Clark and the Beanstalk - a Lois & Clark fairy tale

By Meredith Knight <meredith@putwet.demon.co.uk>

Rated: PG

Submitted: November 2002

This started as a bit of fluff for the fairy-tale  challenge, but it quickly turned into something more  serious.  Still, it was fun adapting the framework of Jack  and the Beanstalk for the Lois and Clark universe.  I hope  you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. <g>

I have many people to thank for help with this story: Missy  for hugely helpful brainstorming, Shayne for inventive  acronym suggestions, Jill for technical input on  osteoarthritis, and LabRat for being such an inspirational  BR.  And, of course, the faithful readers on the MBs for  chuckles and screams and useful criticism.

I understand Jack and the Beanstalk to be in the public  domain.  All rights in recognisable characters belong to DC  Comics, Warner Brothers, etc. - I just borrowed them for a  while.  No copyright infringement is intended.

====================

~ Clark and the Beanstalk ~

<<Once upon a time, a poor widow lived with her son Jack in  a little cottage.  Their only wealth consisted of a milking  cow.  When the cow got too old to produce milk, Jack's  mother sent him to the market to sell it.  On the way, he  met a stranger who offered him five magic beans in exchange  for the cow...>>

CHAPTER ONE: The Stranger

Clark sat in the old tree, next to the Fortress of  Solitude, looking out over the beloved land he called home  and listening to the peaceful sounds of the country.  It  was a warm day for so early in the spring, yet he sat  huddled with his arms around his knees, shivering slightly  from time to time.

This might be the last chance he would have to enjoy peace  and solitude.  After today, he would be permanently in the  public eye.  He didn't believe that his father's old  warning about being dissected like a frog was likely to  come true now that he was invulnerable, but he was under no  illusions about being able to retain any real privacy once  his secret was out.

But there was no other way.  A year ago, life had seemed  bright and full of wonderful possibilities, and he would  have thought of some clever scheme to recoup the family  fortunes, but now he couldn't even bring himself to care  very much.  It was time to stop struggling and accept his  dismal fate, for his parents' sake.

Suddenly, Clark became aware of an unfamiliar humming noise  beneath the tree, followed by the sound of someone clearing  his throat.  Clark frowned; surely he hadn't been so deep  in thought that a stranger could have approached unheard?   And what was a stranger doing on Kent land, anyway?  Yet it  didn't seem worth getting excited about.  Perhaps if Clark  stayed still and quiet, the man would go on his way without  even realising there was anyone in the tree.

"Mr Kent?" came a diffident voice.  Clark sighed silently  and reluctantly unfolded himself to slide through the  branches and land softly in front of the stranger.

The man was elderly, dressed in old-fashioned clothing  complete with bowler hat, and carrying a leather briefcase  and a furled umbrella - like something out of a Hollywood  historical movie, Clark thought uncharitably.  The  impression was reinforced when the stranger spoke.  "My  dear boy, I apologise for disturbing you, but it is  imperative that I speak with you at once," he said.

Clark's eyebrows rose.  "Who are you?" he asked bluntly.

"So sorry, so sorry, forgot to introduce myself!" the  little man burbled.  "I am Wells, Herbert Wells, a writer  and... a traveller, you might say, yes."  He seized Clark's  hand and pumped it fervently up and down.  "And you, of  course, are Clark Kent.  It is such a great pleasure to  meet you!  I always enjoy... but no need to speak of that,  perhaps."  He beamed fondly up at Clark, who hastily  retrieved his hand, wondering how best to get rid of this  odd little man.

Fortunately, perhaps, Wells didn't wait for a response.   "And now, dear boy, we must have a little chat!" he cried  enthusiastically.  He swept a glance around himself.  "I  shall sit upon that tree stump."  He stepped over to the  stump and placed the briefcase and umbrella neatly beside  it, then whisked a large silk handkerchief out of his  breast pocket, dusting the top of the stump fastidiously  before spreading the handkerchief over the mossy surface.   Finally, he planted his rear firmly on the impromptu seat,  took off his hat, and looked expectantly at Clark.

Clark shook himself out of the trance this remarkable  performance had induced.  "I don't know what you want to,  uh, 'chat' about," he began cautiously, and glanced down at  his watch, "but..."

"I know - you have an appointment with a reporter from the  National Whisper," Wells interrupted.  "However, you have  at least an hour before you need to... fly."

Clark's jaw dropped, and he slowly lifted his face to meet  Wells's eyes.  There was a shrewdness in the little man's  gaze that Clark hadn't noticed before.  "What...?  How...?"  Clark stammered.

Wells chuckled in a self-satisfied manner.  "Allow me to  tell you what I know about you," he suggested, "and perhaps  if I get it right you will be willing to heed the warning I  came to deliver.  Won't you sit down?"

Clark glanced at his surroundings.  There was no obvious  seat, and the grass would be damp at this hour.  For an  uneasy moment, he wondered whether the strange Englishman  knew that he was capable of sitting on thin air if he  chose, but he dismissed the pointless speculation and  contented himself with propping his broad shoulders against  the tree.  "So talk," he said.

"You are the adopted son of Jonathan and Martha Kent,"  Wells began pompously.  "Your parents claimed that you were  the illegitimate son of a young relative of theirs, but in  actual fact you were a foundling.  You were found not in  the traditional fashion, in a basket on someone's  doorstep," and he snickered at his own wit, "but in a  spacecraft in Schuster's Field."

Wells paused and looked at Clark as if expecting  congratulation.  Clark had turned rather pale and a muscle  was jumping in his jaw, but he met Wells's gaze squarely.   "Carry on," he said grimly.

Wells's face sobered at Clark's tone.  "Your early  childhood was normal," he continued in a more subdued  fashion, "but as you grew older you began to develop  unusual abilities.  Strength, speed, strange visual powers,  and finally the ability to fly.  You and your parents  elected to conceal these abilities from the world, for fear  of what would happen to you if they became known.  You went  to school like the average American child, and then  obtained a degree in journalism.  Your dearest wish was to  live an ordinary life with a respectable career as a  reporter and perhaps one day a wife and family of your own.   But shortly after you graduated, as you were embarking on  your travels around the world, your father suffered an  accident with... a threshing machine, I believe?"

Clark nodded curtly but didn't speak.

"He was crippled, and you were obliged to return to  Smallville to assist your mother with his care and that of  the farm.  Your abilities allowed you to hold down a job at  the Smallville Post as well as your other duties, until  early last summer, when you were stricken with a mysterious  malady."

Clark shifted uncomfortably, looking away into the  distance.  He had no idea what had caused his illness, but  he was still troubled by lingering psychological symptoms,  and it bothered him that this intrusive stranger seemed to  know all about it.  A minute passed in silence before Clark  realised that Wells himself appeared to be suffering from  an onslaught of some strong emotion, first blinking rapidly  and then fishing fruitlessly in his breast pocket before  realising that his handkerchief was already in use.

Wells sniffed apologetically and then resumed his tale with  a mournful air.  "You were in a comatose state for some  days, and after you regained consciousness, you suffered  from a deep depression which made it difficult to fulfil  your responsibilities."  The dry phrases sounded almost  like a quotation from an ancient history book.  "As a  result of that and..."  Wells waved a hand vaguely in the  air.  "... sundry other circumstances, the farm produced no  income last year, and your father's medical bills have put  your family deep into debt.  The banks have refused even to  lend you sufficient money to buy seed this year."

Clark had backed up against the tree, his arms folded  defensively across his chest, his legs braced as if  supporting an almost insupportable weight.  "I've heard  enough," he snapped.

"Let me finish, dear boy," Wells said gently.  "There *is*  a point to this story."  He paused, but Clark was silent.   "You have decided on a last desperate gamble.  You will  offer the story of your alien origins and remarkable powers  to the highest bidder among the tabloid newspapers and  sensationalist magazines.  You know that you will never  again lead an ordinary life, but you hope that your  sacrifice will bring enough money to keep your parents in  comfort for the rest of their days."

Clark's tortured gaze raked the horizon.  "There's no other  way," he muttered.

"I think you will agree that I have been sufficiently  accurate thus far," Wells said.  "Will you allow me to show  you what will transpire if you follow your intended course  of action?"

"How do you plan to do that?" Clark asked, frowning at him  in puzzlement.

Wells picked up his briefcase and opened it to extract a  thin tube-shaped object, which he held out to Clark.  Clark  stepped forward and took it.  It was a light roll of opaque  white plastic.  Clark unrolled it to discover a stiff  plastic sheet roughly the size of a tabloid newspaper, but  there were no markings on it anywhere.

"Book on," said Wells.  Clark gasped as the plastic  suddenly glowed and a Microsoft Windows emblem appeared.   "National Whisper one," Wells added, and the emblem  flickered and was replaced by the image of a newspaper  page.

Clark scanned it quickly.  It was the front page of the  National Whisper, dated two days from today.  "Super- Powered Alien Tells All!" screamed the banner headline,  above a picture of Clark looking acutely uncomfortable and  floating in midair.  The text of the article contained the  basic story that Clark was planning to tell, an account of  his Kryptonian origin and his powers with no information  about his real name, the identity of his adopted parents or  the whereabouts of his upbringing.  There was plenty of  juicy speculation about the missing facts, however.  Clark  sighed; he had expected no better.

