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II. Nonobviousness
The next day and a half passed in a blur of rescheduled meetings, lingering sickness, and strategizing. He'd told himself that he wasn't counting on Phosita to neutralize Clark, but the state of his contingency plans revealed that to be his standard self-delusion.
He could still be a senator. Given that the current incompetent couldn't take a bribe without help from his accountant and that the soil reclamation project announced two years ago was still unimplemented, the people of Kansas would happily vote for a man who could make the relief trains run on time. He'd just have to spend more money to do it, which meant cutting back on a few of the less likely biofuel initiatives, moving some stock around, and holding off on the excavation of the newly discovered Kansa site that he hoped might have Kryptonian relics. The Kansa had been a larger tribe than the Kawatche even before Europeans showed up, but this sacred site had been near enough to the Kawatche caves that he hoped there'd been some crossover. Since he'd managed to purchase the land without letting anyone know of the archaeological secrets that lay within, he could afford to wait on that, even though the desire to know nagged at him.
He was in the middle of a presentation from a vendor of biological soil improvement technologies when she stopped mid-spiel and gaped over his shoulder. Well, she was from out of town. Lex closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and said, "Excuse me, Ms. Vallero, but we'll need to reschedule. My assistant Temperance will take care of that for you."
Sighing, Lex moved from the conference table to the control panel by his desk and let Clark in. He hadn't broken the wall, because there was no immediate physical danger, but he was going to rant about the inherent deviousness of Luthors, and Lex was more than bored with that.
When Clark zipped in -- still visible, but fast enough to make Lex blink and take an involuntary step backwards -- Lex could tell that matters were more complicated. Superman's hair was mussed, the spit-curl out of place, and his color was all wrong, red and white instead of the healthy, peachy glow that graced a million teenagers' bedrooms.
Lex stepped out from behind his desk. "What symptoms are you experiencing?" It wasn't even possible to kill the researchers responsible for this screw-up, because he'd supervised every phase of the testing himself. Every computer model, every test on Clark's discarded cells had agreed: There was no risk.
"Give me more," Clark said, breathing hard.
"What?"
In a flash, he was backed up against the west wall, his heels stinging from being dragged across the floor. The reinforced glass shivered against the back of his head. He set his jaw and looked up at Clark, who showed no sign of preparing to release his shoulders. "More. I know you have it." Up close, Clark's feverishness looked even worse. He was blinking too fast and sweating like a human. Even the fingers bruising Lex's shoulders were shaking, little flexes and releases drumming like heartbeats.
Lex had been through some horrific crashes: skull-crushing headaches, blurred vision, depression, muscle spasms, hours of vomiting. Phosita had been near the top of the list, and that wasn't just because he'd been abstinent of late. Drugs were not good for people, even him and Clark, and their bodies told them so in every possible way. But the mind – the mind was more amenable to persuasion. Clark's mind was saying that just a little bit would be okay. Lex knew that song, chorus and verse.
Clark, maybe, needed to be given the hymnal.
“You’re asking for a revision of the original terms of the deal,” he pointed out. “We agreed to evaluate the drug’s effect on you first.” Clark just stared at him as if he were speaking in binary. “You want an accelerated dose, fine. I want a Monet. Haystacks, preferably. The Musee d’Orsay has enough that they won’t miss one, and you’re fast enough not to show up on camera.”
Clark’s brows furrowed. “Are you asking me to steal?”
Even for Clark, his reaction times were slow. “I’m discussing prices with a junkie,” Lex said. “You want your fix, I’ve stated the price. Unless you’re prepared to squeeze a bit harder.” Lex sincerely hoped Clark wasn’t – he was already going to have trouble sparring with Mercy.
As Clark processed Lex’s words, he let go and stepped back, dawning horror on his face.
This was not in the plan. Was Clark’s life really that bleak, that devoid of meaningful human contact, that a few hours of pleasure could disrupt his moral code? Well, that and the enormous shock to the system of overdose – flood a human with massive quantities of ecstasy and Viagra and, if he survived, he might not be making the best decisions for a few days either.
“I – I’m not a junkie,” Clark said, which Lex chose to consider as an apology. “I’ll wait.”
Lex shook his arms slightly to resettle his jacket and make sure his hands still worked. “Then I’ll see you in a week to make sure your system is clean.”
Clark nodded sheepishly.
“By the way,” he said, straightening his tie, “next time you shove me around, I’d better get off too. I’m not into giving without receiving.”
Clark stood there like a large, dumb statue.
Lex returned to the conference table where the vendor had left her materials. The mushrooms were in a small tray. He touched a finger to the soil in which they were embedded, rich and crumbling the way good growing earth should be. Some days he thought that the world really could be saved.
“Wait!” Clark’s voice was almost pleading.
Lex turned, ready to go through the whole unpleasant refusal process again.
“You mean – when we – did I --?”
If he’d misunderstood that, he was about to embarrass himself severely. But he had to have faith in his reasoning. “Phosita has no noticeable effects on a non-Kryptonian.” Other physiological effects, obviously. But his physical reaction to Clark had never changed.
Clark went red all over, then disappeared.
****
After that display, he was dubious that Clark would return a third time – first overdose, then addictive behavior; it wasn’t a promising beginning for drug therapy. Still, Clark was an eternal surprise, and his features in the Planet had stayed far away from LuthorCorp, so Lex kept his schedule free for the entire afternoon on the day a week after that conversation.
