeling the neatly folded red cape that lay inconspicuously flat under her shirt. Wearing the ceremonial Kryptonian garment beneath her everyday clothes felt oddly surreal. It wasn't uncomfortable; in fact, the fabric was remarkably pleasant against her skin, and surprisingly easy to conceal. But knowing that millions of people would soon recognize it made her dizzy.

To openly wield her abilities and justify their origin, she knew she had no choice but to wear it publicly. Despite her reservations, she admired the suit’s elegance, and deep inside she felt a profound sense of pride whenever her eyes caught the striking colors. Still, its boldness—its vivid hues, unique texture, and striking contours—sometimes made it feel extravagant, even scandalous, despite covering her fully. She had briefly considered layering a red skirt over it but quickly dismissed the idea. There simply wasn't a fabric strong enough that wouldn’t shred to pieces as soon as she took flight or moved at super-speed.

Last night and throughout the morning, she performed her heroics still secretly disguised in her aviator outfit. But now, the decision was irrevocable. Clara would step into the light, act freely without hiding, and strive to bring hope. Yet a nagging doubt lingered… Could she maintain her life as Clara Kent, or would someone inevitably recognize her?

The phone rang abruptly, jolting her from her thoughts. Her mother’s voice called cheerfully from Smallville, announcing she had adopted a puppy. Her mother had chosen to name it Krypto and hoped Clara would take the little dog back with her to Metropolis for company. Clara nervously agreed to everything, keeping silent about her recent decision.

With a deep breath, she gathered her belongings and headed back to the Daily Planet, her mind racing as she prepared to deliver an article proposal to Major Lane.

***

“Death, destruction, total chaos,” Louis Lane’s voice, simultaneously melodious and solemn, drifted distantly as he paced around the office. Clara hardly heard him; she was lost in her own thoughts, knowing that in just a few short minutes she would reveal herself to the world.

“Excuse me, Major Lane?”

“It was a joke, Smallville. Your article is actually very good. Wouldn't you prefer writing this kind of story rather than that fantastical tale about some flying woman dressed like a pilot?”

“Oh yes, absolutely… Ordinary people’s troubles. Honestly, I really want to write about this,” Clara responded earnestly.

Louis shrugged dismissively. "Meanwhile, they've got me going to a party on a damned, supposedly indestructible zeppelin - just another one of Lex Luthor's brilliant ideas - so I can report on how optimistic we should all be about the future of transportation and the end of the war. I'll be forced to spend hours drinking and chatting with terribly dull people, and Luthor himself won't even be there.”

“I understand.”

“You seem distracted.”

“I'm just very tired, Major Lane, I…”

“Go home. You've done enough for today. The article is decent, perfectly usable.”

Clara nodded distractedly, offering Louis a faint smile as she noted his white tuxedo.

“You look very elegant, Major.”

“I look like a bloody waiter. Haven’t worn one of these since Christmas of '41,” Louis grumbled.

Clara’s lips curled slightly into another faint smile, though her thoughts were clearly elsewhere.

“Go home, Miss Kent. I’ve never seen you look this exhausted.”

I’m not tired…

***

A couple of hours later, night had already begun to fall, and Clara Kent had yet to take flight with her cape. She was about to leave the Daily Planet, uncertain of where to go next. Meanwhile, high above Metropolis, the small helium-powered airship Gilded Swan, built by TELCORP, glided through the sky.

Inside the zeppelin, a young, cheerful man, accompanied by a product engineer, presented a model of the very machine they were traveling in to nearly a hundred guests.

"As you can see, thanks to the combination of helium and antidermis, along with the use of alternative metals and plastics, we've created an airship half the size and weight of the previous generation—far more resistant to electrical storms and, of course, much faster. The fusion of helium and antidermis not only eliminates the risk of fire but also allows for a gondola and cabins twice the size. The Gilded Swan and this new series of mini airships aren’t designed for long, treacherous journeys spanning days but rather as modern and efficient short-range transport. Being smaller and lighter makes launching and landing much easier—and quicker. If converted into a passenger cabin, this model could transport up to 300 seated individuals. It’s an alternative to trains and airplanes—faster, safer, even if it may seem cumbersome at first..."

Louis stifled a yawn. He was a vaguely snobbish yet well-educated man, born into a family of modest origins that had already clawed its way into high society. His father had even served as an auxiliary admiral. Yet, despite all that, he felt completely out of place at that gathering. It had been nearly four years since he had attended anything similar, and he still couldn’t believe people insisted on those damned zeppelins after the bloody Hindenburg.

The mayor—an insufferable man in Louis' opinion—applauded enthusiastically. He moved toward the panoramic windows of the gondola and pulled back the curtain. Lighting a cigarette, he recalled TELCORP’s cheeky advertisements: "On these airships, you can smoke!" Meanwhile, the shrill, relentless voice of Metropolis' most notorious reporter, Tess Harding, grated on his nerves.  The whole scene irritated him. The Daily Planet irritated him. Clara Kent and her wild tales about a flying woman irritated him—though he tried to be polite. The young woman was a talented writer, an excellent typist, and deserved a fair chance.

With a sigh of resignation, he leaned slightly out the window. The air was brisk at this altitude. Below, the skyscrapers of the city sprawled out, barely a few hundred meters from his reach.

"We're going to descend a little, carefully now—you'll get a stunning view of the city. We're also considering a prototype with a reinforced glass floor, though only for those without a fear of heights."