"National Whisper two," Wells said.  The page dissolved  into another, dated a week from now.  This page told the  full story of his Earthly background - his name, his  parents' names, his high-school and university records, and  many other details.  There was a picture of the farm, taken  from the front gate, and another of his mother outside the  Smallville grocery store, one arm flung up to shield her  face.  Clark winced; he hoped to keep those details private  at least long enough to buy increased security for his  parents.

"Daily Planet one."  The display started to fade, then  broke up into crazy, whirling patterns of colour.  Clark  raised an eyebrow and tilted the device towards Wells, who  muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath.  "Dai- ly Pla-net One," Wells intoned, louder and slower than  before.  The device paid no attention, and Wells snatched  it with a snort and started poking and prodding it.

A minute later he handed it back to Clark, now displaying  the requested page.  Another front-page article, this time  from the Daily Planet and written in a respectable style -  by Linda King, Clark noted absently - told how the US  government had employed the Krypton Man, as he was being  styled, as a sort of glorified policeman cum emergency  worker.  Clark smiled grimly - that was about the best  outcome he was allowing himself to hope for.

"Magazine one."  A melange of gossip magazine clippings  appeared, most of which contained scurrilous rumours and  downright lies about Clark's childhood and adolescence,  many of them concentrating on the imagined sexual  peccadilloes of the Krypton Man.  The few remaining  clippings covered much the same ground, this time taking  Clark's parents as their subject.  Clark shrugged -  unpleasant as it might be, this sort of coverage was  inevitable - and looked disapprovingly at Wells.

"Daily Planet two."  Clark stiffened.  A page two article,  dated early next month, told how his father had died of a  stroke during an altercation with a tabloid photographer  who had sneaked into the farmhouse one evening.  "Daily  Planet three."  The Krypton Man had disappeared, as had his  mother.  "Daily Planet four."  The Krypton Man's body had  been discovered in a warehouse in Metropolis, surrounded by  mysterious green, glowing crystals.  His mother's body was  nearby.  Both had been tortured before their deaths, and a  note pinned to Martha Kent's chest proclaimed, "Thus die  all traitors to the Earth!"

Clark dropped the plastic device and turned away, sickened  to the heart.  There was just enough connection to the  truth for this fabrication to be plausible.  He had  recognised some of the names in the slanderous gossip  articles as distant acquaintances.  And Wayne Irig at the  neighbouring farm had dug up a weird green, glowing crystal  last summer, while Clark was still recuperating from his  illness.  Clark hadn't seen it for himself, but Wayne had  brought some to the farm to show Jonathan.  After he'd sent  a sample to a lab for analysis there had been a massive  environmental cleanup operation, and government officials  from something called Bureau 39 had confiscated all the  rocks they could find.  The fact that they had insisted on  digging up the entire farm had been a major reason for the  Kents' lack of income last year.  No compensation had yet  been paid out to anyone, either - the applications seemed  to have vanished into a sea of red tape.

Clark turned back to glare at the annoying little intruder.   "You're just making it up," he said flatly.  "You can't  possibly know what's going to happen."  To his shame, his  voice wobbled on the last word.  Could he even dare to take  the risk?

Wells smiled self-importantly.  "You will remember that I  described myself as a traveller," he said.  "I am in fact  not a traveller in the geographical sense, but a traveller  through time... and between universes."

Clark goggled at him for a moment, then his face darkened  and his fists clenched.  "You're a raving lunatic," he  snarled.  "Get off my land before I throw you off."

Wells hunched defensively.  "But, my dear Mr Kent," he  said, his voice rising to a squeak as Clark loomed over  him, "consider the facts at your disposal!  Where did I get  that e-book?  The technology for plastic sheet display  won't even exist for several years yet in this universe,  and as for the power supply..."

He had a point.  Clark drew back, his fists relaxing, and  pondered morosely while Wells rabbited on about the breakup  of the Microsoft Corporation and something called Utopia.   The device could scarcely have been a trick.  The little  man didn't seem capable of such an invention himself, and  if he were he would surely be off somewhere hawking it to a  technology company, not pestering innocent Kansas farmers.   His story seemed wildly unlikely... yet so was Clark's own.

"How come you know so much about me?" he asked abruptly,  cutting short Wells's peroration.  "I wouldn't tell  those... bottom-feeders everything you said."

"I've read the diary you keep in the Fortress of Solitude,  along with the sphere from Krypton," Wells replied,  pointing up at the tree.  Clark flinched.  "They were... or  will be... found after your death, and placed in the  Krypton Man museum."

Clark turned away again, raking his hands through his hair.   It was all too plausible to keep denying it any longer.   "Why are you telling me this?" he asked dully.  "What does  it matter to you if I and my family die tragically?"

"Super..." Wells began, then caught himself.  "You have the  potential to do tremendous good, Mr Kent.  I have been to  other universes, alternate realities where Clark Kent's  powers and, more importantly, his moral values have changed  the world for the better.  I hope, by dissuading you from  this course of action, to achieve the same for this  universe."

"So what are you telling me to do?  Let the bank foreclose  on the farm, and go... where?"

"Aha!"  Wells sounded triumphant, and Clark felt a glimmer  of hope.  "I have something to give you, which I trust will  help you to save the farm and may even..."  Wells's face  positively glowed with rosy enthusiasm.  "... bring you  your heart's desire!"

He opened his briefcase again and, with a flourish,  produced a sheet of paper and a piece of electronic  equipment.  Clark took them hesitantly and looked at the  diagram on the paper.  "Plans for a... a..."

"A Bergstrom-Andersson space-time allomorphic corridor,"  Wells recited happily.  "Yes, indeed!"

"A BEANSTALC?" Clark exclaimed incredulously.

Wells smirked.  "Just a little joke," he said, picking the  e-book up off the ground.  He rolled it up neatly and  restored it to his briefcase.  "It's an interdimensional  gateway.  It will take you to another world, one where your  powers are sorely needed."

Clark eyed him quizzically, unconvinced.  "Wouldn't it be  better simply to give me some beans?" he asked.  "Then at  least I'd have a crop at the end of the summer."

"Even a hill of beans doesn't amount to much in this crazy  world," Wells said roguishly, and tittered.  He sobered at  Clark's irritated stare.  "Be careful with the flux  facilitator; you won't be able to get another for a very  long time.  And only you yourself should travel to the  other universe, or you may overload the machine."  He stood  up, put on his hat, and seized Clark's hand once again.   "Now I must be off.  Such a pleasure to meet you, Mr Kent!"

He turned to pick up his umbrella and then did something  Clark couldn't see.  There was a click, and a shimmering,  humming portal sprang into existence beside him.   "Farewell, Mr Kent," he called gaily and stepped through  the portal into nothing.  A moment later the portal had  vanished, leaving Clark staring bemusedly at thin air and  clutching the plans for his "Beanstalk".

********************

<<At the top of the beanstalk was a giant castle.  The  giant's wife let Jack in, and when she heard her husband  returning home she hid Jack in the pantry.  After dinner,  the giant sat counting his gold coins until he fell asleep.   Jack slipped out, grabbed the bag of gold and climbed down  the beanstalk as fast as his legs could carry him...>>

CHAPTER TWO: The Giant's Castle

Clark gave a final turn to the last screw, and stepped back  to inspect his handiwork.  The interdimensional gateway  resembled nothing so much as a hastily-erected outhouse,  and looked bizarrely out of place in the middle of the barn  floor.  His family had agreed, however, that this was the  best place for a possibly dangerous experimental device  that needed to be concealed from the neighbours.  The last  of the farm animals had had to be sold last winter, so  little damage would be done if the "Beanstalk" should  happen to explode.

Martha had been dismayed when Clark had confessed to her  what he'd intended to do before the mysterious stranger had  changed his mind.  She had actually been speechless for the  first time in Clark's experience, a reaction he'd found  infinitely more disturbing than the scolding he'd  anticipated.  By tacit agreement neither of them had  mentioned it to Jonathan, but once or twice since then  Clark had caught Martha looking at him with a sort of  nervous apprehension, as though her ugly duckling had  suddenly turned into an eagle.  Clark had promised her that  he wouldn't do anything rash without consulting the other  people who would be affected, but it was difficult to put  her mind at ease when none of them could see a way out of  their financial difficulties.

Martha and Jonathan had both been extremely sceptical about  Clark's strange visitor, but they agreed that there was  little to lose by building the machine and seeing if it  actually did anything.

Clark had found a few sheets of iron, left over from the  construction of the hen house, which were precisely the  right dimensions for constructing the outside of the  machine; it seemed an unlikely coincidence, and Clark  wondered uneasily just how much Wells knew about the farm.   Most of the other materials Clark needed had come from  Martha's metal scrapheap, which she'd used to supply her  art welding a few years previously, when she'd had the  leisure for hobbies.

Martha had also allowed him to borrow two of the internal  doors from the farmhouse, but had put her foot down when it  came to cannibalising her microwave.  Fortunately, putting  the word out on the town grapevine that Clark needed some  electronic components had turned up Mrs Ross's old  microwave, which had a broken door but all the parts Clark  needed.  The only drawback was that Maisie at the Diner had  been left with the impression that Clark was building an  entry for Robot Wars, and would no doubt be demanding  progress reports whenever she saw him.