When Superman showed up outside his office just after six, he wondered if Clark’s desire to appear normal had overshadowed all other misgivings. (And really, who didn’t have to pop pills to perform as desired these days? Better living through pharmacodynamics, that was the modern condition.)
Mercy glared at him when he punched the button to open the wall, and he realized he was smiling. Since that would just piss Clark off and delay the proceedings, he stopped. Clark flew in at a regular pace, neither righteously slow nor dangerously fast. Lex felt a flash of hope that the deal would work, though it would be a better bet that Clark was coming to show that he’d fully recovered and seen the folly of his ways.
Mercy was standing there, stiff and almost vibrating with anger that Superman was on LuthorCorp territory and she wasn’t being given the freedom to do something about it. “You’re free to start on that assignment, Mercy.” He’d assigned her to review security at the Kansa site and ensure that no one there was inclined to talk to strangers – or to spouses, for that matter.
She nodded at him sharply and left the room. Clark looked after her. "She doesn't like me very much, does she?"
Lex shook his head. "Ever since Lois called her 'Special Forces Barbie' while she was throwing you two out of Cadmus, I think Mercy's had a bit of a crush. And you work with Lois, so there's a jealousy factor."
Clark would never say, "You're shitting me," but Lex could tell he was thinking it. Lex half wanted it to be true, even as he knew how very much he owed Mercy's unstinting loyalty.
"It's been a week," Clark said, unnecessarily. "Run your tests."
"You're adhering to the agreement, then." Lex was – "surprised" was inadequate. "Gobsmacked" was more like it. "I would have thought the initial adventure – not to mention your subsequent less-than-dignified behavior – would have been enough to keep you away."
Clark looked at him as if Lex were the dumb one. "I'm here, aren't I? I want it, but – I don't need it. You showed me that yourself. Or are you trying to back out? Are you afraid of what you'll do if I'm not keeping you in check?"
Lex knew it was pure manipulation, no subtler than anything Lionel might have tried, but he felt his adrenalin rise in response to the challenge nonetheless.
"I just don't want you claiming I failed to give you chances to change your mind." Lex moved towards the side door, the one that led to his private labs. "Follow me, then, and we'll see if your system is clear."
"How'd you get baseline readings, anyway?" Clark grumbled as the crossed into the lab. His nervous glance around made Lex wonder whether Clark used his broad-spectrum vision wherever he went or whether that caution was reserved for LuthorCorp property. He ignored Clark's question. If Clark didn't know the answer, it was only because he didn't want to know.
Lex always felt better in the lab. For years it had been the place he felt most in control. Even when he'd mastered the rest of his world – mainly by cutting out everything that required the trustworthiness of another human being – the lab was a refuge. Chemicals might disappoint, but they'd never betray. Better, often disappointment was a prelude to a new investigative path.
This happy reverie kept Lex chipper, even as Clark glowered through his setup. Lex almost made a joke about Clark opening his mouth and closing his eyes when he approached with the cheek swab, but then he remembered Clark on his knees, getting Lex ready with his mouth, and the words suffocated in his throat.
Clark submitted to the swab without comment and even plucked a strand of hair from his head when Lex ordered him to do so. The sample cup got a bigger scowl, but when Lex said, "I need to see, if it's still present, whether it's been metabolized or is being excreted intact," that seemed to persuade Clark that science, not some fetish for embarrassing Clark, was behind the request.
Because Lex's supercomputers made Crays look like Palm Pilots, the analysis didn't take long. As he'd hoped, there were no traces of Phosita in Clark's urine or sloughed mucous cells. The hair sample showed that it had been present in the past few days, demonstrating that his equipment would have detected it if it had been there.
Clark was fidgeting like a premed student after twelve cups of coffee.
"It's been completely metabolized."
"That means –"
"As far as I can tell, you're clean. You can have more any time, though I recommend smaller doses in the future."
Clark had his hands behind his back. He looked almost lost. It would have been much easier, Lex realized, had Lex told him that some physical fact prevented him from getting the benefit of his bargain.
Lex began putting away his material, sterilizing the equipment, wiping away any trace of Clark's presence.
A better man would have asked Clark again whether he really wanted to keep his deal.
Lex left the lab, Clark trailing behind him like a large and threatening ghost. He opened the desk safe and pulled out the bottle, now filled with carefully measured gel-caps. "One dose at a time. Maximum of three doses in a twenty-four hour period." By the time that he decided that a joke about Cialis would be inappropriate, the opportunity was long past.
If he didn't trust Clark to keep his word, he'd have asked a pointed question about when he could expect his first editorial support. But Clark was a liar, not a cheat, so he didn't bother.
Clark still hadn't taken the bottle. Lex suppressed a sigh and sat back down at his desk, putting the bottle down in front of Clark. He could sense Clark glowering even without looking at his face. You'd think Lex had a gun to his head instead of offering a rational deal that could have been refused. The people Lex usually dealt with had far less freedom to reject Lex's proposals, and they rarely complained.
He could unlock the computer – he predicted at least a hundred emails awaiting his immediate review – but Clark was still standing there like some cigar-store Indian.
He heard the rattle of pills as Clark examined the bottle.
It would be better if he could start working, show Clark that it was time to fly along to Lois – no, he should sit calmly, indifferent and above it all – no, he ought to say something cutting, remind Clark that this was a business deal –
No, he should get the fuck over himself and calm down. He never had been able to control what Clark did or thought, and he never would be able to do so. He took a deep breath, imagining the molecular structure of Phosita, tangled like the Gordian knot but not quite as easy to unravel. It was a beautiful molecule – perhaps all things Kryptonian were supernaturally attractive to human brains.