Polite laughter filled the zeppelin’s gondola.

Louis flicked his cigarette into the air. He had only been in the city for two months. Happy to reunite with his daughter—whose first four years of life he had mostly missed—as well as with his parents, siblings and old friends. Beyond that, he felt disconnected, out of place.

His pact with Pat remained intact—her coldness wounded him, but he repaid her in kind. Separate bedrooms. They only sat together to discuss their daughter. Louis didn’t miss the war. Maybe some of his fellow soldiers, but not the battles. He had done too many things he wasn’t proud of. And he had no intention of ever picking up a weapon again.

"Now we’re going to descend so you can enjoy an extraordinary view of the skyscrapers of our beautiful city."

Applause. The crowd surged toward the windows, and Louis positioned himself at the edge of the last viewing pane. The dirigible descended swiftly, yet gracefully, hovering just two or three hundred feet above the spires and domes of Metropolis’s tallest towers. Among them stood the towering Empire Estate, the elegant Crysler, the TELCORP tower, the twin-spired St. Cloud—whose sibling loomed in Gotham—and the stately American International.

Murmurs of admiration—though directed at a view all too familiar to the locals—filled the gondola. The publicist explained, in a voice both rehearsed and upbeat, that within two years, there would be a dedicated docking station for these small urban airships atop both the TELCORP and St. Cloud towers.

While the crowd marveled, Louis ducked behind a curtain to sneak a swig from his flask. Meanwhile, the airship crew—nervous from the trial run and thrown off by the ever-changing instructions of the publicists—initiated an ascent to avoid passing to close to the Crysler building but such ascent was far too abrupt. The lightness of the gases and the delicate materials of the zeppelin made ballast management deceptive. To make matters worse, the winds were stronger than forecast.

Without warning, as the airship rose, it suddenly tilted at a sharp angle. Nearly all the passengers tumbled across the floor, sliding among tables, chairs, and shattered champagne bottles, their screams of panic ricocheting off the walls. Louis instinctively grabbed the curtain, his heart clenching in terror. “NO, NO, NO—NOT ANOTHER HINDENBURG, FOR GOD’S SAKE.”

The dirigible jolted again, veering violently in an attempt to stabilize. Had the swerve been any more forceful, dozens of passengers might have been hurled out the windows. But only one was. Clinging to the curtain, Louis was wrenched out through the glass, finding himself dangling from the very same drape—only now outside the gondola, suspended above the vast cityscape nearly fifteen hundred feet in the air.

***

Few pedestrians paid much attention to the dirigible overhead, and even fewer noticed the two violent lurches it made within the span of ten seconds. A few pointed skyward, sensing something was off. But it was the chorus of cries for help that reached the ears of a woman capable of hearing from many, many miles away.

Clara Kent was walking down a quiet side street. She’d stayed late at the Daily Planet, hoping to get ahead on tomorrow’s work so Louis would find everything prepared, and to make another effort—albeit mostly fruitless—to connect with her colleagues. The only one she’d managed any real rapport with was the young photographer Jimmy Olsen, who seemed as out of place in the chaotic, abrasive newsroom as she was.

Now, Clara was slowly making her way home, waiting for the moment—any excuse, any flicker of urgency—that would finally let her shed her clothes and soar, cape unfurled, with that peculiar indifference that sometimes grips the heart just before a great leap.

But the cries—dozens of them—and the groaning metal of the zeppelin shattered her stillness. Her heart seized. She straightened sharply, instinct taking over. Spinning on her heels, she looked skyward, eyes narrowing. With her telescopic vision, she saw the airship tilting, rocking now with less violence, its gondola full of partygoers tumbling about in formal wear...

And then her breath caught. Her heart dropped.

There, clinging to a curtain billowing out into empty air, was a figure she knew too well. A face she would never mistake.

“Louis! Oh my God!”

Clara gritted her teeth, resolve flashing through her. Without hesitation, she sprinted into the nearest alley.

***

Louis didn’t last more than thirty or forty seconds. They felt both eternal and fleeting.

At first, there was a strange calm, and with it, the quiet certainty that he was going to die. A gentle, fatalistic voice within him whispered that he should let go, that he should surrender to the fall. But then, the nearness of death became unbearable—too real, too close. A blurry image of his daughter flashed in his mind, and something inside him rebelled.

With a desperate surge of will, he clung tightly to the curtain, now tearing in the wind. Just beside him hung one of the dirigible’s many support ropes. It looked thicker, sturdier than the fragile fabric beneath his fingers. Instinctively, he believed he could climb it—if he could just hold on, if he could just try.

He reached for it with defiance. He didn’t dare let go of the curtain. Inch by inch, he brought the rope closer and finally managed to grip it with both hands. For a fleeting moment, there was hope. Then he looked up. He followed the line of the rope with his eyes, saw where it anchored, and understood: there was no way to climb back toward the windows. Not now. Not from here.

But once again, disbelief overrode reason. And then—the rope gave.

Louis plunged into the void.

A sudden, shattering awareness of what was happening, the cold, the wind, and a clumsy attempt by his brain to begin a prayer blurred his senses as he dropped, heavy as a stone and vertical, into the open air.

***

No human eye could have seen it clearly—the shadow of a well-dressed woman, wearing a beige office suit beneath an autumn coat and hat, her face half-hidden behind thick, round glasses, slipping hastily into an alley. Nor could they have seen how that shadow blurred, how it shifted color, transforming into a brilliant streak of red and blue as clothes, glasses, shoes, and stockings flew off in every direction.