But the Beanstalk was built at last, and it was time to  test it.  Clark stepped over to the extension cord lying  ready, and plugged the machine in.  The electronics began  to hum faintly, and as Clark moved back to the door he saw  the LED on the status panel turn from red to green.  He  waited, but nothing else happened.

Clark eyed the machine thoughtfully.  From this angle it  reminded him of a phone booth, though it was deeper than it  was wide and had a second door at the back.  If the device  worked as advertised, it would form a sort of corridor  between universes: the nearer door would open into Clark's  own world, and the further door into - where?  A ghostly  tingle chased its way down Clark's spine.  Innocent as the  device might look, he wasn't yet ready to step inside and  entrust his life to it.

He walked around the back and tried to open the second  door, but it wouldn't budge.  Clark looked at it  thoughtfully, then dropped his glasses down his nose and x- rayed it.  He could see through the door into the machine,  but he could also see within the door itself the minute  wavy distortion of a force field of some kind.  The same  was true of the sides, top and bottom of the small cubicle.   Clark wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or disturbed.   Wells's machine was certainly doing *something*!

He walked back around the machine and gently closed the  "front" door.  Instantly the electronic hum climbed  shrilly.  Clark stepped back and saw that apart from the  front door itself, the whole cubicle had disappeared behind  a shimmering silver force field.  He tried to x-ray it  again, this time to no avail.  He gulped, his mouth  suddenly dry.  Until this moment he hadn't actually  believed the machine could possibly work.

Now he had little option but to try it out.

********************

Half an hour later, Clark gave Martha a farewell hug,  turned, and stepped through the door into the Beanstalk.   He had checked the weather forecast to make sure no  thunderstorm was likely to cause a power failure while the  machine was on, said goodbye to Jonathan, and promised  Martha that he would be gone no more than two hours.  Since  he had absolutely no idea what to expect on the other side  of the gateway, further preparation seemed futile; he might  as well just get it over with.

He closed the front door behind him.  As before, the  machine's hum escalated to a shrill whine, and this time  Clark felt a slight sense of vertigo.  He tried to x-ray  the sides of the cubicle, but there was nothing.  He had a  sudden mental image of a universe consisting solely of this  metal cubicle and himself, and his skin crawled.  Hastily,  he grasped the handle of the back door and pushed gently.

The door yielded, and the whine dropped back to a hum  again.  Clark paused a moment to wipe his sweaty palms on  his jeans, then pushed the door slowly open and stepped  out.

********************

The first thing that met his eyes was a large picture of  himself.  Clark blinked.  No, not a picture - a slightly- larger-than-lifesize cardboard cutout of himself, propped  up against the wall.  Its face wasn't the one he normally  presented to the world, however; this was the face that  greeted him in the mirror when he stepped out of the  shower, innocent of glasses and with its hair slicked back.   It was also grinning broadly, something Clark's own face  had almost forgotten how to do.

The rest of the figure was even more disconcerting.   Clark's eyes goggled as he took in the details of the  gaudy, skin-tight costume and cloak, the only concession to  modesty being a pair of briefs worn on the outside of what  looked suspiciously like tights.  As evidence that he was  indeed in a different universe, this was pretty convincing.   And on the face of it, he and his counterpart in this  universe weren't going to have much in common.

Tearing his eyes from the image with some difficulty, Clark  inspected the rest of the room.  It was an office,  furnished in an opulent style: deep pile carpet, a small  but intricately-carved mahogany desk, and what looked like  genuine Old Masters on the walls.  There was a desk-top  computer with an enormous flat-screen monitor in the  corner, flanked by an array of electronic gadgets only some  of which were familiar to Clark; and not one, but two large  banks of filing cabinets.

Judging by the view from the window, this room seemed to be  part of a high-rise building in some large American city.   Clark used his x-ray vision to ensure that the rest of the  apartment was unoccupied, then carefully propped the  Beanstalk door open with an ornate pewter paperweight  before setting out to explore his surroundings.

It didn't take long.  The apartment was small, though  furnished throughout with the same disregard for expense.   All the gadgets seemed to be the very latest technology;  the television had both satellite and cable feeds, the  computer had a high-tech and no doubt extremely fast  Internet connection, and the apartment even had its own  backup power supply.  Only the living room and the office,  however, showed any signs of regular use.

Curiously, there was no external door, nor any evidence  that one had existed and been bricked up; the only access  was via an elevator in the living room.  Scanning the  elevator shaft, Clark found that the only other doors were  a concealed entrance in the penthouse apartment a few  floors up, and a third set in the basement of the building.   It seemed likely that the only people aware of the  existence of this bolthole, besides those who had built it,  were the occupants of the penthouse suite.

Clark found himself gripped by a heady mix of curiosity and  excitement.  It was so long since he had felt either  emotion that it took him some time to identify them.  He  was itching to know who used this secret apartment, and for  what - surely nefarious - purposes.  He sincerely hoped it  wasn't this universe's Clark Kent.

The logical place to start was Mr X's office.  Clark  scanned the desk quickly, but it contained nothing of note.   He eyed the computer briefly, but any information on there  might well be encrypted - and besides, it might alert  someone to his presence by connecting to some external  network.  He turned his attention to the filing cabinets.

The nearer set was unlocked, and Clark opened a drawer at  random.  The files were mostly labelled with people's  names, none of them familiar to Clark.  Where to begin?  On  impulse, Clark opened the drawer marked K.  He took out the  file labelled "Clark Kent" and began to read.

A minute later he finished the last page and put the file  down to digest what he had learnt.  The Clark Kent of this  world seemed to have had an early history identical to his  own in every respect; even the photograph that accompanied  his bio looked almost exactly like Clark himself.  But the  Jonathan of this world had never been crippled, and Clark's  counterpart had travelled the world for several years  before moving to Metropolis, New Troy, and becoming an  investigative journalist for the Daily Planet, around the  time Clark himself had fallen ill.  The bio ended there,  but there was a thick sheaf of newspaper clippings from the  Planet, some with the byline of Clark Kent, but many more  with a shared byline of Lane and Kent.

Clark felt a painful pang of envy.  Lois Lane had been a  brilliant reporter in his own world, and he had often  admired her work and wished that he could meet her.  She  had vanished from circulation around the time of his  illness, though, and he had never bothered to find out what  had happened to her.

Clark turned his attention back to his investigation, and  the Kent of this universe.  He found it easier to think of  his counterpart as that; thinking of him as "Clark" gave  him a vaguely queasy feeling.

Kent had reported on a wide variety of topics - even a  motor show, Clark noted wryly - but a large proportion of  the articles in the file had concerned the activities of  someone identified only as "Superman": an alien being with  remarkable powers, who seemed to spend most of his time  performing dazzling rescues, fighting crime and mopping up  after natural or man-made disasters.  The occasional  photographs which accompanied the articles showed the same  costume and hairstyle Clark had already seen on the  cardboard cutout figure.  There was not the slightest hint  that Superman was the same person as the author of the  articles.

Clark looked thoughtfully at the cardboard image still  beaming inanely across the room.  He had acquired a new  respect for his counterpart, who seemed to have solved the  puzzle which, years ago, had presented the only real cloud  on Clark's horizon: how to use his extraordinary abilities  for good and still be able to live an ordinary life.

How would Kent have addressed the problems that now beset  Clark?  Perhaps if he could find Kent he could ask him, and  the two of them could come up with a plan together.

What was puzzling Clark, though, was why Mr X, a wealthy  and presumably crooked individual, would have bothered to  set up and maintain a file on Kent, if he didn't know that  Kent was Superman.  The file itself contained no hint of  anything unusual.  Perhaps the answer lay in Kent's  associates?  Clark replaced Kent's file in the cabinet and  opened the next drawer down.  As he had half expected,  there was a file labelled Lois Lane.  Clark sat down and  resumed reading.

But Ms Lane's file, however interesting in other respects,  shed no light on the puzzle.  Apart from the divorce of her  parents and the subsequent alcoholism of her mother, she  seemed to have had an unremarkable childhood.  Her academic  record was brilliant, and she had won several Kerth awards  for investigative journalism at an unusually young age,  just like her counterpart in Clark's own universe.

Clark picked up the photo that came next, and felt another  sharp pang of envy for his counterpart.  The picture was  unposed, evidently taken with a long lens at a news  conference; but the pencil with which Ms Lane was absent- mindedly tapping her cheek, and the slight frown as she  gazed intently out of shot, didn't obscure her natural  beauty.  Clark replaced the photo slowly, feeling slightly  stunned.  He had always thought of Ms Lane as a brilliant,  high-powered journalist; it had never occurred to him that  she might also be an extremely attractive woman.