The pills clattered into Clark's hand as he decanted them.
Lex watched as Clark rolled a capsule between his thumb and forefinger. Lex’s throat was dry and his body screamed at him to stand up and start punching something. He opened his mouth but stopped, transfixed by the look of raw lust Clark was directing towards the Phosita.
Clark turned his head, slowly, as if it hurt to look away, and caught Lex’s eyes. “Do you want --?” The question trailed off, but Lex knew the answer better than he understood the question.
“Yes,” he said.
Clark met him halfway around the desk. Lex was faster with the costume this time around.
****
Clark left the jar. The only explanation Lex could figure out was that it was a measure to control his usage. Clark couldn’t trust himself not to overdose on his own, since he’d never had to fight this kind of temptation. The humiliation of coming to Lex would be a restraint on how often he did it.
Clark came by at least once a week, sometimes twice, three times after a bad run of supervillains and superstorms. The Planet went from seething hatred to ‘Maybe Lex Luthor is not the most evil man who ever plotted evil,’ which was a decent result, considering the baseline. Most gratifying was that the whole editorial side followed Clark’s lead. He hadn’t meant to make that a condition of the deal, and he was a little surprised that Clark’s colleagues trusted him enough to go along with Clark’s reassessment, but he’d take it.
Lex got the nomination, as everyone (including the other candidates) predicted. He had a solid enough lead in the polls that LuthorCorp would have to melt down like Enron or he’d have to be revealed as a pedophile before he’d lose.
Late one fall morning, Temperance put a call through from the researchers at the Kansa site. “We’ve found something,” Dr. Passmore said.
"Something" turned out to be a leather bag, flaking to pieces with age, on which could still be made out painted and beaded Kryptonian symbols. Lex recognized the words for water and sky, but couldn't parse the meaning. Dr. Passmore thought it was decorative, since it resembled standard Kansa ornamentation in style if not substance.
The bag wasn't empty. Scans had revealed layers of rotted fabric wrapped around a long, narrow object, tapered at both ends. Showing both restraint and wisdom, Dr. Passmore had sent for Lex before trying any physical investigations.
When Lex was satisfied that the markings had been recorded and modeled in their original three-dimensional configuration, he gave the researchers the go-ahead. Dr. Lee, a bright young woman who'd won a LuthorCorp scholarship a few years back, carefully cut the leather cord holding the
bag closed. Lex watched through a closed-camera circuit. He'd been present at enough unveilings of Kryptonian artifacts to know that sometimes discretion was the better part of scientific inquiry.
The bag opened with a puff of dust. Lee painstakingly pried the sides apart, wincing as the leather cracked and tore, and reached in to pull out the object. The cloth wrapped around it was a dull gray-purple, though Lex didn't know whether that bore any relation to its original color.
Lee turned the lump over, looking for a place to start unraveling, then gave up and reached for her scalpel again. She peeled back layer after layer, all the same. Preliminary analysis conducted on the spot suggested it was ordinary cloth of the kind the Kansa had traded for with Europeans.
The object appeared at last. It was dull black, either from age or design. It looked as if there were two parts – a handle entering a sheath. The monitors, even the special one he’d built to detect Kryptonite radiation, showed no deviation from natural background conditions. Lee changed into new gloves and carefully pulled at one end.
Nothing happened.
Everyone in the room breathed out at once.
Lex hit the intercom. “Bring it here,” he said.
Lee obviously didn't want to hand it over. Lex liked her more, seeing that. He also liked that she didn't protest or hesitate.
He didn't bother with gloves. He would be the first person to touch the object in hundreds of years -- maybe the first human to touch it ever.
Lee placed it carefully across his palm. He felt a small shock, less than static electricity from walking across a carpet in a dry season, then nothing more. The artifact was not heavy, probably less than a pound, and it was neither cool nor warm, more like rock than metal. He turned it around in his hands. There were no symbols visible.
He tugged at the handle portion, increasing the force when he felt resistance. Like a snake sliding out of its secret bower, the blade emerged, dull silver. Kryptonian symbols were outlined in runnels of golden material; it was almost as if they were glowing, even though the monitors still weren’t picking anything up.
It was another dagger. Apparently the rule of threes applied on Krypton as well. One for Segeth, one for Zod, and one for – whom? Prophecy, revenge, and something else. Lex laid the edge against his palm. It could cut him, if he let it, but that would require more pressure. The blade was cool against his skin, and if it wasn’t his imagination, there was a slight vibration, as if something deep inside were purring.
“You look like you recognize it,” Lee said.
Lex resolved to give her a raise. “I’ve known two daggers like this before. They were both ... fragile.” He sheathed the dagger and dropped it in his pocket. “I’ll call you when I need further analysis.”
He left the researchers to marinate in curiousity. If they were right for the job, it would motivate them.
****
According to his experience with Segeth’s dagger and Lana's account of his time as Zod, he might get useful results by stabbing someone with this knife. Given that he had no idea what the value of "useful" was, he preferred to seek further information first. And so, as ever, it was back to Smallville to look for answers. The only time he knew of that contact with an inanimate object had activated a Kryptonian device, it had been in the Kawatche caves.
Clark’s misadventures over the years had altered the geography of the caves and even destroyed some of the markings on the walls, but the place still offered his best chance to learn what the dagger was meant to do.
Hope and Mercy remained outside, on guard. Lex walked in, like going back in time. Clark could almost have been there, behind his shoulder, feigning ignorance and sincerely afraid of what the caves held.