Then the red-and-blue blur shot into the sky like a meteor.

A few bystanders, who had just gasped in horror as they watched a man fall from the dirigible, let out a deeper, more breathless sound as they glimpsed that strange, radiant shadow tearing through the heavens.

*** 

The fall lasted ten seconds.

A fleeting jolt of pain pierced Louis as he plummeted. He didn’t see his life flash before his eyes. Instead, he thought of his daughter. Of his younger brother, with whom he didn’t talk to often enough. His mind scrambled for the words of the Lord’s Prayer,  but stalled at the first line. He saw nothing around him, the wind and the velocity turned everything into shadowy streaks, blinding him, battering his senses.

And then… something changed.

It was as if the fall slowed. As if something—someone—had wrapped around him. Firm, yet gentle arms caught him, held him. The descent shifted, no longer vertical but gliding, diagonal, as though he were being cradled by the air itself. A luminous red-and-blue shadow enveloped him, shielding him from the night.

"Death," his mind concluded.

But the motion stopped. He was no longer falling. He was floating—suspended nearly three hundred feet above the ground. The shapes of buildings restored around him. The deafening rush gave way to the sound of fabric rippling like torn silk. The blur resolved into a floating red cape, a sculpted blue form, and the strong, steady arms of someone holding him.

His mind still lagged behind. Was he dead? Louis turned his head, instinctively—and saw her.

A face unreal in its kindness. Striking blue or turquoise eyes. Tousled, dark curls. The soft, fierce features of a woman who did not seem possible.

"I’ve got you. Don’t worry, sir. You’re safe."

Her voice was clear, sweet, commanding—almost regal.

Louis, still dazed, still convinced this might be the afterlife, choked out a question.

"What the hell is going on? Who’s holding you?"

She smiled. And kept floating with him, descending gently through the night.

"Please calm down, sir. I’m grounding you now. Everything is under control."

Clara’s chest brimmed with relief, with joy. Louis was alive. His eyes were wide, stunned, but it wasn’t fear she saw—it was something like wonder, disorientation, and overwhelming disbelief.

Below them, a wave of gasps and cries pointed skyward.

Clara touched down carefully on the sidewalk, surrounded by a frozen, half-hysterical crowd. She helped Louis to his feet—he was barely reacting, still in shock. With a quick pass of her X-ray vision, she scanned him for fractures. Nothing broken.

Louis seemed to finally register that he was alive. On solid ground. A crowd was gathering fast.

He looked at her and croaked:

“Who... who are you?”

“You didn’t recognize me! What a relief!”

Clara smiled, ignoring the shouts and flashes of curious onlookers.

“A friend.”

Then, with a graceful nod, she turned and soared skyward once more. The crowd erupted into cries of awe and disbelief as she vanished into the night, transformed again into that blazing blur of red and blue.

And Louis, trembling, reached into his jacket in search of his flask.

The liberation was absolute, exhilarating. The feeling of freedom—of being able to show herself to the world at last, to act without concealment, to smile and greet the very people she helped—was like shedding a weight that had pressed upon her for years. During what was, for Metropolis, a single night—but for her, a sequence of night and day across the globe—hundreds, perhaps thousands of people responded with a strange blend of astonishment, wonder, joy, and disbelief to the sight of a flying woman in a strange costume and crimson cape. A woman who arrested criminals, prevented accidents, untangled bizarre dilemmas, and shielded the weak.

Telegraphs chattered, telephones rang off the hook, and radios buzzed with conflicting reports. People abandoned their suppers, their evening shifts, their quiet routines, to peer out of windows or gaze skyward, searching for a glimpse of that mysterious figure soaring above. There would be many nights like that one.

The flying woman in the red cape delivered thieves to precinct doors, extinguished fires, pulled ships from storms, warmed the freezing, carried the injured to hospitals. To all, she gave the same radiant smile—no longer tinged with melancholy. And when asked who she was, she declined to say.

In the vast of the night, as a meeting of utmost urgency convened within the White House, the mysterious woman appeared seemingly out of thin air. With impeccable manners, she requested a brief audience with the President. The conversation lasted no more than twenty minutes, but it left Harry S. Truman somewhere between dazed and reassured.

Millions were roused from sleep or gripped by sudden alarm as reports spread—warped, distorted, amplified—by the slow-moving machinery of communication. Many refused to believe it: A woman? Flying? Impossible.

But within hours, or days at most, they accepted it. Not without confusion. Not without questions. But they accepted it.

*** 

Clara scooped up the frightened cat with a soft smile, cradling it gently in her arms as she floated down to the ground. There, she handed it to the little girl, who looked up at her beaming, her school lunch bag swinging excitedly at her side.

How do you fly?” the girl asked, eyes wide with wonder.

“It’s... complicated,” Clara said, chuckling softly. “But it took me a long time to learn.”

“Why do you wear those clothes?”

“Do you like them?”

“The cape is wonderful. You look like a princess.”

“It’s from my planet,” Clara replied, with a playful twinkle in her eye.

“You’re from another planet?”

October 2, 1945

Metropolis, Morning.