The sheaf of newspaper clippings with her byline contained  many more articles on Superman than had Kent's.  She seemed  to have obtained the inside scoop on Superman's debut  appearance, when he had foiled an attempt to sabotage the  launch of the Prometheus Space Station's habitation module.   In Clark's own universe, the habitation module had exploded  on takeoff and the Prometheus project had been scrapped,  its place taken by the privately-funded Space Station  Luthor.  Clark had been comatose at the time; he wondered  idly now whether he would have stood by while the  habitation module had gone up in flames, or whether he  would have sacrificed his privacy to save it.  It was a  question he wasn't sure he could answer.

Lois Lane had also obtained the first personal interview  with Superman - though it could scarcely claim to be an in- depth interview.  Reading between the lines, Clark had a  shrewd idea that Ms Lane had a sizable crush on the hero;  and it was quite clear that she had absolutely no idea her  working partner moonlighted in tights.  Incredibly, Kent's  simple disguise seemed to be effective even with the people  he worked with every day - people professionally trained in  the art of detecting anomaly and subterfuge.  Clark shook  his head in amazement.

The wad of articles came to an abrupt end about six weeks  previously.  The only other information in the file was an  extraordinarily detailed description of Ms Lane's apartment  - floor plan, decorations, furnishings and personal  possessions - and a slim sheaf of clippings about Ms Lane  herself.  Many of them dealt with her society appearances  with, and subsequent engagement to, Lex Luthor of Luthor  Enterprises; but one of them explained the sudden cessation  of newspaper articles.  Respected print journalist Lois  Lane, noted the TV Guide prosaically, was moving into  television after the destruction of the Daily Planet, and  taking up a position in LNN.  Clark gasped, the words  blurring before his eyes.  The Daily Planet, destroyed?   Even in another universe, that came as a shock.

Clark looked pensively at the photograph accompanying one  of the engagement articles.  Lois Lane was smiling  brilliantly into the camera; behind her, Lex Luthor looked  every inch the successful, debonair businessman, one hand  resting possessively on her shoulder.  Even as Clark felt  his breath shorten with the effect of her smile, he  reflected that working with Lois Lane didn't seem to have  gone as well for Kent as he, Clark, had initially imagined.   The loss of her employer - and, it seemed, her partner -  didn't seem even to have broken her stride.  Perhaps her  character didn't match up to her appearance; she might be  ambitious and hard, a gold-digger who had no time to spare  for a mere reporter.

Clark closed Lois Lane's file and returned it to the  cabinet, then scanned the drawer for the file on Lex  Luthor.

It wasn't there.

Clark closed the drawer gently, whistling softly and  thoughtfully between his teeth.  His next target, the S  drawer, yielded a substantial file on Superman.

Here, in addition to the Daily Planet articles Clark had  already seen, were dozens from other newspapers and  magazines.  Some of them were the sort of scurrilous  rubbish Clark had seen in Wells's "e-book" collection, only  without the references to the Kent family.  There was  little that was new to Clark, besides a few reports on  something called the Superman Foundation, a trust  organisation set up by Superman to administer copyrights  and trademarks in his name and channel the proceeds to  charity.  Clark's respect for his counterpart rose another  notch.

The last few articles, however, were quite different.   "WHERE IS SUPERMAN?" trumpeted the Metropolis Star's banner  headline.  "Superman - fly-by-night?" sneered the Dirt  Digger.  Superman hadn't been seen in over a week; a  highway pileup, an oil spill, even a hospital fire had gone  unattended.  Clark couldn't help but notice that Superman's  disappearance coincided with the date set for Lois Lane's  wedding.  Had he cherished romantic feelings towards his  partner after all?  Had her marriage driven him out of  Metropolis to hide from his failures and obligations in  some remote part of the globe?  Or was Clark simply reading  far too much into a mere coincidence?  Shrugging, Clark  laid the articles aside.

Next came a series of reports from private investigators  into Superman's background, the operation of the Superman  Foundation, and several of the more plausible allegations  of immoral or criminal behaviour on Superman's part from  the tabloid press.  The reports were unanimous in finding  nothing whatsoever out of place: Superman was squeaky  clean.  Mr X must have found that extremely frustrating,  Clark reflected with a grim smile.

The last item in the file was a single folded sheet of  expensive cream notepaper; the same type and size that  Clark had noticed in Mr X's desk drawer.  With a dim sense  of foreboding, Clark picked up the sheet and unfolded it.   Written on it in bold black ink were four words.

Superman is Clark Kent.

********************

Half an hour later, Clark restored the last file to its  drawer and straightened with a sigh.  He had read through  everything in this set of filing cabinets, and still had no  real handle on Mr X.  The files contained personal details,  both public and private, on a myriad of people:  businessmen, scientists, politicians, lawyers, military  personnel... people from all walks of life, from all parts  of America and throughout the world.  If there was the  merest hint of a skeleton in anyone's closet it had been  thoroughly investigated, by one of a dozen different  agencies.  A few people came out looking comparatively  clean - Perry White, editor of the Daily Planet, was one -  but the vast majority of the files contained ample amounts  of what would doubtless be useful blackmail material, if  one were so inclined.  And Clark strongly suspected that Mr  X was so inclined.

What he hadn't found, though, was any evidence linking the  subjects of the files to a central organisation or person.   A high proportion of the subjects lived and worked in  Metropolis, but otherwise there was no readily apparent  pattern to them.

Something else was also conspicuously absent, however.  Lex  Luthor and his various business concerns were, inevitably,  mentioned in many of the files, but there was no hint of  the slightest shady dealing in connection with any of them.   Either the man and everything he touched were  preternaturally clean and above-board... or the information  in the files had been very carefully selected.

It was time to look elsewhere.

Clark crossed to the second set of filing cabinets and  tried a couple of drawers, but this time they were locked.   With a resigned nod, he pulled down his glasses and scanned  the walls of the office, quickly finding what he expected:  the safe.  It was concealed behind an oil painting, but it  took Clark only a moment to locate the catch which allowed  the painting to swing to one side, and another minute or so  with his super-hearing tuned in to pick the combination  lock.

The safe held an impressive array of hard-to-trace  valuables, from uncut diamonds to wads of banknotes to  anonymous gold jewellery, but Clark had eyes for only two  of the items inside: a large bunch of keys, and a small  globe marked with the continents and oceans of Earth.

The Kryptonian orb.

Clark had no desire to pick it up; he knew the messages his  own orb contained by heart, and he had no time to waste in  checking whether this orb was identical to his.  But the  fact that Mr X - Luthor? - had the orb in his possession  went a long way to explaining how he knew Superman's secret  identity.  What use had he made of the information?

Clark picked up the keys and returned to the second set of  filing cabinets.  The third key he tried fitted the lock;  but even as he started to turn it, some strange instinct  held him back.  It was too easy.

Clark knew, beyond any shadow of doubt, that these files  held the key to Mr X's operations.  Mr X was nothing if not  careful and methodical.  His secrets would be protected by  more than a mere lock and key.

Clark lowered his glasses once again, and x-rayed the  cabinets.  What he saw made his blood run cold.  The  cabinets were booby-trapped with incendiary devices and  fitted with ventilation ducts at the back to ensure that a  fire, once started, wouldn't go out for lack of oxygen.  If  the key was turned while the devices were armed - as they  were now - the contents of the cabinets would be useless  ash in very short order... and if a drawer was opened the  entire office would also be in flames, Clark estimated.

Trembling slightly at the narrowness of his escape, Clark  traced the wiring from the booby trap to the disarming  switches - one under the desk, one behind a painting on the  far side of the room - and made sure the circuit was safe.   Then he turned the key, opened a couple of drawers, and  used his heat vision to sever the critical connections  inside so that the incendiaries were permanently disabled.   If the police ever swooped on this office, Mr X was going  to be disappointed by the failure of his little insurance  policy.

Finally, Clark was free to concentrate on finding out what  Mr X didn't want the world to know.

********************

Once again, he started with K.  This time, however, the  files were labelled with what seemed to be project names,  not people.  The first file in the drawer was marked  "Series K".  His curiosity piqued, Clark took it out and  began to read.

Moments later, he collapsed into a chair, his head  spinning.  Most of his questions had been answered in one  fell swoop... and the answers sickened him to the core.

Lex Luthor, undoubtedly the mysterious Mr X, had obtained a  sample of "kryptonite", the same glowing green mineral  Wayne Irig had discovered in Clark's universe.  The file  cheerfully described how Luthor and an aide, Mrs Cox, had  double-crossed and killed the men who had offered it for  sale.  It went on to relate how Mrs Cox had tested the  mineral on Superman, and then how Luthor, with the  assistance of Mrs Cox and another aide, Nigel St John, had  trapped and killed Superman.

Clark's counterpart wasn't in hiding.  He was dead.

Through the nausea and confusion clouding his mind, Clark  slowly became aware of three things.

Firstly, he was in grave danger in this world.  He didn't  for a moment imagine that Luthor had disposed of the  kryptonite after the success of his nefarious plan, and if  he saw Clark he was certain to try to use it on him, too.

Secondly, although Clark had never met his counterpart, had  never even heard of him before today, he felt a burning  rage at his fate.  Nothing he could do could bring Kent  back, but he could hope to avenge him.  Bringing down the  man who had so lightly and callously brushed Kent aside,  swatted him out of existence like a troublesome fly, would  be a pleasure.  Then, too, Kent had loving parents who were  no doubt bewildered by his absence and fearful for his  safety; they deserved to know what had become of their son.