As he approached the wall with the Kryptonian Wheel of Life (or so he’d dubbed it, in the absence of other information), there was a grinding noise. He stopped, then continued towards it.
The wheel lit up. That’s new, Lex thought.
“You bear Kal-El’s mark,” the wall said in a booming voice.
Lex didn’t rear back, but he wanted very much to do so. Aside from the fact that the wall was talking, he didn’t like the idea of bearing Clark’s “mark.” Still, he was in no position to reveal ignorance and if it got the Kryptonian technology to open up to him he couldn’t begrudge the reason why. “Yes.”
“What is your desire?”
Lex smiled. The answer to that wasn’t something a stone wall could provide. But he had a few questions. “I want to know what this is.” He opened the lead box and tilted it towards the wall, in case the sensors needed a fuller view.
“It alters climate. It was designed for colonization.”
This, too, had been part of Lana’s report on Zod. For all Superman’s protestations, then, apparently Zod wasn't all that unusual in his attitude towards inferior planets and the beings with the bad taste to be occupying them instead of Kryptonians. “Alters climate – on what scale?”
“Planetary,” the wall said. The ‘of course’ was only implied.
Lex had wondered whether Zod’s earlier manipulations had accelerated recent climate changes. If they had, Zod might get his victory over humanity yet – unless something changed. “Will it recreate a Kryptonian environment exactly, or can it be directed to make other climatic changes?”
“It is subject to the direction of the user.”
Lex swallowed. The box seemed heavier, the dagger’s edges sharper. “Tell me how.”
Lights blurred in a near-circle over the wall. “The colonization project was interrupted. Presently, the device lacks a sufficient power source.”
“How can I get it enough power?” Nuclear was manageable – but a reactor could attract a lot of attention. Maybe he could buy an existing one, manipulate the electricity prices so no one would notice it had gone off the grid –
“The only feasible option is to connect it to the Eradicator.”
“The what?” Lex had known Kryptonians were dangerous, but that sounded bad even to him.
“The Eradicator began as non-Kryptonian technology that carried cultural information across the stars as part of peaceful contact missions. When it was brought to Krypton, it fell into the hands of Kem-L, Kal-El’s ancestor, who believed that Kryptonian purity required the rejection of all alien beings, though not all alien technology.” Lex was mildly creeped out by the thought that the cave wall might have a sense of irony, but he was caught up in the story and didn’t comment. “Kem-L therefore reprogrammed the device into a weapon capable of eradicating non-Kryptonians. When Jor-El took custody of it, it became the repository for all Krypton’s culture and was resident in Kal-El’s travel pod. When Kal-El matured, it became a component of his Fortress. Its transformative powers guided the conversion of the native environment into a small Kryptonian home.”
“And you’re saying it could continue that process on a planetary scale, with the guidance provided by this device.”
“The Eradicator was damaged in the battle with Zod, but self-healing mechanisms and efficient manipulation of solar energy should have restored it sufficiently.”
He could get into the Fortress, if he had to. Clark might even let him in. “Tell me what I need to do to make it work.”
Another flicker of light, red-blue-yellow so fast that the colors started to merge. “Only those of the House of El can control the Eradicator.”
Fuck. Even now – especially now – he had no good ideas for convincing Clark to follow any of Lex’s plans.
Lex controlled his expression, since he had no real idea about the cave wall’s ability to evaluate humans. With luck, it wasn’t reading his mind.
“You said I bear Kal-El’s mark. Is that not sufficient to make me part of the House of El?” It had been enough to make the cave react to him as never before.
There was a pause. “The Eradicator is not Kryptonian. Its programming is unusual.” The cave’s tone was almost apologetic, tinged with a hint of Kryptonian disdain for outsiders. “If Kal-El were to acknowledge you as his own in the presence of the Eradicator, Kryptonian law would be fully satisfied. That might well be sufficient.”
Lex swallowed. “I’ll have to go with that. Assuming Kal-El does acknowledge me, what would I do next?”
“Insert the device into the join between the two largest crystals.” At his left, a holographic projection appeared, showing a crystal anemone, white as an angel's morningstar. Lex looked at it and flashed back to meteors tearing holes in the earth.
He stepped closer to the wall. The caves seemed to have gotten colder, and he could smell the remains of an animal that must have crawled inside to die.
“Was the Eradicator intended to be used for Kryptoforming?”
“It was intended to assist Kal-El to achieve his destiny.”
Answer enough, for now. “Thank you,” Lex said. “I’ll be back.” He turned to go; he had many plans to make.
“Human,” the wall said. Lex stopped. He closed his eyes for a moment, then turned back to hear the catch. “Using the Eradicator as the power source will wipe the crystals’ memories. All the knowledge of Krypton, the history and art, the many things Jor-El recorded for Kal-El’s betterment, they will be lost forever.”
It was like a punch to the gut. He could trade a world’s past for another world’s future. Lex had always loved the lessons of history, the exemplars and romances, the triumphs undimmed by the turning of the years. “Is there any human technology that could download or record the materials in the crystals?”
“No,” the wall said, and it almost sounded as if it understood.
All the way back to Metropolis, he stared at the knife and thought about sealing it away in his safe. There were alternatives, if he was smart enough, careful enough, lucky enough – if he could persuade the rest of the world to help him fix it.
As if to mock his hopes, that week the Bangladeshi government in exile made an announcement. With no present prospect of reclaiming the drowned lands, it would no longer urge refugees to remain ready to return.
There were riots in twenty refugee camps.