Clara landed dressed in her Kryptonian supersuit behind a stack of beams at a construction site near the Daily Planet. A second later, she emerged dressed as Clara Kent. She smoothed out her skirt, adjusted her hat. It felt strange to wear her Kryptonian suit underneath, but it was comfortable—like slipping into a snug silk pajama beneath her everyday clothes. She patted her back several times, still incredulous that the cape didn’t create a noticeable bulge. She had an irrational fear that, somehow, her red cape would peek through, revealing itself to the world. But no—it fit tightly, and her daily attire concealed it perfectly.

It was only the second day of her life wearing the cape.

She glanced around. No one had noticed her. People hurried past, engrossed in their newspapers, chattering excitedly, or moving with urgent purpose. The construction workers had gathered inside a large tent, listening to the radio, which was breathlessly reporting on sightings of the mysterious flying woman. American-occupied Korea. Brazil. Seventeen states across the U.S. Belgium. Spain. Ethiopia. The open seas of two different oceans. All within the last twelve hours.

All true, Clara thought nervously.

With her super-hearing, she could catch hundreds of conversations at once. The world was stunned—but enchanted. There was tension, nervous excitement, countless questions—but, above all, there was wonder. The voices of awe and joy outweighed those of fear or alarm.

She bought five or six newspapers, her hands trembling slightly. The Daily Planet’s headline read: "CAPED WONDER STUNS CITY". It was the same title from last night’s special edition, though the subtitle, accompanied by a blurry photograph, now added: "SIGHTINGS AROUND THE WORLD IN THE LAST HOURS—FLYING WOMAN PERFORMS INCREDIBLE RESCUES AND STOPS CRIMINALS". "Caped Wonder." She liked the sound of that. Still, she planned to publicly announce her Kryptonian name: Kala-El. The Metropolis Times had chosen a different name: "SUPERWOMAN". That one unsettled her a little more. Their cover featured a profile shot of her mid-flight, her face nearly blurred beyond recognition. Another newspaper called her: "MIRACLE WOMAN."

Clara sat down at a café, tuning in to dozens of nearby conversations with her super-hearing while scribbling a thousand-word article about Metropolis’ reaction to the events. The piece would read as if Clara Kent had spent the night interviewing citizens on the streets, not soaring across the world. It felt slightly dishonest—disrespectful, even. But she needed the job. She needed an explanation for why she had been unreachable until ten in the morning. A father and his small children gushed excitedly about her, as if a comic book had come to life. A solemn-looking couple debated whether she was a war machine or some kind of demonic trick. A young officer passionately argued with the bartender, convinced that the flying woman was the result of an atomic experiment gone wrong.

Clara smiled to herself, timidly. "Most of them aren’t afraid of me. They’re not terrified. They… they like me. Or at least, they like what I do. I just hope they never come to fear me”. She paid for her coffee and hurried off to the Daily Planet, skipping lightly with a quiet joy—though she had to focus hard on not floating off the ground, something that had happened far too often in moments of happiness lately.

Stopping before the newspaper’s towering headquarters, she took a deep breath.

"Here we go."

The newsroom was a frenzy of voices, movement, and barely controlled chaos. People rushed back and forth, shouting for testimonies, demanding photos. Artists sketched; editors pored over maps. In the center of the main newsroom, a massive world map had been pinned up. George Taylor and a group of journalists were busy sticking bright red flags onto every location that had reported a sighting of the flying woman. And in the middle of the storm, lounging with an air of studied nonchalance, sat Cat Grant—wearing sunglasses, sipping a glass of whiskey, and seemingly paying attention to nothing at all.

Jimmy Olsen, a new intern photographer, nearly collided with her.

“Miss Kent! Where have you been? Mr. Lane has been looking for you everywhere!”

“Oh, Jimmy! How are you? Crazy, right? Can you believe it?” Clara waved the freshly scribbled pages of her notes. “I’ve been working. The city is absolutely excited.”

“Come with me to see Mr. Lane. Yes! It looks like she’s the real deal! We’ve recorded up to sixty sightings worldwide—ten of them right here in Metropolis. And still, not a single clear photo of her face! She’s too fast! People say she’s beautiful, that she’s like an angel. Most think she has something to do with the atomic bomb. Can you believe that? The government hasn’t said a word! Did you know the FBI detained Mr. Lane for four hours? They wanted to know exactly what he had seen! Have you read it? He’s lucky to be alive!”

Clara hadn’t yet read Louis’ article. In truth, she hadn’t even thought about him since she had set him safely on the ground after saving his life. How would he be?

She followed Jimmy toward the office she shared with Louis while the young photographer chattered on nervously.

“I’m going to grab my camera and stay awake for the next 24 hours. She’s bound to show up in Metropolis again, and I have to capture her. Can you imagine, Miss Kent? What it would mean to get that shot?”

Clara responded with a small smile, adjusting her glasses. Sooner or later, full, clear photos of her face would be plastered across the world. Would anyone recognize Clara Kent in Superwoman?

They stepped into the office. Louis Lane was still wearing the white tuxedo from the night before when she had rescued him—only now, the jacket was unbuttoned, his shirt unkempt. He looked utterly exhausted, deeply troubled. And, of course, he had a drink in hand. He glanced at them with weary eyes.

“Major Lane! How are you? I just heard! Are you all right?”

“Where the hell were you, Kent? Never mind… Congratulations. You were right.”

Louis said it almost begrudgingly.

“I was doing my job, sir. I spent the night and morning all over the city, interviewing people. I think I’ve got a solid article.”