And thirdly... if the Luthor of this world was a ruthless  killer, Clark had a shrewd suspicion that the Lex Luthor in  his own universe would prove to be no better.  If he could  gather enough evidence here about crimes that had taken  place in both universes, he would be able to rid his own  world of a very evil man.

Grimly, Clark switched the fax machine to "copy" and began  his research in earnest.

********************

<<Jack slipped into the castle and hid in the pantry.  This  time, after dinner, the giant took out a hen and put it on  the table.  After a few minutes, the hen cackled and laid a  golden egg.  Jack waited till the giant had fallen asleep,  then sneaked out, seized the hen and ran back to the  beanstalk.  The hen's cackling woke the giant, but by then  Jack was far away...>>

CHAPTER THREE: Golden Eggs

"Luthor's Darkest Hour," proclaimed the Daily Planet's  banner headline, and underneath in smaller type,  "Billionaire philanthropist arrested on felony charges."   The by-line was in the name of Clark Kent.

Clark tossed the paper down with a tired sigh.  It had been  a hectic two weeks.  He had started by persuading his own  universe's Perry White, on the strength of a few of the  photocopied documents, to lend him the use of the Planet  facilities and a young researcher for an in-depth  investigation of Luthor and his business empire.  With  Clark's intimate knowledge of what the alternate-universe  Luthor had been up to and Jimmy's impressive hacking  abilities, they had struck paydirt very quickly.  There  were some small differences between the two Luthors'  operations, but there was enough overlap to ensure that  this Luthor, at least, would be enjoying the State's  hospitality for a long time to come.

Once they had amassed enough circumstantial evidence and  witness statements to form the basis of a solid case, Clark  had gone to the police.  Luthor seemed to have half the MPD  in his pocket, but Clark had decided to approach one  Inspector William Henderson, who'd had a clean record in  the alternate Luthor's files, and the gamble had paid off.   Less than forty-eight hours later, Luthor and his  lieutenants were in custody, and Clark had the exclusive on  everything that wasn't sub judice.

Clark had made a night flight, dressed in dark clothing, to  x-ray Lex Towers and check that the secret apartment also  existed in this universe; then he'd turned the details over  to Henderson.  The police had had some difficulty disarming  Luthor's booby trap, and Clark had itched to be able to  help them, but Superman didn't exist in this universe.

Yet.

Martha and Jonathan had been astounded by Clark's tale of  his counterpart's devious disguise, and Martha had  immediately offered to create a similar Suit for Clark, but  something held him back.  For one thing, he knew that as  soon as he revealed himself he would have to deal with  Bureau 39 and the kryptonite threat.  Forewarned was  forearmed... yet Clark wanted to have some idea, some plan  for how to proceed, before he set it all in motion.

But it went deeper than that.  In the other universe Clark  had felt bold, confident, assured of success.  Back in his  own world, that feeling was fading fast; the other world  seemed like a dream, a land of myth that didn't exist in  the cold light of day.

He was almost scared to use the gateway device again, in  case it all turned out to be his imagination.  He knew he  ought to go back, to do something about the other Luthor  and the other Clark Kent... but he felt a kind of panic at  the idea.  It wasn't just physical fear of Luthor and his  kryptonite; it was more of a fear that he wouldn't be able  to match up to the Superman image.  He might fail  disastrously, might expose Kent and his parents...

It was easier just to ignore the problems in the other  universe, ignore the possibility of becoming Superman here  at home, and proceed as normal.  Or nearly normal, given  his trips to Metropolis and his work on bringing Luthor to  justice.

Perry White had been impressed with the articles he had  written, as well as with his investigative abilities, and  had offered him a place as a permanent staffer.  When Clark  had declined, explaining that he had to run the farm for  his parents, Perry had assured him the offer would be open  if he ever changed his mind.  Clark was torn, but now that  he'd earned a tidy lump sum with his exclusives, it was  time to plough it back into the farm and try to evade the  bank's clutches for another year.  He was already late with  the spring planting.

The one regret he had about his sojourn at the Planet was  that he hadn't been able to find the Lois Lane of his own  world... but it seemed only too likely that she was dead.   Clark had asked after her at the Planet, and it seemed she  had simply disappeared without trace while investigating  the sabotage of the Messenger shuttle.  The night she had  disappeared there had been an explosion in a shuttle hangar  at EPRAD, followed by a second explosion which had wrecked  a helicopter and killed Dr Antoinette Baines, the scientist  until now believed to be behind the sabotage of the  Messenger and the Prometheus habitation module.  Two of the  long list of charges now facing Luthor were complicity in  the sabotage, and the murder of Dr Baines by means of a  bomb planted in the helicopter.

It was thought that Lois Lane might have been killed by the  first explosion, though it had been impossible to identify  her positively.  Another mark on Luthor's balance sheet,  Clark thought grimly.

Jimmy had known her fairly well, and had scoffed at the  image Clark had built up of a hardened gold-digger.  True,  "Mad Dog Lane" had been dedicated to her career to the  point of obsession, but she had been a brilliant journalist  - and a real looker, Jimmy had added nostalgically.  Clark  wished he'd been able to meet her.  If he'd been near  Metropolis then... but, coincidentally, the night she'd  disappeared was the same night he'd fallen ill, so he  probably wouldn't have been any use.

The sound he'd been waiting for finally reached Clark's  ears: Martha's car, returning to the farmhouse.  Clark rose  and went out to meet his parents.

As he had expected, Jonathan was exhausted from the long  trip to the hospital, his heartbeat loud and erratic.   Clark matter-of-factly set about helping him out of the car  and into his wheelchair, and Jonathan, who normally  insisted on doing everything possible for himself, quietly  let him get on with it.

When Clark came downstairs after putting Jonathan to bed,  he was startled to find Martha sitting silently on the  couch in the living room, twisting a handkerchief between  her hands.  She always seemed full of vigour, was always  bustling about doing something.  Tonight she looked tired  and frail, and Clark realised with a shock how the last few  years had worn her down.

He sat down beside her and took her hand, and for a while  they sat silently together.  It was only when Martha raised  the handkerchief to her face that Clark realised she was  crying.

He put a comforting arm around her shoulders, feeling the  rigid tension in her frame.  "Is it Dad?" he asked.  "Was  there bad news at the hospital?"

She nodded and blew her nose.  When she spoke, her voice  sounded old.  "The pain's been getting worse for some time.   He never talks about it, but I can tell..."

"I know," Clark said quietly.  "I can hear him sometimes at  night, lying awake and trying not to groan."

"Dr Martin said he has osteoarthritis.  The bone is growing  all wrong over the injury.  There's not much they can do,  except give him painkillers and extra physiotherapy..."

Clark winced.  He knew how the physiotherapy took it out of  Jonathan.

"... and if it keeps growing, it'll start obstructing the  artery."  Martha paused and swallowed, then said bravely,  "And then they'll have to amputate the leg."

"Oh, Mom..."  Clark sat silently digesting the  implications.  He knew his father still hoped against hope  to be independent again one day, to be able to look after  himself and Martha, and set Clark free to follow his own  road.  This would crush his hopes.

"Why can't they do a joint replacement?" he asked after a  while.

"I didn't follow that bit," Martha admitted.  Her voice was  stronger; Clark knew she was drawing strength from his  supportive presence and his calm response to the news.  "It  was something to do with the angle of the bone and the  position of the artery.  He said they just don't have  alloys strong enough."

"Alloys?" Clark echoed.  That sounded so familiar...  He  rose to his feet and began to pace with mounting  excitement.  Did he dare raise his mother's hopes?  But he  needed to work out what to do.  "Mom, in the other universe  - in the files, there was stuff on what Dr Samuel Lane was  working on for Luthor.  He was dealing with sports  injuries, and he'd done revolutionary work on joint  replacements, including new alloys."  His voice was  shaking, and he cleared his throat.  "If I could get those  papers..."

Martha was looking at him with dawning hope.  "What about  going to Dr Lane in this universe?"

He shook his head.  "He committed suicide soon after his  daughter disappeared - you know, Lois Lane?  He burnt his  lab, all his notes, everything.  I think he must have known  Luthor was responsible for Lois's death.  But in the other  universe, Luthor had all his notes - there were even patent  applications.  If I can bring them back, I'm sure we can  find a doctor who can use them.  And it won't just be Dad  we can help, either - there must be thousands of people who  will benefit!"

Martha was nodding.  "But, Clark - be careful!"

"I will, Mom."  He bent and kissed his mother's forehead,  then turned and headed for the barn.

As he switched the Beanstalk on and waited for it to warm  up, Clark wondered if the device would be okay.  He had  used almost a full ream of paper photocopying Luthor's  dirty secrets on his last trip, and the flux facilitator  had heated up and keened unpleasantly on his return  journey.  To his relief, it seemed normal again this time.

He entered quickly and closed the near door, then opened  the far door a crack.  The noise from the device dropped to  a hum, and Clark x-rayed the door to check what was  happening on the far side.  The office looked exactly as he  had left it, weeks before: lit by the late afternoon sun,  and mercifully empty.  It seemed as though his visit had  passed undetected.