The next day and a half passed in a blur of rescheduled meetings, lingering sickness, and strategizing. He'd told himself that he wasn't counting on Phosita to neutralize Clark, but the state of his contingency plans revealed that to be his standard self-delusion.
He could still be a senator. Given that the current incompetent couldn't take a bribe without help from his accountant and that the soil reclamation project announced two years ago was still unimplemented, the people of Kansas would happily vote for a man who could make the relief trains run on time. He'd just have to spend more money to do it, which meant cutting back on a few of the less likely biofuel initiatives, moving some stock around, and holding off on the excavation of the newly discovered Kansa site that he hoped might have Kryptonian relics. The Kansa had been a larger tribe than the Kawatche even before Europeans showed up, but this sacred site had been near enough to the Kawatche caves that he hoped there'd been some crossover. Since he'd managed to purchase the land without letting anyone know of the archaeological secrets that lay within, he could afford to wait on that, even though the desire to know nagged at him.
He was in the middle of a presentation from a vendor of biological soil improvement technologies when she stopped mid-spiel and gaped over his shoulder. Well, she was from out of town. Lex closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and said, "Excuse me, Ms. Vallero, but we'll need to reschedule. My assistant Temperance will take care of that for you."
Sighing, Lex moved from the conference table to the control panel by his desk and let Clark in. He hadn't broken the wall, because there was no immediate physical danger, but he was going to rant about the inherent deviousness of Luthors, and Lex was more than bored with that.
When Clark zipped in -- still visible, but fast enough to make Lex blink and take an involuntary step backwards -- Lex could tell that matters were more complicated. Superman's hair was mussed, the spit-curl out of place, and his color was all wrong, red and white instead of the healthy, peachy glow that graced a million teenagers' bedrooms.
Lex stepped out from behind his desk. "What symptoms are you experiencing?" It wasn't even possible to kill the researchers responsible for this screw-up, because he'd supervised every phase of the testing himself. Every computer model, every test on Clark's discarded cells had agreed: There was no risk.
"Give me more," Clark said, breathing hard.
"What?"
In a flash, he was backed up against the west wall, his heels stinging from being dragged across the floor. The reinforced glass shivered against the back of his head. He set his jaw and looked up at Clark, who showed no sign of preparing to release his shoulders. "More. I know you have it." Up close, Clark's feverishness looked even worse. He was blinking too fast and sweating like a human. Even the fingers bruising Lex's shoulders were shaking, little flexes and releases drumming like heartbeats.
Lex had been through some horrific crashes: skull-crushing headaches, blurred vision, depression, muscle spasms, hours of vomiting. Phosita had been near the top of the list, and that wasn't just because he'd been abstinent of late. Drugs were not good for people, even him and Clark, and their bodies told them so in every possible way. But the mind – the mind was more amenable to persuasion. Clark's mind was saying that just a little bit would be okay. Lex knew that song, chorus and verse.
Clark, maybe, needed to be given the hymnal.
“You’re asking for a revision of the original terms of the deal,” he pointed out. “We agreed to evaluate the drug’s effect on you first.” Clark just stared at him as if he were speaking in binary. “You want an accelerated dose, fine. I want a Monet. Haystacks, preferably. The Musee d’Orsay has enough that they won’t miss one, and you’re fast enough not to show up on camera.”
Clark’s brows furrowed. “Are you asking me to steal?”
Even for Clark, his reaction times were slow. “I’m discussing prices with a junkie,” Lex said. “You want your fix, I’ve stated the price. Unless you’re prepared to squeeze a bit harder.” Lex sincerely hoped Clark wasn’t – he was already going to have trouble sparring with Mercy.
As Clark processed Lex’s words, he let go and stepped back, dawning horror on his face.
This was not in the plan. Was Clark’s life really that bleak, that devoid of meaningful human contact, that a few hours of pleasure could disrupt his moral code? Well, that and the enormous shock to the system of overdose – flood a human with massive quantities of ecstasy and Viagra and, if he survived, he might not be making the best decisions for a few days either.
“I – I’m not a junkie,” Clark said, which Lex chose to consider as an apology. “I’ll wait.”
Lex shook his arms slightly to resettle his jacket and make sure his hands still worked. “Then I’ll see you in a week to make sure your system is clean.”
Clark nodded sheepishly.
“By the way,” he said, straightening his tie, “next time you shove me around, I’d better get off too. I’m not into giving without receiving.”
Clark stood there like a large, dumb statue.
Lex returned to the conference table where the vendor had left her materials. The mushrooms were in a small tray. He touched a finger to the soil in which they were embedded, rich and crumbling the way good growing earth should be. Some days he thought that the world really could be saved.
“Wait!” Clark’s voice was almost pleading.
Lex turned, ready to go through the whole unpleasant refusal process again.
“You mean – when we – did I --?”
If he’d misunderstood that, he was about to embarrass himself severely. But he had to have faith in his reasoning. “Phosita has no noticeable effects on a non-Kryptonian.” Other physiological effects, obviously. But his physical reaction to Clark had never changed.
Clark went red all over, then disappeared.
****
After that display, he was dubious that Clark would return a third time – first overdose, then addictive behavior; it wasn’t a promising beginning for drug therapy. Still, Clark was an eternal surprise, and his features in the Planet had stayed far away from LuthorCorp, so Lex kept his schedule free for the entire afternoon on the day a week after that conversation.
