The Death and Life of Superman (59 page)

He had no sooner completed that thought than the Kryptonian dove down onto him from above, and the two of them went tumbling head over heels. John Henry fought to stay on top, fought to stay conscious and to fire his rockets one last time.

Then they slammed into the parking lot of a suburban shopping mall.

The pavement heaved, and shoppers were thrown to the ground by the force of the impact. As people picked themselves up, they looked around wide-eyed.

“What was that?” A woman groped for her glasses. “An earthquake?”

“No.” A young man pointed toward the new crater that had opened up in the asphalt just a few hundred feet away. “Something . . . something just
fell
out of the sky. It looked like people!”

Within minutes, a police helicopter hovered over the site, and mall security guards rushed to cordon off the area and offer first aid to shaken customers. The helicopter pilot swung down low over the crater. “My God, I think there’s something moving down there!”

Slowly, painfully, the Man of Steel got to his feet, bracing himself with the handle of his hammer. But as John Henry lurched up out of the crater, the asphalt shifted, and a second caped figure arose behind him. “So you live as well!”

John Henry spun around at the sound of the Kryptonian’s voice and took an energy blast to the chest. The force of the blast knocked him off balance, and the armored man toppled to his knees.

In the helicopter overhead, the pilot anxiously radioed for more backup. A police sharpshooter’s hands shook slightly as he loaded his rifle. Below, the Kryptonian walked boldly up to his armored foe. “Now you shall pay for your folly, ‘Man of Steel.’ ”

John Henry’s hands shot up, grabbing the Kryptonian by the wrists. He abruptly pulled himself to his feet, butting his steel helmet up hard against his tormentor’s chin. The Kryptonian fell back a step, and the armored man struck again and again with a series of alternating hard rights and lefts to the jaw. His visor knocked ajar, the Son of Krypton staggered back, clutching at his face. He was breathing heavily, and he seemed stunned, but he did not lose his footing.

Power supplies dangerously depleted, the Man of Steel locked his armor’s knee joints and stood steady, unable to do much more than look impressive, while the visored man caught his breath and cleared his head. Behind the poker face of his steel mask, John Henry’s mind was racing.
This sucker must be nearly as tough as the real Superman. He’ll have his second wind in another few seconds, and I’m just about dead on my feet. Got to talk fast, or there’ll be hell to pay.

John Henry switched on his voice amplifier. “If you want people to believe you’re Superman, then
act
like Superman! Or is it that you enjoy playing the bully? You would’ve fried that process server, wouldn’t you? Well, Superman wouldn’t! What’s your next brilliant move? Are you going to fry me? Maybe fry everyone wearing this shield, till you’re the only one left?”
Careful, don’t give him any ideas!
“Oh, that’d be real smart!”

The Kryptonian had resecured his visor and was staring hard at the Man of Steel. His fists were clenched and his stance was unfriendly, but be was listening, and for that John Henry gave quick thanks. In the distance, a chorus of sirens grew louder.

“Every life you take is a stain on that shield and a disgrace to the name of Superman.” John Henry took a deep breath. “Don’t you see, man? There’s got to be more to Superman than just having power. You have to know how to use that power
for
people, not against them.”

There was a sharp squeal of brakes. When the two caped men looked up, there were half a dozen police cars surrounding them. Coast City police piled out of the cars, their guns drawn. They looked tense; the younger officers almost looked scared, but they held their ground. The senior officer, a big burly man, planted his feet and stared the two Supermen down. “All right, let’s get those hands up where we can see ’em—now!”

The Kryptonian took one tentative step toward the nearest car. He made no move to raise his hands.

John Henry felt the sweat trickle down his back. “Don’t do it, man! Don’t disgrace the shield!” He made a few quick calculations. If he cut in his emergency power reserves, he might be able to tackle the Kryptonian and knock him to the ground before the man could attack the police. But what then? He was certain that he couldn’t knock the visored man out. He’d exhaust his reserves in a matter of minutes trying to hold the Kryptonian down, and then those cops would really be in a fix.