He stepped out into the room, and felt his spirits rise.   The same excitement and confidence he had felt on his last  trip gripped him again.

As he crossed the floor towards the filing cabinet, he  suddenly caught an unexpected sound and froze.  He could  hear voices in the living room.  After a moment, when they  came no closer, he dropped his glasses for a quick scan  through the office wall.  What he saw made him flush beet  red and hastily push his glasses up again.  He had no  difficulty recognising Luthor and Mrs Cox from the last  time he had seen their counterparts in his own universe,  being led away in handcuffs; but this time they were alone,  and in a distinctly compromising position.

Carefully screening out the voices from the other room, for  he had no wish to eavesdrop on such a scene, Clark frowned  in puzzlement.  Luthor had only been married for a few  weeks.  It was surprising that he was in Metropolis at all,  instead of on some extravagant extended honeymoon, and  almost incredible that he was already - or still, Clark  thought sourly - carrying on an affair with his assistant.

Clark opened the filing cabinet silently and extracted Dr  Lane's file.  He couldn't very well copy the papers while  Luthor was just next door, but he might as well get them  ready.  And if it seemed Luthor would discover him, he  could just leave with the originals and hope to return them  at a later date.

A buzzer sounded in the other room, then after a pause  Clark heard Mrs Cox's raised voice.  "You don't have to  answer it, Lex!"

"It's Nigel, my dear," came the smooth reply.  "He wouldn't  disturb us lightly."  Footsteps crossed the room, and  Luthor spoke again, just on the other side of the wall from  Clark.  "Yes?"

Nigel St John's plummy British accents sounded from the  intercom.  "Miss Lane is awake again, sir, and lucid.  I  thought you would like to know."

"Thank you, Nigel," Luthor said coolly.  "Is she asking for  me?"

"Uh..."  St John seemed a little flustered by the question,  but he recovered quickly and his voice became  expressionless once again.  "She is asking for her partner,  sir - Mr Kent."

"Ah."  A hint of steel entered Luthor's voice.  "How...  faithless of the future Mrs Luthor, eh, Nigel?  We shall  have to rid her of this unseemly affection for the late,  lamented Mr Kent."

"As you say, sir," St John said blandly.

There was a pause as Luthor crossed the room again and, by  the sound of it, started to pick up his discarded clothing.   "Duty calls, my dear," he said suavely.  "We'll continue  this later.  Do hurry - it's so important for Lois's  devoted fiance to be at her side, don't you think?"

Clark risked another peek into the adjoining room and  glimpsed Mrs Cox's thunderous face as she stood with her  back to Luthor, adjusting her skirt.  Her expression was  neutral again, however, by the time she turned to accompany  him to the elevator.  "Of course, Lex," she replied.

Clark stood stock-still, listening to the fading hum of the  elevator, his mind reeling.  Lois wasn't married to Luthor  yet - there was still time to let her know just what sort  of man her fiance was, and what diabolical crimes he had  committed!  He wanted to fly straight up to the penthouse,  seize Lois and escape with her before Luthor could put his  filthy hands on her again.

But what could he say to her?  "I'm Superman, and Luthor  killed Clark"?  He didn't have a Suit.  "I'm Clark, but not  your Clark, and Luthor killed your Clark, who was Superman,  by the way"?  That would go down a treat.  If Kent hadn't  managed to convince her to stay away from Luthor - and  Clark knew, from Luthor's secret files, that Superman had  had no illusions about Luthor's virtue - then Lois would  scarcely believe Clark's word, whether or not she accepted  that he was not her partner.

As he hesitated, Clark saw the elevator stop in the  penthouse, and Luthor exit quickly and go straight to what  looked like a guest bedroom, converted to a sickroom.  The  thin, pale woman propped up in the bed was scarcely  recognisable as Lois Lane; but as Luthor entered,  exclaiming, "Lois, my darling!" she held out her arms to  him.

"Oh, Lex!" Clark heard her sigh as she embraced Luthor  warmly.

Clark's vision slowly cleared, and he found himself staring  fixedly at the file in his hands.  It was starting to  smoulder slightly.  He blew on it hastily, to reverse the  effects of his gaze.  If this file went up in smoke, his  father would be condemned to spend the rest of his life as  a cripple.

His father.

If Clark went charging upstairs, and Lois scoffed at him,  and Luthor brought out the kryptonite...  Jonathan would  stay crippled, and penniless to boot.

With a heavy heart, and without another look at the tender  reunion going on upstairs, Clark set about copying the  contents of the file.

Perhaps, when he got back home, he would be able to work  out what to do about Lois.

*********************

<<This time the giant took out a magic harp, which began to  play music by itself.  The music was so sweet that it  lifted the heart of anyone who heard it.  Once again Jack  waited until the giant had been lulled to sleep, then stole  out of his hiding place and seized the harp.  But the harp  cried out, "Master! A thief is stealing me!"  The giant  awoke and pursued Jack all the way to the beanstalk...>>

CHAPTER FOUR: The Magic Harp

"What about money?" Martha asked.  "Will you have enough  cash?"

Clark grimaced and took out his wallet.  "I doubt they'll  have exactly the same bills," he pointed out, "and the last  thing I want is to be arrested for passing counterfeit  notes."  He emptied the wallet onto the table and looked up  into Martha's worried blue eyes.  "Thank goodness I don't  need to eat," he said, quirking a smile.

Martha's lip trembled, and she looked away.  "What are you  going to do when you get there?" she asked.

Clark sighed.  "I don't really know, Mom," he admitted.  "I  have to find Lois and convince her that Luthor is evil, and  stop her marrying him.  That's the main thing."

"But, if she really loves him, and he loves her..."   Martha's voice trailed off.

Clark was shaking his head vehemently.  "Mom, he killed her  Clark, and he's killed dozens of other people.  Besides...  you didn't hear the way he talked about her.  As if she  were an animal, to be trained - or a toy, to be used and  thrown away!"

"But what if you can't get to her, or can't convince her?"   Martha was all but wringing her hands.

"I think... I'll find a way."  Clark's voice grew  reflective.  "I feel so different when I'm there, Mom -  happy, confident, certain about what I need to do - almost  like a different person.  I can't really explain it.  It's  as if, when I got sick last year, I lost a part of myself  that I need... and in that universe, I have it back again."

Martha nodded.  "Just come back to us, son," she begged.

"You know I will if there's any way," he assured her.  "And  if I don't...  Dad will be on his own two feet again after  the operation, and I've signed a power of attorney so you  can use the income from the patent if you need to.  And you  know what to do with the Beanstalk..."

"Open the door and switch it off once you're gone, and  switch it on and close the door at midnight every night,  Metropolis time," she recited.  "I know, Clark."

"I love you, Mom."  He hugged her fiercely for a few  seconds, then stepped away.  "Tell Dad I love him, too.   I'd better go."

********************

As soon as he stepped out into what he had come to think of  as Luthor's lair, Clark felt the familiar rush of  confidence and excitement sweep over him.  He knew he was  doing the right thing.

He scanned the living room, but this time it was deserted.   He quickly moved to the unlocked set of filing cabinets and  extracted the very last page from Superman's file.  If this  was Luthor's own writing, as he suspected, it might help  him convince Lois he was telling the truth.

Finally he turned back to the Beanstalk, the battered  farmhouse kitchen door looking familiar and yet bizarrely  out of place set into the wall of Luthor's office.  He  grasped the handle and, drawing a deep breath, closed the  door with a decisive click.  Once Martha opened the far  door again this door would disappear, covering his tracks.   And cutting off his retreat.

He turned away, opening the office door to step out into  the living room.  At once, an unfamiliar sight caught his  eye.

On the far side of the room, between the living room and  the bedroom, a brand new door had been installed.  A stout  wooden door.  And it was closed.

Clark crossed the room quietly and tried the handle -  locked.  Stepping back, he pulled down his glasses to x-ray  the door.

Not entirely to his surprise, he found himself looking at  Lois Lane.  She was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking  around speculatively with a determined glint in her eye.   She was still thin and pale, but no longer the waif who had  greeted Luthor a few days before.  Looking at her, Clark  could believe that this woman was the brilliant, dedicated  journalist that people talked about.

He heaved a deep, thankful sigh.  It was going to be easy  after all.

He knocked softly on the door, and her head whipped around.   She glanced down at her decorous cotton nightie, then stood  up, grabbed a robe from the back of a nearby chair and  tugged it on.  Finally she seized a vase from the dressing  table, dumping the flowers unceremoniously on the carpet,  and hefted it over her shoulder.

"Who is it?" she asked in a feeble voice belied by her  actions and her intent expression.

An appreciative grin was spreading over Clark's face.  By  the look of it, he wasn't even going to have to sweet-talk  Lois into leaving - she didn't exactly seem to be on the  best of terms with whoever she was expecting.

"Lois, open the door," he said.  "I've come to get you out  of here."

"Clark!"  The vase crashed unheeded to the floor as Lois  launched herself headlong at the door.  "Oh, Clark - I knew  you'd come back!"  She was sobbing - whether with tears or  laughter, Clark couldn't tell.

"Just open the door, Lois," he said urgently.