When Superman showed up outside his office just after six, he wondered if Clark’s desire to appear normal had overshadowed all other misgivings. (And really, who didn’t have to pop pills to perform as desired these days? Better living through pharmacodynamics, that was the modern condition.)
Mercy glared at him when he punched the button to open the wall, and he realized he was smiling. Since that would just piss Clark off and delay the proceedings, he stopped. Clark flew in at a regular pace, neither righteously slow nor dangerously fast. Lex felt a flash of hope that the deal would work, though it would be a better bet that Clark was coming to show that he’d fully recovered and seen the folly of his ways.
Mercy was standing there, stiff and almost vibrating with anger that Superman was on LuthorCorp territory and she wasn’t being given the freedom to do something about it. “You’re free to start on that assignment, Mercy.” He’d assigned her to review security at the Kansa site and ensure that no one there was inclined to talk to strangers – or to spouses, for that matter.
She nodded at him sharply and left the room. Clark looked after her. "She doesn't like me very much, does she?"
Lex shook his head. "Ever since Lois called her 'Special Forces Barbie' while she was throwing you two out of Cadmus, I think Mercy's had a bit of a crush. And you work with Lois, so there's a jealousy factor."
Clark would never say, "You're shitting me," but Lex could tell he was thinking it. Lex half wanted it to be true, even as he knew how very much he owed Mercy's unstinting loyalty.
"It's been a week," Clark said, unnecessarily. "Run your tests."
"You're adhering to the agreement, then." Lex was – "surprised" was inadequate. "Gobsmacked" was more like it. "I would have thought the initial adventure – not to mention your subsequent less-than-dignified behavior – would have been enough to keep you away."
Clark looked at him as if Lex were the dumb one. "I'm here, aren't I? I want it, but – I don't need it. You showed me that yourself. Or are you trying to back out? Are you afraid of what you'll do if I'm not keeping you in check?"
Lex knew it was pure manipulation, no subtler than anything Lionel might have tried, but he felt his adrenalin rise in response to the challenge nonetheless.
"I just don't want you claiming I failed to give you chances to change your mind." Lex moved towards the side door, the one that led to his private labs. "Follow me, then, and we'll see if your system is clear."
"How'd you get baseline readings, anyway?" Clark grumbled as the crossed into the lab. His nervous glance around made Lex wonder whether Clark used his broad-spectrum vision wherever he went or whether that caution was reserved for LuthorCorp property. He ignored Clark's question. If Clark didn't know the answer, it was only because he didn't want to know.
Lex always felt better in the lab. For years it had been the place he felt most in control. Even when he'd mastered the rest of his world – mainly by cutting out everything that required the trustworthiness of another human being – the lab was a refuge. Chemicals might disappoint, but they'd never betray. Better, often disappointment was a prelude to a new investigative path.
This happy reverie kept Lex chipper, even as Clark glowered through his setup. Lex almost made a joke about Clark opening his mouth and closing his eyes when he approached with the cheek swab, but then he remembered Clark on his knees, getting Lex ready with his mouth, and the words suffocated in his throat.
Clark submitted to the swab without comment and even plucked a strand of hair from his head when Lex ordered him to do so. The sample cup got a bigger scowl, but when Lex said, "I need to see, if it's still present, whether it's been metabolized or is being excreted intact," that seemed to persuade Clark that science, not some fetish for embarrassing Clark, was behind the request.
Because Lex's supercomputers made Crays look like Palm Pilots, the analysis didn't take long. As he'd hoped, there were no traces of Phosita in Clark's urine or sloughed mucous cells. The hair sample showed that it had been present in the past few days, demonstrating that his equipment would have detected it if it had been there.
Clark was fidgeting like a premed student after twelve cups of coffee.
"It's been completely metabolized."
"That means –"
"As far as I can tell, you're clean. You can have more any time, though I recommend smaller doses in the future."
Clark had his hands behind his back. He looked almost lost. It would have been much easier, Lex realized, had Lex told him that some physical fact prevented him from getting the benefit of his bargain.
Lex began putting away his material, sterilizing the equipment, wiping away any trace of Clark's presence.
A better man would have asked Clark again whether he really wanted to keep his deal.
Lex left the lab, Clark trailing behind him like a large and threatening ghost. He opened the desk safe and pulled out the bottle, now filled with carefully measured gel-caps. "One dose at a time. Maximum of three doses in a twenty-four hour period." By the time that he decided that a joke about Cialis would be inappropriate, the opportunity was long past.
If he didn't trust Clark to keep his word, he'd have asked a pointed question about when he could expect his first editorial support. But Clark was a liar, not a cheat, so he didn't bother.
Clark still hadn't taken the bottle. Lex suppressed a sigh and sat back down at his desk, putting the bottle down in front of Clark. He could sense Clark glowering even without looking at his face. You'd think Lex had a gun to his head instead of offering a rational deal that could have been refused. The people Lex usually dealt with had far less freedom to reject Lex's proposals, and they rarely complained.
He could unlock the computer – he predicted at least a hundred emails awaiting his immediate review – but Clark was still standing there like some cigar-store Indian.
He heard the rattle of pills as Clark examined the bottle.
It would be better if he could start working, show Clark that it was time to fly along to Lois – no, he should sit calmly, indifferent and above it all – no, he ought to say something cutting, remind Clark that this was a business deal –
No, he should get the fuck over himself and calm down. He never had been able to control what Clark did or thought, and he never would be able to do so. He took a deep breath, imagining the molecular structure of Phosita, tangled like the Gordian knot but not quite as easy to unravel. It was a beautiful molecule – perhaps all things Kryptonian were supernaturally attractive to human brains.