Louis took her notes and read them in silence, his expression dark. “It’s very good, Miss Kent. Very good. I think it captures the mood of the city well. Take it to George Taylor—tell him I think it should go in the midday edition. Title it ‘Metropolis Faces the Unthinkable: How the City Responds to the Emergence of the Caped Wonder’.”

He buried his face in his hands.

"Well, I saved his life, and thanks to me, he’s got an exclusive story. He was the first person I publicly rescued, and yet… He looks absolutely defeated. What a strange man," Clara thought.

“Are you leaving the paper?” Louis suddenly asked, straight to the point.

“Oh? Why would I? Mr. Lane, first of all, I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’re safe…”

“We just cost you a massive exclusive. You were the only one at the Planet who took those early rumors seriously—stories of a woman dressed like a pilot, rescuing people and catching criminals. And you wanted to write about it.”

“Well, it’s fine. No newspaper in the world would have published that story back then. Besides…” Clara grinned playfully. “She doesn’t seem to dress like a pilot anymore.”

Louis let out the faintest of smiles. “Well, your trial period is over. You’re officially hired as an assistant reporter. I’ll try to get your piece on her first rescues published in the Sunday edition.”

“Thank you so much, Major Lane! Was that what you were worried about?” Clara asked gently.

Louis frowned. “Don’t be childish. Aren’t you worried? Don’t you think this is a radical, absolute upheaval? A flying woman with super strength, appearing all over the world? There are even rumors she can shoot fire or beams from her eyes.”

"Oh, I can do a few more things than that," Clara thought with amusement.

Then, putting on her most convincingly naïve voice, she sighed.

“Of course I’m worried. I mean… Who is she? Where did she come from? She’s incredible… You saw her, didn’t you? What was she like?”

Louis made a strange face.

“She’s… I don’t know how to put it. She wasn’t human. It all happened so fast. She seemed calm, composed—heroic, even divine—but not human. She was like a statue come to life. I don’t entirely understand what she was wearing… a red cape, some kind of emblem—a stylized ‘S’? Why an ‘S’? And the worst part… I didn’t notice it myself, but people say she wears some kind of briefs over her tights—like a circus performer. It’s odd. Even scandalous. But those details don’t matter. What matters is… She wasn’t human, Miss Kent. She was something else. She saved my life, and so far, she only seems interested in rescuing people, helping them… But only God knows what comes next.”

Clara bit her lip, slightly disappointed, as she sat down to type her article.

Louis kept talking. “Almost everyone thinks she’s connected to the atomic bomb. A government experiment or something of the sort. It makes sense. The bomb drops, and a month later—this. God, I hope she’s a robot. If she is, then sure, her costume is a bizarre choice, but whatever—a robot. That would be simple. That would be fine. But if she’s an alien? Or worse, if she claims to be some self-proclaimed angel or goddess… Imagine if she says she’s here to bring Judgment Day. Or that she’s Athena, come down from Olympus.”

Clara adopted a deliberately somber expression. “What would be so bad if she weren’t a robot? Or if she were an alien?”

“For God’s sake, you must be exhausted. I haven’t slept either, Miss Kent, but think. What are we supposed to do with someone that powerful?”

“Maybe… Maybe she just wants to help.”

“That’s not the point.”

Louis sighed again, deeper this time. “I should have grabbed onto her leg or her cape—something—and demanded she tell me who the hell she was. But all she said was… ‘a friend.’ A friend. What kind of bloody answer is that? Disastrous. I was too shaken.”

“You’ll have more chances, Major Lane,” Clara said with a small, knowing smile.

A knock at the door—then, without waiting for a response, several people burst into the room. Perry Weiss, the newspaper’s director. George Taylor, the editor-in-chief. Hank Ibsen, the best portrait artist in the city. And, leaning casually against the doorframe, Steve Lombard—the paper’s most popular sports reporter, and someone Clara found deeply unpleasant.

Only Weiss greeted her. “Well, well, Miss Kent! Quite the morning, huh? Have you ever seen anything like the madness in this newsroom?”

Louis gestured toward her with uncharacteristic deference. “Miss Kent spent the entire night and morning pounding the pavement. She’s put together a solid article on the city’s reaction—it’s going into the midday edition.”

“Yes, yes, very good, whatever,” Weiss waved dismissively. Then he turned to Louis.

“Lane, we need you to put some real effort into this. Give us a thorough, detailed description of the woman. We’ve brought some of the blurry photos people managed to take. We want a proper portrait of her for the back page of the midday edition. Ibsen here is the best portrait artist in this damned city.”

Louis sighed, resigned. Ibsen sat down between Clara’s desk and Louis’, pulling out his sketching materials while Taylor tossed the grainy photos in front of an exhausted and thoroughly annoyed Louis.

“Come on, Lane,” Taylor urged. “Just get through this, then go home. Your wife and daughter will want to see you.”

Lombard smirked from his perch at the doorway, clearly amused by the scene. Then, turning to Clara, he drawled in a mocking tone: “Clarybelle… Wild stuff, huh? A flying woman. I really hope she’s a robot. Because if she’s not… Well, then we’re screwed. You ladies will start demanding pay raises next.”

Clara forced a smile, thin and sharp as a blade.

Lombard grinned wider. “Come on, Clarybelle—place a bet. We’re all doing it. What do you think she is? Robot? A real woman, a product of atomic experimentation? Alien? Fairy? Angel? Ancient goddess? Divine messenger?”