"I can't - they've locked me in!" came the reply.  "When I  told Lex I wouldn't marry him, he said I was delusional,  and they've moved me here and locked me up till I change my  mind.  There isn't even a nail file in the bathroom to pick  the lock with!"

"Stand back, then," Clark said authoritatively.  "I'll  break it down."

He saw her eyebrows rise at his tone, but she moved back  out of the way even as she protested, "But, Clark, it's a  really strong door - you'll never manage!"

He smiled grimly and set his shoulder to the door.  One  quick shove, a hint of super-strength, and the door crashed  back on its hinges.

"Clark!"  There was a squeal, then a small tornado struck  Clark on the chest and he found himself clutching an armful  of soft, warm human female.  For a timeless instant he  forgot how to breathe, floating in a blissful realm where  only he and Lois existed.  Then he heard the words she was  frantically murmuring.

"Oh, Clark...  I dreamed you were dead, and I never told  you how much I love you...  I wouldn't listen when you said  you loved me, and I said I didn't feel like that about you,  but I do, oh Clark, I do love you, and I never want to see  Lex again!  Please take me away from here!"

Clark's heart broke.

"I love you too, Lois," he said numbly.  It was true: one  glimpse of this wonderful woman and he'd fallen  passionately, irrevocably in love.

But it was also what his counterpart would have said.   Clark knew with absolute certainty that Kent had felt the  same way about this woman.  Explanations would have to  wait; Lois was going to be devastated when she found out  what had happened to Kent.  He needed to get her away from  here, away from Luthor, before he told her.

At his words, her arms had snaked up around his neck and  she had raised her face to his.  For a split second he was  tempted; but if he ever kissed this woman it would be as  himself, not while he was standing in a dead man's shoes.

"What happened to you?" he asked, stalling for time.  "I  thought you were getting married three weeks ago."

Her face clouded over.  "I got sick right before the  wedding," she said.  "I just passed out - the doctors don't  know why.  I was unconscious for a week..."  She bit her  lip.  "I had the most awful dreams, about you being dead,  and I didn't want to live...  You don't know what it means  to me, to see you again!"

He gazed at her dumbly, his heart thudding.  She had passed  out at about the same time that Kent had died.

Clark himself had passed out at about the same time that  his own Lois had died.

It couldn't be a coincidence.

He became aware that a puzzled frown was starting to pucker  her forehead.  He reached up and gently disengaged her arms  from around his neck.  "We need to get out of here," he  said softly, regretfully.

Her eyes narrowed.  "Are you all right?" she asked.  "You  seem... different, somehow."  Her eyes flicked to his hair,  which he knew was somewhat longer than Kent's; then to his  glasses, which were a slightly different style.

Clark cursed inwardly.  This woman was just too observant  for her own good.  "There's no time to talk now," he said.   "We need to go."

"Suits me," she said obligingly.  "Where are we going?"

He hesitated, considering.  "To Smallville, first of all,"  he said.

"Won't that be the first place Lex looks for us?"

His mouth twisted bitterly.  "Probably not," he said, "and  we'll make sure we're gone by the time he looks there.  All  of us," he added under his breath.  He looked at her  searchingly.  "Lois, do you trust me completely?"

A smile lit up her face, stopping his heart for a second.   "Yes, I do," she said without a moment's hesitation.

He nodded sombrely.  "Then do exactly what I say.  To get  out of here, we're going to have to fly."

"You mean... with Superman?" she asked.

"No."  His voice was curt, but he couldn't help it.   "Come."

He grasped her hand and turned towards the living room.   Instantly, he spotted another alteration - the security  camera mounted on the far wall, pointing straight at the  bedroom door.  "Hurry!" he snapped.

But even as they emerged from the bedroom, the elevator  doors slid open.  Lex Luthor stood there, smiling coldly, a  lit cigar in one hand.  The automatic pistol in the other  was pointing directly at Lois.

********************

"Fee, fie, fo, fum," Luthor recited, strolling forward out  of the elevator, "I smell the blood of S..."  His gaze slid  from Clark to Lois.  "... someone I wasn't expecting," he  concluded, his attention returning to Clark.  "Would you  care to explain what you're doing with my fiancee?"

"Lois has decided to leave," Clark said.  "I came to help  her pack."  He didn't see any immediate cause to fear  Luthor; the fact that the pistol was pointing at Lois meant  that it couldn't hurt him, and there was no way he was  going to let a bullet reach her.

"Lex, you can't keep me here against my will," Lois said  with transparent bravado.  "Clark, let's just go."

"Oh, I don't think you'll be going anywhere just yet,"  Luthor said, waving the pistol casually.  Lois flinched,  and his smile widened to something akin to a snarl.  "And  that isn't Clark."

"Of course it's Clark," Lois snapped.  "Do you think I  don't know my own partner?"

The silence lengthened as the two men eyed each other.

"If he isn't Clark, who is he?" Lois asked angrily, a hint  of doubt creeping into her voice.

"I've no idea," Luthor admitted.  "Why don't we ask him?   Who are you?"

"My name is Clark Kent," Clark said reluctantly.  "But I'm  not Lois's partner."

Luthor's eyebrows climbed steeply.  "How delightful," he  purred.  "Is everyone from Krypton called Clark Kent?"

Clark heard a hiss of indrawn breath beside him, and Luthor  laughed.  "Oh, poor naive Lois," he mocked.  "You never did  work out that your partner was Superman, did you?"

Lois's fingers, still clutching Clark's, were cold and  trembling.  "How come you know so much about it?" she said.

"Because, my dear, I killed your partner with my own fair  hands," Luthor said silkily.  "Using kryptonite.  And now  that you know that, I'm going to have to kill you, too."   He raised the gun and loosed off half a dozen shots in  Lois's direction.

Clark dropped Lois's hand and sprang into action.  It was  no problem picking all the bullets from the air before they  got anywhere near Lois.  As he returned to normal speed, he  crushed them into a ball and tossed it aside  contemptuously.  He looked at Lois for an instant, his  heart contracting painfully as he took in her ashen face;  then he whirled to face Luthor again.  "You're going to  have to try harder than that," he said.

But there was no longer anyone in front of the elevator  doors.  Even as Clark located Luthor in front of a display  case, he felt a sharp stab of agony wrench through his  vitals.  He let out an involuntary moan and dropped to one  knee, and heard Luthor laugh triumphantly as he lifted a  lump of glowing green rock out of a metal chest.

"I think this will do the job," Luthor gloated, watching  him trying to struggle back to his feet.  "In a few moments  you'll have no powers left, and I'll have the pleasure of  putting a bullet through *you*.  I never dreamed life could  be so kind... I get to kill Superman twice over!"

Clark turned his head painfully.  "Lois," he croaked, "the  office!  Run!"

Lois started, and shook off her horrified stupor.  "I'm not  leaving you!" she said, bending swiftly and yanking him to  his feet.

"No time - hurry!" he groaned, trying to push her away; but  she pulled on his arm, overbalancing him, and he tottered a  few steps towards the office door.  As he moved further  from the kryptonite, the pain receded slightly and he could  breathe again.

"How affecting," Luthor sneered, taking a leisurely puff on  his cigar.  The green glow of the kryptonite underlit his  face, rendering it positively satanic.  "There's only one  way out of here, Mr Kent - you're caught."  He blew out a  long streamer of smoke.  "Like rats in a trap."  He  watched, smiling, as Clark shuffled towards the office door  as fast as his aching legs would go, dragging Lois with  him.

There was only one question hammering in Clark's mind.

Had Martha opened the Beanstalk door already, and switched  off the device?

He barged through the door into the office and saw, with a  rush of relief, the Beanstalk door still outlined on the  opposite wall.  He gave Lois a shove.  "Open it," he  panted, clinging to the office door while he caught his  breath and gathered his remaining strength for the final  effort.

Lois hurried over and opened the door, looking dubiously  back at him.  Clark heard Luthor say sharply, "That's  enough of your little game, Kent.  It's time to meet your  maker - if you have one."  Then the pain surged again as  Luthor moved forward.

Clark dragged himself upright, pushed off and staggered  towards the Beanstalk.  As he stumbled in, driving Lois  before him, the hum of the device rose ominously and a red  light began to blink on the status panel.  Behind them,  Clark heard Luthor gasp in surprise as he reached the  office door and caught sight of them.

Clark fumbled for the handle and pulled the door shut, even  as a bullet whined through the gap and thudded into his  shoulder.  The Beanstalk mechanism started to scream  shrilly, and smoke began to trickle from under the status  panel.  Lois turned, her face white with fear, and Clark  shouted, "Open the door!"

She shrugged, her face screwed up against the noise, and  Clark gestured desperately, crying out as the movement  jarred his injury.  Finally she understood; she whirled and  threw the far door open, and the two of them stumbled out  into the quiet of the barn.

Hitting the floor heavily, Clark rolled over to look at the  Beanstalk mechanism.  It was still whining and smoking  furiously, the casing glowing red hot.  "Switch off..."  Clark gasped, and Lois leapt forward.  "No!" he yelled, as  she swung the door to.

The device vanished behind the shimmering force field,  leaving only the front door hanging in space.  Then that,  too, disappeared.  Luthor had opened the back door.