The pills clattered into Clark's hand as he decanted them.
Lex watched as Clark rolled a capsule between his thumb and forefinger. Lex’s throat was dry and his body screamed at him to stand up and start punching something. He opened his mouth but stopped, transfixed by the look of raw lust Clark was directing towards the Phosita.
Clark turned his head, slowly, as if it hurt to look away, and caught Lex’s eyes. “Do you want --?” The question trailed off, but Lex knew the answer better than he understood the question.
“Yes,” he said.
Clark met him halfway around the desk. Lex was faster with the costume this time around.
****
Clark left the jar. The only explanation Lex could figure out was that it was a measure to control his usage. Clark couldn’t trust himself not to overdose on his own, since he’d never had to fight this kind of temptation. The humiliation of coming to Lex would be a restraint on how often he did it.
Clark came by at least once a week, sometimes twice, three times after a bad run of supervillains and superstorms. The Planet went from seething hatred to ‘Maybe Lex Luthor is not the most evil man who ever plotted evil,’ which was a decent result, considering the baseline. Most gratifying was that the whole editorial side followed Clark’s lead. He hadn’t meant to make that a condition of the deal, and he was a little surprised that Clark’s colleagues trusted him enough to go along with Clark’s reassessment, but he’d take it.
Lex got the nomination, as everyone (including the other candidates) predicted. He had a solid enough lead in the polls that LuthorCorp would have to melt down like Enron or he’d have to be revealed as a pedophile before he’d lose.
Late one fall morning, Temperance put a call through from the researchers at the Kansa site. “We’ve found something,” Dr. Passmore said.
"Something" turned out to be a leather bag, flaking to pieces with age, on which could still be made out painted and beaded Kryptonian symbols. Lex recognized the words for water and sky, but couldn't parse the meaning. Dr. Passmore thought it was decorative, since it resembled standard Kansa ornamentation in style if not substance.
The bag wasn't empty. Scans had revealed layers of rotted fabric wrapped around a long, narrow object, tapered at both ends. Showing both restraint and wisdom, Dr. Passmore had sent for Lex before trying any physical investigations.
When Lex was satisfied that the markings had been recorded and modeled in their original three-dimensional configuration, he gave the researchers the go-ahead. Dr. Lee, a bright young woman who'd won a LuthorCorp scholarship a few years back, carefully cut the leather cord holding the
bag closed. Lex watched through a closed-camera circuit. He'd been present at enough unveilings of Kryptonian artifacts to know that sometimes discretion was the better part of scientific inquiry.
The bag opened with a puff of dust. Lee painstakingly pried the sides apart, wincing as the leather cracked and tore, and reached in to pull out the object. The cloth wrapped around it was a dull gray-purple, though Lex didn't know whether that bore any relation to its original color.
Lee turned the lump over, looking for a place to start unraveling, then gave up and reached for her scalpel again. She peeled back layer after layer, all the same. Preliminary analysis conducted on the spot suggested it was ordinary cloth of the kind the Kansa had traded for with Europeans.
The object appeared at last. It was dull black, either from age or design. It looked as if there were two parts – a handle entering a sheath. The monitors, even the special one he’d built to detect Kryptonite radiation, showed no deviation from natural background conditions. Lee changed into new gloves and carefully pulled at one end.
Nothing happened.
Everyone in the room breathed out at once.
Lex hit the intercom. “Bring it here,” he said.
Lee obviously didn't want to hand it over. Lex liked her more, seeing that. He also liked that she didn't protest or hesitate.
He didn't bother with gloves. He would be the first person to touch the object in hundreds of years -- maybe the first human to touch it ever.
Lee placed it carefully across his palm. He felt a small shock, less than static electricity from walking across a carpet in a dry season, then nothing more. The artifact was not heavy, probably less than a pound, and it was neither cool nor warm, more like rock than metal. He turned it around in his hands. There were no symbols visible.
He tugged at the handle portion, increasing the force when he felt resistance. Like a snake sliding out of its secret bower, the blade emerged, dull silver. Kryptonian symbols were outlined in runnels of golden material; it was almost as if they were glowing, even though the monitors still weren’t picking anything up.
It was another dagger. Apparently the rule of threes applied on Krypton as well. One for Segeth, one for Zod, and one for – whom? Prophecy, revenge, and something else. Lex laid the edge against his palm. It could cut him, if he let it, but that would require more pressure. The blade was cool against his skin, and if it wasn’t his imagination, there was a slight vibration, as if something deep inside were purring.
“You look like you recognize it,” Lee said.
Lex resolved to give her a raise. “I’ve known two daggers like this before. They were both ... fragile.” He sheathed the dagger and dropped it in his pocket. “I’ll call you when I need further analysis.”
He left the researchers to marinate in curiousity. If they were right for the job, it would motivate them.
****
According to his experience with Segeth’s dagger and Lana's account of his time as Zod, he might get useful results by stabbing someone with this knife. Given that he had no idea what the value of "useful" was, he preferred to seek further information first. And so, as ever, it was back to Smallville to look for answers. The only time he knew of that contact with an inanimate object had activated a Kryptonian device, it had been in the Kawatche caves.
Clark’s misadventures over the years had altered the geography of the caves and even destroyed some of the markings on the walls, but the place still offered his best chance to learn what the dagger was meant to do.
Hope and Mercy remained outside, on guard. Lex walked in, like going back in time. Clark could almost have been there, behind his shoulder, feigning ignorance and sincerely afraid of what the caves held.
