Authors: Kevin J Anderson
I
N THE DANK SHADOWS OF THE CAVE, THE MYSTERIOUS
mineral fragment emitted its own gemstone light, an eerie emerald glow, though no unusual radiation registered on Bruce Wayne’s sophisticated instruments. When he passed a Geiger counter wand in front of it, the device yielded no clicks, no static. The rock shed no intrinsic heat; in fact, it felt cold and oily to the touch.
No wonder Lex Luthor was so interested in this sample. But why did it have such a dramatic effect on Superman, who seemed impervious to all other forms of attack? A simple exposure to the rock had nearly paralyzed him. Bruce had seen it with his own eyes.
After extricating himself from the debacle at Luthor’s mansion, he realized that too many things simply didn’t make sense—Superman foremost among them. Was the “Man of Steel” the personal watchdog of Lex Luthor? Superman had denied the accusation…but why else would he have raced in to protect the mansion and prevent Batman’s escape? On the other hand, why hadn’t he simply delivered Batman to Luthor and his goons, rather than flying off with him?
Did LuthorCorp have something to do with his superpowers? And if Luthor could create a Superman, why would he waste time dabbling with the bulky and primitive battlesuits based on Wayne Enterprises technology when those suits were clearly inferior to Superman’s demonstrated abilities?
And what did this lump of green rock have to do with anything?
Bruce continued to run his tests. Researching the name “Ariguska,” he discovered an isolated region of Siberia, unremarkable save for the fact that a large meteor had hit there two decades ago. Classified maps suggested, but did not confirm, that a harsh gulag was known to exist in the vicinity. Did the Soviets have some kind of mine there, the source of this rare and unusual mineral? And what could it be used for in a practical and industrial sense?
Around the United States, thanks to the burgeoning nuclear industry, prospectors were combing remote deserts and mountains using Geiger counters to locate natural uranium deposits, hoping to strike it rich. Atomic power showed great potential, and the nuclear weapons industry had a constant demand for new fissile material.
Bruce ran a fingertip along the smooth green face of the stone. Had Lex Luthor or his Siberian cronies discovered a substance potentially more powerful than uranium?
Crystalline spectroscopy had broken down the mineral’s content of heavy elements as well as strange inclusions of inert atoms and noble gases—argon, neon, even krypton. Other than that, the mineral itself seemed unremarkable. But if Luthor considered the green rock so extraordinarily valuable, there had to be something more to it….
Studying the unusual rock under high magnification, he detected a shocked crystalline structure, which implied that this sample had been subjected to tremendous heat and pressure—an impact or a great explosion. Perhaps this was a fragment of the Ariguska meteorite….
The mineral sample wasn’t the only mystery he had uncovered in Luthor’s secure private office, though. Bruce wondered what kind of “property” Luthor was demanding the U.S. military return to him? Why was he so interested in Area 51? Why had unmarked LuthorCorp planes been chasing the UFO, according to Superman’s statement, and what had they done to cause the F-100D to crash?
Bruce was certain everything was connected.
He looked up to find Alfred approaching with a tray bearing dinner. He set it down on one of the laboratory tables and removed the plate covering with a flourish. “A fresh salad and pea soup, sir.” The butler regarded the glowing emerald mineral next to all of Bruce’s analytical notes. “I noticed you seem to be in a green phase today.”
T
HE ENDLESSLY MONOTONOUS SCRUB DESERT OF SOUTHERN
Nevada looked different from the endlessly monotonous desert of Arizona…and yet the same. Clark drove the rental car again for hours along the eerily deserted highway. “You’d almost expect to see buzzards circling up there.”
With the highway map spread out on his knees, Jimmy looked up to study the cloudless blue sky. “I’d rather see flying saucers. Then at least we’d get a story for Mr. White.”
They had picked up the highway map at a filling station when they left Las Vegas that morning, heading north in the general direction of Alamo and Ash Springs. When the map proved entirely unhelpful in revealing the location of any secret experimental area, the man pumping the gas had drawn a circle on it with a callused, grease-stained finger.
“This is what you want, here—the Tikaboo Valley. That dotted line is a dry lake bed, Groom Lake, but the government took the name off all the maps. You won’t find the roads marked either.” He vaguely traced the spot with his finger again. “Just head out that direction and you’ll find what you want—or they’ll find you. They got orders to shoot to kill.”