Clara’s voice was dry as dust, “I’ll bet on fairy, thanks.”

Meanwhile, Louis was laboriously describing the flying woman to Ibsen, “Yes, like Gene Tierney, but with a stronger jaw and larger eyes. No—Hedy Lamarr’s face is too long. Something in between. Give her thicker eyebrows. Not plucked, but not too bushy—just natural-looking. And her eyes—piercing turquoise. I don’t know if they were blue or green, but they were… striking. And the expression… more like a statue. Divine. Her hair—thick, jet black, a little wild. Almost curly.”

Ibsen worked quickly. A few minutes later, he lifted the finished portrait for everyone to see.

Clara’s face burned. It was her.

Exactly as she had seen herself in the mirror that morning dressed in her Kryptonian supersuit.

Everyone nodded in agreement - except Louis and Clara. Then, suddenly, Taylor's usually gentle face took on a strange expression. He stared at the drawing, then turned sharply to Clara.

“Ibsen… You’ve basically drawn Miss Kent with messy hair and no glasses.”

A pause.

Then—laughter. Loud and raucous. Everyone laughed. Everyone but Clara, whose face was now the color of a ripe tomato.

Louis, mercifully, stepped in, “Ibsen—no. That’s not right. Make her less human. Less… normal. That face is too warm, too familiar. She—or it—was regal. Composed. Divine. But not human. Not friendly. Think… I don’t know… Alma-Tadema, something decadent, something distant.”

Ibsen huffed but adjusted the sketch. He held up the revised portrait. Clara no longer recognized herself.

“That’s it,” Louis said at last, sounding utterly exhausted. “It’s close. Still… something’s missing. I don’t know what. But it was something like that.”

“Perfect, thank you, Louis. Goodbye, Miss Kent.” Weiss said quickly before vanishing into the chaos.

“The story of the year,” Clara murmured hesitantly.

“The damn story of our lives,” Louis replied, thoroughly exasperated.

Clara glanced at him sideways. Great. Just my luck—I get stuck with Louis, the Grand Master of Skepticism. She sighed in frustration and finished typing up her article.

“Let’s take it to George,” Louis muttered, rubbing his temples. “He might suggest some changes… Now that I think about it, the tone might be too optimistic. A little too cheerful. Then again, no need to scare people. There’s probably plenty of time for that.”

Idiot. Clara bit her tongue to keep from rolling her eyes.

The two of them walked toward the newsroom as Louis shrugged his jacket back on. Taylor reviewed the article and gave it an immediate nod of approval without further comment.

The newsroom was a whirlwind of movement, voices clashing in the frenzy of breaking news. Perry Weiss, short but commanding, dashed from desk to desk, barking out chaotic orders. Cat Grant was nowhere to be seen—until suddenly, she reappeared, her ever-present sunglasses and whiskey glass in hand.

Clara wasn’t particularly fond of Cat—she found her brash, arrogant—but she also had to admit the woman was brave, a gifted writer, and still men found her strikingly attractive, her resemblance to Barbara Stanwyck only adding to her undeniable presence.

Without preamble, Cat leaped onto a chair in the center of the room and, without clearing her throat or greeting anyone, bellowed: “I just got off the phone with Senator Taft. The White House is releasing a statement in one hour, but we need to start working on it now.”

The newsroom fell silent.

“The flying woman met with the President last night.”

A wave of murmurs, gasps, and even a few stunned whimpers spread through the room like a shockwave.

Louis looked like he’d been punched in the gut.

“She’s an alien,” Cat continued, her voice sharp and theatrical, milking every ounce of drama. “From another planet.”

Clara barely heard the words over the rush of blood in her ears.

"I forgot!"

So much had happened in the last few hours that she had barely thought about her brief meeting with the President at the White House in the dead of night, reassuring him, calming his fears. She hadn’t wanted to hold a press conference. She still didn’t know what to say. She wanted to stay anonymous. Maybe she should reveal her Kryptonian name—but even that felt too intimate, too personal.

“She comes in peace,” Cat continued, her voice cutting through the newsroom. “She claims to be an American citizen, raised here since childhood. She just wants to help. She’s offering her service to the government and the United Nations. The President will stand beside her at six o’clock this evening to give further details. They don’t think she’ll speak.”

Perry Weiss took over, his voice booming over the noise. “You know the drill—every man for himself! Call everyone—scientists, politicians, philosophers, cops. Hit the streets. Grab your cameras. If anyone wants to go to Washington, they can—but on their own dime. We’re chartering a small plane, but management decides who gets a seat.”

Cat sauntered over to them, her sharp gaze landing on Louis. “Louis, darling, you were the first to see her last night. If you want a seat, you’ve got one. We leave in an hour. It’s me, Mailer, probably Perry. I’m trying to convince that diva Leon Bernzy to come as our photographer—I want real photos of the press conference. Dark, raw, natural. But you know how expensive he is…”

Louis sighed and shrugged.

“The first person to hear about her was Clara Kent,” he said flatly. “Apparently, this woman was performing small civic actions while disguised as a pilot these past few weeks. It was an open secret among the police. I refused to publish her article.”

Cat turned to Clara with a mixture of arrogance and reluctant admiration. “I don’t blame you, Louis. Miss Kent, congratulations on your instincts, but let’s be real—no one would have believed it back then. You’re too young, too green to come to Washington this time, but I’ll be keeping my eye on you. Welcome aboard.”