As he approached the wall with the Kryptonian Wheel of Life (or so he’d dubbed it, in the absence of other information), there was a grinding noise. He stopped, then continued towards it.
The wheel lit up. That’s new, Lex thought.
“You bear Kal-El’s mark,” the wall said in a booming voice.
Lex didn’t rear back, but he wanted very much to do so. Aside from the fact that the wall was talking, he didn’t like the idea of bearing Clark’s “mark.” Still, he was in no position to reveal ignorance and if it got the Kryptonian technology to open up to him he couldn’t begrudge the reason why. “Yes.”
“What is your desire?”
Lex smiled. The answer to that wasn’t something a stone wall could provide. But he had a few questions. “I want to know what this is.” He opened the lead box and tilted it towards the wall, in case the sensors needed a fuller view.
“It alters climate. It was designed for colonization.”
This, too, had been part of Lana’s report on Zod. For all Superman’s protestations, then, apparently Zod wasn't all that unusual in his attitude towards inferior planets and the beings with the bad taste to be occupying them instead of Kryptonians. “Alters climate – on what scale?”
“Planetary,” the wall said. The ‘of course’ was only implied.
Lex had wondered whether Zod’s earlier manipulations had accelerated recent climate changes. If they had, Zod might get his victory over humanity yet – unless something changed. “Will it recreate a Kryptonian environment exactly, or can it be directed to make other climatic changes?”
“It is subject to the direction of the user.”
Lex swallowed. The box seemed heavier, the dagger’s edges sharper. “Tell me how.”
Lights blurred in a near-circle over the wall. “The colonization project was interrupted. Presently, the device lacks a sufficient power source.”
“How can I get it enough power?” Nuclear was manageable – but a reactor could attract a lot of attention. Maybe he could buy an existing one, manipulate the electricity prices so no one would notice it had gone off the grid –
“The only feasible option is to connect it to the Eradicator.”
“The what?” Lex had known Kryptonians were dangerous, but that sounded bad even to him.
“The Eradicator began as non-Kryptonian technology that carried cultural information across the stars as part of peaceful contact missions. When it was brought to Krypton, it fell into the hands of Kem-L, Kal-El’s ancestor, who believed that Kryptonian purity required the rejection of all alien beings, though not all alien technology.” Lex was mildly creeped out by the thought that the cave wall might have a sense of irony, but he was caught up in the story and didn’t comment. “Kem-L therefore reprogrammed the device into a weapon capable of eradicating non-Kryptonians. When Jor-El took custody of it, it became the repository for all Krypton’s culture and was resident in Kal-El’s travel pod. When Kal-El matured, it became a component of his Fortress. Its transformative powers guided the conversion of the native environment into a small Kryptonian home.”
“And you’re saying it could continue that process on a planetary scale, with the guidance provided by this device.”
“The Eradicator was damaged in the battle with Zod, but self-healing mechanisms and efficient manipulation of solar energy should have restored it sufficiently.”
He could get into the Fortress, if he had to. Clark might even let him in. “Tell me what I need to do to make it work.”
Another flicker of light, red-blue-yellow so fast that the colors started to merge. “Only those of the House of El can control the Eradicator.”
Fuck. Even now – especially now – he had no good ideas for convincing Clark to follow any of Lex’s plans.
Lex controlled his expression, since he had no real idea about the cave wall’s ability to evaluate humans. With luck, it wasn’t reading his mind.
“You said I bear Kal-El’s mark. Is that not sufficient to make me part of the House of El?” It had been enough to make the cave react to him as never before.
There was a pause. “The Eradicator is not Kryptonian. Its programming is unusual.” The cave’s tone was almost apologetic, tinged with a hint of Kryptonian disdain for outsiders. “If Kal-El were to acknowledge you as his own in the presence of the Eradicator, Kryptonian law would be fully satisfied. That might well be sufficient.”
Lex swallowed. “I’ll have to go with that. Assuming Kal-El does acknowledge me, what would I do next?”
“Insert the device into the join between the two largest crystals.” At his left, a holographic projection appeared, showing a crystal anemone, white as an angel's morningstar. Lex looked at it and flashed back to meteors tearing holes in the earth.
He stepped closer to the wall. The caves seemed to have gotten colder, and he could smell the remains of an animal that must have crawled inside to die.
“Was the Eradicator intended to be used for Kryptoforming?”
“It was intended to assist Kal-El to achieve his destiny.”
Answer enough, for now. “Thank you,” Lex said. “I’ll be back.” He turned to go; he had many plans to make.
“Human,” the wall said. Lex stopped. He closed his eyes for a moment, then turned back to hear the catch. “Using the Eradicator as the power source will wipe the crystals’ memories. All the knowledge of Krypton, the history and art, the many things Jor-El recorded for Kal-El’s betterment, they will be lost forever.”
It was like a punch to the gut. He could trade a world’s past for another world’s future. Lex had always loved the lessons of history, the exemplars and romances, the triumphs undimmed by the turning of the years. “Is there any human technology that could download or record the materials in the crystals?”
“No,” the wall said, and it almost sounded as if it understood.
All the way back to Metropolis, he stared at the knife and thought about sealing it away in his safe. There were alternatives, if he was smart enough, careful enough, lucky enough – if he could persuade the rest of the world to help him fix it.
As if to mock his hopes, that week the Bangladeshi government in exile made an announcement. With no present prospect of reclaiming the drowned lands, it would no longer urge refugees to remain ready to return.
There were riots in twenty refugee camps.
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