“It’s all right,” Jimmy had said cheerfully. “We’ve got press passes.”
Clark had folded and refolded the map, trying to make the creases match. “Thank you very much, sir.”
Now the rental car rolled past ranchland fenced in with barbed wire, where it seemed impossible that any livestock could possibly survive. Jimmy swigged from the grape Nehi he had bought with some of his slot machine winnings at the gas station. In a generous mood with all of his nickels, he had bought Clark a bottle of soda pop as well.
During the long ride, the young man regaled Clark with stories of flying saucer sightings and UFO encounters he’d read about. Nine unusual objects had been seen flying near Mount Rainier, Washington, in June 1947, and less than two weeks later the famous “crash” had occurred near Roswell, New Mexico, and all evidence of the object had been whisked away by the U.S. military.
“That sounds a lot like what happened at Mercy Draw,” Clark said.
Jimmy bobbed his head. “I wonder if the army has a secret warehouse filled with downed alien craft.”
A year after the Roswell incident, a DC-3 commercial airliner nearly struck a torpedo-shaped object; both witnesses were veteran airmen who had served in World War II and were not prone to hallucinations. Only a few months earlier, a Kentucky Air National Guard pilot had crashed his P-51 Mustang while pursuing a flying saucer.
Sighting after sighting had generated a public craze and much speculation about aliens. The Air Force had launched several major investigations, the current and most ambitious being Project Blue Book. Their results, though, had never been released to the public. Clark, of course, had done his homework, intrigued by the possibility that he might not be the only extraterrestrial visitor on Earth. So far, he had no concrete answers.
They took an unmarked road leading west from Crystal Springs, though the map gave no hint of its destination. They rolled along parallel to a drooping barbed-wire fence that bore unwelcoming
PRIVATE PROPERTY
and
NO TRESPASSING
signs. Miles later, with no apparent change in terrain, the ominous signs switched to
PROPERTY OF U.S. GOVERNMENT
, then
WARNING: MILITARY INSTALLATION
or
DANGER: LIVE WEAPONS RANGE
.
“We must be getting close, Mr. Kent.”
But they were out in the middle of nowhere, and Clark could see no barracks, no Quonset huts, no installation of any kind. He peered into the distance for a guarded gate, office, or entrance station, which would have been present at any normal military installation. With his keen eyesight, he noted three Jeeps racing along a dirt road that intersected the highway, kicking up plumes of dust behind them.
“We’ve attracted some attention,” Clark said.
“Maybe we can ask them where to go.”
Another Jeep roared up on the blacktop road behind them, proceeding much faster than the speed limit. Ahead, a fifth vehicle bore down directly toward them. Within minutes, they were surrounded.
Clark dutifully used his turn signal and pulled off onto the dirt shoulder. As the military Jeeps converged, he saw that each vehicle carried at least two soldiers in full uniform, plus sidearms. Three men even carried machine guns. They looked like they meant business.
The military police were stone-faced and clean shaven, their eyes hidden behind sunglasses. A no-nonsense corporal walked up to them. “You are trespassing on U.S. government property. Turn around and get out right now, or you’ll find yourselves in a world of trouble.”
Jimmy had pulled out his camera and pressed the button to expose the lens. He waved his press card and nudged Clark to do the same. “We’re from the Metropolis
Daily Planet.
We’re here to do a story.”
“Not on this base, you aren’t. No press allowed.”
“There’s a base here?” Clark said. “I don’t see anything.”
“There’s no base.”
“But you just said there was a base.”
Two other soldiers closed in, hefting their rifles. The corporal rested a hand on his sidearm. “I told you, sir—turn around.” He pointed meaningfully at a metal sign dangling from a strand of barbed wire:
WARNING! BEYOND THIS POINT TRESPASSERS WILL BE MET WITH LETHAL FORCE!
Lois would never have allowed herself to be so quickly evicted once she smelled a story. Clark pressed, “Could you please give us the name of someone we could talk to? We’d like to arrange a meeting—”
“No interviews.” The corporal was angry now. “Are you deaf?”
Clark had never faced so many drawn weapons before, except as Superman. Now even Jimmy was nervous. “Maybe, um, we should do as they say, Mr. Kent.”