Clara suppressed a small, proud smile. “Well, I’ll be in Washington anyway,” she said to herself.

Louis turned to her, raising an eyebrow. “Clara, I’m going to church. Then I’m going home to my wife and daughter—I haven’t seen them in almost 24 hours. We’ll talk tomorrow. If you want to walk around Metropolis tonight and report on how people react to the alien’s press conference, fine. I don’t want you stuck in that kind of journalism forever, but for today, it’s the most useful thing you can do.”

Clara nodded, though her super-hearing had already picked up something urgent. She was needed again. Superwoman had work to do.

“Of course, Mr. Lane. I’ll head out now, get some rest, and start right away.”

“Do whatever you want,” Louis muttered, already making his way out the door.

The newsroom roared with frantic energy. No one noticed Clara quietly slipping into her office.

In a fraction of a second, she shrugged off her jacket, unbuttoned her shirt, pulled out the pins in her bun, and placed her glasses carefully in the desk drawer. The red cape, folded neatly beneath her clothes, unfurled as she kicked off her skirt and stockings, revealing the unmistakable blue and red of her Kryptonian suit.

She took half a second to glance in the mirror.

She felt strong.

She felt ready.

"Here we go… Up, up, and away!”

A red and blue blur streaked across the sky, weaving between the skyscrapers of Metropolis.

Hundreds—maybe thousands—of people pointed, gasped, and cheered as they watched the impossible come to life before their very eyes.

***

Superwoman soared at full speed over the Metropolis skyline, fresh from battling floods in Anglo-Egyptian Sudan. She had spent the night and most of the morning there—redirecting torrents of water, pulling people from drowning currents, constructing dikes at super-speed. The only break she had taken was a brief stop at the Daily Planet, just long enough to be seen as Clara Kent.

She entered the building unseen, a red-and-blue blur vanishing into an empty corridor, and, in the stairwell, she changed back into Clara Kent. For the first time in nearly two weeks, she felt a flicker of exhaustion. Two incredibly intense weeks. The most intense of her life. And yet, she was happy. Energized. Eager to keep helping.

Still, the sheer attention she was generating made her uncomfortable. Since her first public appearance, she had become the single most talked-about subject in newspapers, on the radio, in casual conversation—even in diplomatic relations. Just that morning, the Soviet Union had issued a scathing statement, demanding that their supposed ally, the United States, clarify whether the so-called “Superwoman” was truly an extraterrestrial or some elaborate propaganda campaign for a military android. Most people, however, were in awe.

And that made her happy. She loved helping them, using her powers openly, flying—it was freedom. The moment she transformed from Clara Kent into Superwoman was liberating. When she unfurled her cape and took to the skies, she felt filled with hope, with purpose, with an unshakable determination to work for others.

Despite her doubts. Despite the cruel voices of a handful of detractors. Despite the memory of her father. Even with all of that… she was happy.

Her mother, Martha, was ecstatic. She had been buying every newspaper and magazine that made it to Smallville, clipping and saving every mention of her daughter, despite Clara’s repeated pleas for discretion. Martha had framed the best photos of Superwoman, images of a face now recognized around the entire world. Clara just had asked her to keep them stored away in case of visitors. The Daily Planet’s Sunday edition from the first week after her debut had been Martha’s pride and joy. The front page featured a stunning full-color photograph by Leo Bernzy—Superwoman levitating above a stunned crowd. The headline read:

"YOU’LL BELIEVE A WOMAN CAN FLY."

Inside, among countless articles, was a piece Clara herself had written weeks ago—back when she was just following rumors of a flying woman dressed as a pilot. The very article Louis had dismissed as nonsense. Now, it was republished with a preface acknowledging that the so-called pilot had, in fact, been Superwoman, acting in secret.

But Clara had decided she would never write about Superwoman again. It felt dishonest. There were far more important stories to tell—about Metropolis, about the world. And besides, her father, Joe, would never have approved of her using her own heroism to advance her career at the Daily Planet. She had the job now. She had to be honest. Responsible.

She was beginning to feel the first signs of real fatigue, and she was worried about how much scrutiny she was under. The fact that the public had settled on Superwoman as her name, out of all the possible monikers, unsettled her.

And yet… these were happy days. Clara believed—truly believed—that what she was doing mattered. Crime in Metropolis had plummeted. No one wanted to face a flying woman in whom bullets simply bounced off. In cities across the U.S.—even beyond the U.S.—criminals were growing wary, knowing that the Woman of Steel could show up at any moment. But the further from Metropolis, the better their chances of acting before she could arrive. She couldn’t be everywhere.

And then there were the refugees. The world was full of them. Millions upon millions. Displaced by war. Homeless. Wandering. Suffering in the cold, in the heat. The victors. The defeated. As Superwoman, Clara had seen the camps. And she had begun to feel the crushing weight of the fact that, during the war, she had done nothing. Not because she didn’t want to. But because she didn’t know how. Most of her time now was spent protecting refugees, delivering humanitarian aid—hauling tons of food, blankets, and medicine across continents. But none of it weighed as heavily on her as the guilt of having waited.

She had heard the whispers—both with her super-hearing and without it.

"Why didn’t she appear sooner?"

"Why didn’t she stop it?"

"Why didn’t she help then?"

And they were right. It was the shadow that crossed her heart.