For a moment the force field danced before their eyes,  ominous swirling black patterns spiralling through the  silver; then, with an ear-splitting pop, it winked out of  existence.

In the sudden, shocking silence, the neatly severed end of  the power cord dropped limply to the floor.

********************

Epilogue

The day had started on a sombre note, but by evening the  revelry was in full swing in the Kent farmhouse.  Clark sat  back, smiling, and watched Lois and Martha wrangling  amicably over the correct answer to one of the Trivial  Pursuit questions from earlier.  Clark and Jonathan had  trounced the women soundly, and Martha had indignantly  packed Jonathan off to the kitchen to get refills of coffee  and birthday cake, knowing full well that he would  appreciate the opportunity to show off how well he could  walk now.

Clark reflected incredulously, as he so often did, on the  way his life had turned around in the last nine months.   The joie de vivre that he had always felt in the alternate  universe had accompanied him on his final return home, and  as he gazed tenderly at Lois he knew why.

He had started work at the Planet in the autumn, as soon as  the harvest was in, and to Perry White's loudly-expressed  astonishment Lois had immediately asked to be partnered  with him.  Perry had been even more amazed when the  partnership had flourished.  Their personalities were  different enough that they frequently struck sparks off  each other, enlivening the newsroom to no small degree; but  their differences were always resolved amicably in the end,  and their writing styles complemented each other to produce  a whole greater than the sum of its parts.

Lois herself had had no difficulty getting a job at the  Planet soon after she'd arrived in this universe.  She had  started by cutting her hair, remarking to Clark that that  way, any subtle differences her old acquaintances noticed  would be put down to her appearance.  Then she had simply  walked into the Planet, marched into Perry's office, and  announced that she'd been underground ever since  discovering that Luthor had been behind the Prometheus  sabotage, that she had been Clark's secret informant, and  that she wanted her old job back.  She had been installed  at her counterpart's old desk before the day was out.

Clark knew how terribly hard those first days had been for  her, working alone at the Planet with the ghost of her  partner, not even able to talk to the people around her  about it.  He had visited her every evening, and held her  close most evenings while she cried.  He had worried at  first that his resemblance to her Clark would make it worse  for her, but she had shaken her head vehemently and clung  to him when he had suggested leaving her, or bringing  Martha to keep her company instead.

As the weeks had passed, she had started to talk about her  partner, reminiscing about the times they had spent  together.  She had asked Clark about his childhood and  adolescence, slowly piecing together the puzzle of the man  she had never really got to know, the man who had been both  Clark Kent and Superman.  She had sobbed bitterly over the  way she had dismissed Kent in the early days as an  incompetent hack, how she had ignored her attraction to him  and fawned over Superman, and how she had turned her back  on both of them to get engaged to Luthor.

And, in time, they had laughed together over lighter  moments: Kent's ties, his pathetic excuses when he had  needed to get away and be Superman, his penchant for  getting delicious takeaways from secret locations which she  now suspected were really in China, Italy and elsewhere  around the world.

She had also masterminded the creation of Superman in this  universe, remarking that she couldn't be so selfish as to  deny the world the assistance of its superhero because of  her private grief.  Naturally, she'd got the exclusive when  Superman had made his debut appearance, coming to  Metropolis's rescue when a group of renegade soldiers  caused a total blackout of the city and foiling their plans  to capture a military satellite.  And she had planned their  strategy for dealing with Bureau 39; using her knowledge of  the organisation in her own world, they had located and  destroyed its kryptonite stockpile before Jason Trask had  ever heard of Superman, and as soon as he'd shown his face  at the Planet he and his men had been arrested.

Finally, while spending Christmas in Smallville, Lois had  asked whether the Kents would mind if she put up some sort  of memorial for her Clark.  After discussing it together,  they had all agreed on a simple stone to be placed near the  tree which housed the Fortress of Solitude.  It was  inscribed with Kent's initials, his nominal birth date and  the date of his death, and the words, "Not of this world,  but in the next, may you receive your just reward."  The  stonemason had helpfully pointed out what he thought was  the mistake in the wording, and had been very puzzled when  he was politely informed that there was no mistake.

This morning, Clark's birthday as it had been Kent's, the  family had stood around the stone while Lois had read the  eulogy she had written for her lost love.  And on the way  back to the farmhouse afterwards, her hand had stolen  quietly into Clark's.

Jonathan emerged from the kitchen, bringing Clark back to  the present.  He quelled the urge to leap up and hold the  brand-new swing door for his father, watching with amused  pride as Jonathan manoeuvred the full tray onto the table  without spilling a drop.

A sudden knock on the door startled them all, and Clark  rose.  He decided against taking off his paper party hat on  the way to the door, reflecting that anyone who dropped by  unannounced on a winter evening was likely to join in the  celebration.

He flung open the door, and the friendly words of welcome  died on his lips.  The bottom had just dropped out of his  world.

The visitor stood blinking in the sudden light from the  doorway.  After a moment he cleared his throat and offered  a diffident, "Good evening, Mr Kent."

Clark belatedly remembered his manners.  "Please come in,"  he said, standing aside.  Try as he might, he couldn't  summon up a smile.  He turned to the rest of the household.   "Lois, Mom, Dad... this is Mr Wells."

There was a deathly hush, then Martha swept forward, taking  charge of the rest of the introductions.  In short order  they were all seated around the living room with coffee and  cake, and Clark was numbly listening to Wells's explanation  for his presence.

"I thought you would wish to know what occurred in the  other universe when you left," he began.

Lois was nodding with keen interest, Clark saw with a  sinking heart.  He fixed his gaze on his plate.

"The flux facilitator of the dimension gateway overloaded,  as you no doubt guessed," Wells began pompously, "and the  device exploded, killing Mr Luthor.  The explosion  shattered the windows of the secret apartment, alerting the  authorities to its presence, and Mr Luthor's records were  discovered.  Due to Mr Luthor's habit of secrecy, and also  due to the mysterious disappearance of the Kryptonian globe  before its secrets were discovered," and here Wells allowed  a self-satisfied smirk to spread over his face, "the  connection between Superman and Clark Kent was never  discovered; so the senior Kents of that world are safe.   They plan to leave the full story of their son's life to be  published after their deaths.

"The details of Mr Luthor's villainy, however, and in  particular his murder of Superman, are known.  Superman's  body was discovered in a secret laboratory where Mr  Luthor's scientists were carrying out genetic  experiments..."  A small, choked sound escaped from Lois,  and Clark reached out and covered her hand with his own.   Her hand turned and clung gratefully to his.

"The laboratory was destroyed, and Superman's body was  given a state funeral with full honours.  There has been an  enormous groundswell of public opinion against organised  crime, and a memorial society called the Utopia Foundation  has been instituted in Superman's honour.  The future of  that universe, which was very bleak before your  intervention, Mr Kent, has been altered for the better."

Clark nodded curtly.  "Thank you," he said.

Wells's gaze shifted to Lois, and he said the words Clark  had been dreading.  "But I also have another reason for  coming.  Ms Lane, you have been stranded inadvertently in a  strange universe.  If you wish, I can take you home."

"Home?" she echoed.  She smiled, and the pain swelled in  Clark's chest.  He looked away.

There was a brief silence before Lois spoke again.  "Lex  took away everything I had," she said softly.  "He murdered  Clark.  He blew up the Planet, killing Perry and Jimmy.  He  ended my career, he tried to destroy my independence and my  self-respect, and he even tried to kill me.

"Here, I have my job back.  I have Perry and Jimmy back.  I  even have a trust fund to run, administering the royalties  from Daddy's patent."  She looked at Martha and Jonathan,  then glanced down at Clark's hand, still holding her own.   "And I have people who care about me."  She looked back at  Wells.  "This is my home."

********************

A short while later, beaming mistily, Wells waved his final  goodbye and stepped through his time window.  He had  promised to tell the Kents of the alternate universe that  Lois was safe, and give them a copy of her eulogy for their  son.

Clark turned to Lois, still smiling broadly.  His cheeks  were starting to hurt, but he hadn't been able to stop  grinning since Lois had delivered her decision.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Martha tugging  Jonathan into the kitchen.

"Thank you," he said softly to Lois.  "That's the best  birthday present anyone has ever given me."  He knew that  his heart was showing in his eyes, but for once he didn't  feel he could hide it.

"Oh, you think it's for your benefit, do you, farmboy?"  Lois said teasingly.  She stepped closer and put her arms  round him for a friendly hug; then she looked up into his  face and her eyes went wide.  "In case you hadn't figured  it out yet, I'm not the self-sacrificing type," she  continued, her voice growing husky.

Clark's arms closed about her, and she ran a hand up his  chest and around his neck to pull his head down.  As his  lips met hers for the first time, Clark revised his  opinion.

*This* was the best birthday present anyone had ever given  him.

<<... and they lived happily ever after.>>

==================== (c) Meredith Knight 2002

Table of Contents

Clark and the Beanstalk - a Lois & Clark fairy tale

CHAPTER ONE: The Stranger

CHAPTER TWO: The Giant's Castle

CHAPTER THREE: Golden Eggs

CHAPTER FOUR: The Magic Harp

Epilogue