“Okay, we’re stymied.” Clark took off his hat and absently ran the brim through his fingers. Keeping his eye on the Jeeps that had pulled up to block them, he shifted the car into reverse and backed up slowly, then turned around.
Jimmy looked over his shoulder as they rolled back down the lonely highway in the direction they had come from. None of the soldiers had so much as moved. “That’s the end of the story, I guess, Mr. Kent. We’re never going to get inside that base.”
Clark nodded grimly. “These soldiers are just doing their jobs. We have to respect that and leave them alone.”
Jimmy sagged into his seat. He packed his Graflex back up and put it into its leather case.
Clark hid his smile, though, as the clutch of soldiers diminished in his rearview mirror. With his super-vision he had scanned the area, and he had seen enough. He was already making plans for just how to get into Area 51—using his own means, later…after dark.
A
T ANY OTHER TIME, LOIS WOULD HAVE SNICKERED AT
Clark’s assignment to chase little green men, but she had already taken a lot of flak for believing Superman’s claim that he wasn’t from Earth, and Lois did not like to be ridiculed. If Clark did get definitive proof of a real alien spacecraft, then no one would doubt Superman’s statement.
Besides, this particular UFO was much more interesting to her because LuthorCorp planes had been chasing it. Since Clark was on the scene in Podunk, Arizona, Lois decided to approach the story from an entirely different angle.
And that angle had to be Lex Luthor.
After learning of Blanche Rosen’s tragic and way too convenient death, Lois had gathered her scraps of evidence about what a snake Luthor was, and she had no intention of stopping now. She needed to do this for Blanche and for all those unfortunate employees who had been fired or had mysteriously died of “natural causes.” Those men and women had just been doing their jobs, trying to make a living.
At her desk, Lois withdrew into her thoughts. She glanced at the framed photo of herself and her kid sister, Lucy, standing next to their father, the general. Lucy had always been Daddy’s little girl, and her career as a stewardess was considered an “appropriate” job for a young, attractive woman. But what about women like Blanche Rosen?
Fighting back her anger, Lois walked into Perry White’s office, dropped a stack of her notes on his desk, and explained what she had found. “I started digging like you told me to, Chief—and this story goes far beyond Luthor simply firing all his female employees and some older, disposable men. Even
I’m
surprised at how deep and how insidious this is. I turned over a rock and uncovered a whole nest of squirming, slimy things.” She explained about her source and how she had been brutally silenced. “Murdered, Chief. No doubt about it.”
Perry looked down at the obituary. “Says here ‘hit and run.’”
“
Murdered
.” Lois showed him the death notices of all the former LuthorCorp employees who had died in LuthorCorp-funded medical centers without being allowed to speak a word in public. “Poor people who were exposed to deadly levels of radiation during the construction of an atomic power reactor on a secret island base.”
“Says here ‘natural causes.’”
“Murdered.”
She showed him her sketches and photographs of Luthor’s base, which she had surreptitiously taken in his munitions factory. “These plans are further proof. Luthor is setting up an entire control center outside the boundaries of the United States. Why would he do that if he’s conducting legitimate government work?”
Perry looked skeptically at the blurry photo of the blueprints from the wall of Luthor’s sealed factory office. “I see a map that doesn’t mean anything and sketches that you did yourself.”
“It’s proof!”
“Not proof that I can publish in the newspaper, Lois—and you know it. Coincidences, yes. Suspicions, yes. But if I go ahead with this story, Luthor’s attorneys will have a field day with us in court. Great Caesar’s ghost, I’m not saying I don’t believe you. I don’t need to tell you your job. I’m saying that I can’t publish this exposé until you have something concrete.”
Lois felt her face burning. “Then send me down there. I’ll make my way to that island and come back with all the proof you need.”
Perry put his cigar in his mouth but didn’t light it. “You want the
Daily Planet
to send you on an all-expenses-paid Caribbean vacation? I’ve already got Kent and Olsen out in Las Vegas chasing little green men.”
“This could be the biggest story the
Planet
has ever run!”
He raised his hand when he could see she would continue to protest. “Keep digging, Lois. Get me something tangible. Prove me wrong.”
She headed toward the door, barely keeping her temper in check. “I will, Chief!”