Sighing, Clara Kent stepped into her office and, at super-speed, typed up the translations Louis had requested. Louis hardly spent time at the office. She barely saw him. He gave her free rein to chase stories across the city, completely unaware that, in reality, she was taking flight—racing to help those in need. Occasionally, Major Lane would assign her tedious administrative work—filing reports, translating articles—blissfully ignorant that she could finish in minutes, sometimes seconds, and spend the rest of the day on her true mission.

Like everyone else, Louis was growing increasingly fixated on Superwoman. But unlike many of his colleagues, he hadn’t thrown himself off a building window just to force a rescue and try securing an exclusive interview. He seemed to respect her more as a journalist these days—though, at times, Clara got the distinct impression that he found her… dull. He rarely invited her along to investigations or meetings, and when he did, it felt like an afterthought. But she played the fool, insisted on tagging along. Other times, Louis was incredibly considerate, even charming. It all depended on the day. At times, Clara found him infuriating. At others, oddly pleasant.

“Smallville, if you’re done with the translations, you can go. If you need me, I’ll be on the roof—I need some air.”

Louis leaned in through the doorway, his voice dismissive, and disappeared just as quickly as he had arrived.

Clara smirked to herself. Louis doesn’t work too hard sometimes…

He no longer carried a cane or wore his military uniform, though, technically, he was still enlisted. Then, suddenly, an idea struck her. She liked the way Louis wrote. He was a good interviewer—he had a way of making people feel at ease, making them talk more than they intended. He was a gentleman. And when he wanted to be, he was a relentless bulldog. A respected journalist. Her newspaper’s journalist. And, after all, he had been the first man she had ever saved publicly—without hiding her face, without vanishing at super-speed. They worked at the same paper. Maybe it was time. Maybe Superwoman should give an interview. Maybe the world deserved to know more about her. It was time to tell her story.

Clara pushed the thought away. No. Louis was arrogant. They argued too much. Tess Harding was the best interviewer in the world—if anyone should get the first exclusive, it should be her. Clara admired Tess, almost as much as she admired Miss Roosevelt. And yet, the thought lingered. She needed to start telling her story. And she liked Louis as a journalist. Sure, he was a snob. Arrogant at times. Dismissive. He seemed skeptical of Superwoman—though, in recent days, he had spoken of her almost admiringly. But he was a good writer. A gentleman. He had hired her. He respected her work, even if he found her presence annoying. He was a war hero.

And once again, Clara couldn’t resist her own impulses. In a swift spin, she became Superwoman. She shot out of the window at super-speed, a blur of red and blue streaking across the sky and landed gracefully atop the golden globe crowning the Daily Planet building.

Below her, Louis Lane—jacket off, sleeves rolled up—stood at the rooftop’s edge, cigarette in hand, staring absentmindedly at the city. It was one of the few things they had in common. Both of them had an uncanny ability to lose themselves in thought.

Louis was at her feet. She cleared her throat, adjusting her voice—neutral, aristocratic, commanding. She erased every trace of her Kansas accent.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Lane.”

Louis jolted as if struck by lightning. Whirling around too quickly, he slipped. Before he could hit the ground, Superwoman caught him effortlessly and lowered him gently onto the rooftop.

He lay there, wide-eyed, staring up at her in stunned silence. She hovered above him, her cape billowing in the wind.

“Superwoman…” He breathed, barely a whisper.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Lane?” Her voice was steady, calm—but warm, almost playful. “I apologize for startling you. That was never my intention. I saw you while flying past and recognized you from the other night. I hope you’re doing well—that was quite a fall…”

“Thank you… Thank you so much… You saved my life.”

“It was nothing. A small leap.” She gave him a polite, measured smile, “I hope you don’t find my greeting too forward. I didn’t know who you were when I rescued you. But I’ve read your work, and I’ve heard you on the radio. I simply wanted to introduce myself properly and make sure you were well.”

Louis still looked dazed, overwhelmed. Clara tried not to enjoy it too much.

Then, suddenly, he pulled himself up, regaining his composure. His voice, too, shifted—more controlled, more professional.

“Once again—thank you, Miss Superwoman. I’m honored.” He hesitated. “May I ask you a question?”

“I’d prefer not to be called Superwoman, Mr. Lane.” She folded her arms across her chest. “But of course. Go ahead.”

“My apologies,” Louis said smoothly. “How should I address you?”

She didn’t answer.

He continued, “I wanted to ask… Are you planning to hold a press conference soon? The world is full of questions. You barely said anything alongside the President.”

For a brief moment, Clara recalled her own hesitant words when she had stood beside President Truman, addressing the world for the first time.

"Hello, everyone. Thank you for your kind greetings and warm words. I only wish to say that, as the President has indicated, I was born on a distant planet that no longer exists. As a very young child, I was sent here, where I developed these abilities during my journey. I am an American citizen, raised in the United States of America. I only want to help and to use my abilities in service of all of you. I deeply appreciate your kindness and ask that you pray for me.”

She exhaled slowly and looked Louis straight in the eye while planting her hands on her hips. The wind sent her long red cape rippling behind her. “Mr. Lane,” she said, voice firm. “I’ve been told you’re the best interviewer on the East Coast.” She let the words hang in the air. “Perhaps,” she continued, “I could tell my story, explain my origins, my true name… in a private interview at another time.” She arched a brow. “What do you think?”

Clara smiled to herself. “All set for high adventure, excitement, and romance… as Superwoman!”