But the Kryptonian stood very still, his fists unclenched, his head tilted slightly. His sharp ears picked up the calls coming over the surrounding police radios. There was an officer down on the north side of Coast City . . . a fire, possible arson, in the warehouse district . . . some people in trouble, clinging to a capsized boat in the Santa Clara Channel.

He slowly turned toward the Man of Steel. “Perhaps you are right. There is more to Superman than mere power. There must be courage. There must be the willingness to risk all for what seems right—even when one barely has the power to stand upright.”

Behind his mask, John Henry blinked. “You knew—?”

“It is within my power to know.” The Kryptonian nodded his head once, respectfully, and lifted off into the air. “The people of Coast City cry out for help and Superman must answer. Replenish yourself, Man of Steel, and go back to Metropolis. I leave that city in your hands for now.” He turned and shot away from the parking lot; within seconds he was gone from sight.

John Henry stared after the Kryptonian, dumbfounded. The police looked no less puzzled. One officer lowered her gun and ambled over to the armored man’s side. “Are you okay? What was that all about?”

The Man of Steel switched to his reserve power system and slowly stepped forward. “Long story. I’m just glad that I could talk as well as he can fight.”

“Huh?” The cop looked totally confused.

“Tell you all about it. But first, I need to borrow your car’s battery and some jumper cables.”
And a machine shop and some condensed solid fuel would be nice, if I could find them.
John Henry breathed a weary sigh. Whatever else happened, he was facing a long walk back to Metropolis.

At LexCorp Tower in Metropolis, Lex Luthor had just flipped through a confidential report from his aide, Sydney Happersen, when his WLEX monitor cut to a special report from California. Luthor glanced up from the report to see a live picture of the Man of Steel powering up from a police car battery in a Coast City parking lot. The billionaire industrialist listened intently as one of his news bureau’s West Coast correspondents related how the armored man had fought the Son of Krypton to a standstill.

Luthor picked up the phone and punched in a number. “Patch me through to our Coast City news team. Yes, the ones who were just on the air now. Hello, this is Lex Luthor.” He chuckled softly. “Yes, I am quite serious. I want you to convey my personal congratulations to the Man of Steel and tell him that I wish to speak with him.”

There was a soft hiss, and then a deep, resonant voice came on at the other end of the line. “Is this really Lex Luthor?
The
Lex Luthor?”

“The second one, anyway—but I’m trying hard to equal the first.” Luthor couldn’t keep from grinning at his private joke. “Am I correct in guessing that you could use a repair facility, sir?”

“Well . . .”

“I would be honored if you would allow me to provide one. There’s a LexCorp aerospace plant not far away in Bakersfield. Just say the word, and I will put it at your disposal. You will have everything you require, including as much privacy as you wish. And when you are ready to return to Metropolis, I’ll be more than happy to provide you with transport.”

“Mr. Luthor, that’s incredibly generous of you. Thank you very much. I’m very grateful.”

I thought you would be.
“Don’t mention it. Metropolis needs men like you.” Luthor flipped through the secret report, circling the address that Happersen’s investigative team had uncovered—the address of a certain party that was providing city gangs with Toastmasters. “Yes, I’d say you provide a service that few others can.”

Midway between the orbits of Jupiter and Mars, Mongul noticed a subtle shift in the pulse in his ship’s engines. He called his chief navigator before him. “We are slowing and changing course. Why?”

“A band of asteroids looms before us, Exalted One. We must execute an evasive maneuver if we are to avoid them.”

“I will brook no delays! Return to the original course and eliminate the obstacles!”

“As you command, my Lord.” The navigator nervously returned to his post and gave the order to fire the forward disruptors. In seconds the powerful destructive beams shattered the larger asteroids in the ship’s path and reduced the smaller ones to dust.

Pleased, Mongul clapped his hands together twice, and a short furry creature came running across the bridge, proffering refreshments for the warlord.

“We shall reach the target world soon, Lord Mongul?”

“Very soon, Jengur. And then, I shall at long last have my revenge upon the Kryptonian.”

“Superman, sir? I thought our advance intelligence reports indicated that he was killed in battle.”

“Yes, an unknown creature killed the foe who eluded me . . . but no matter!” Mongul again called up on his screen images of the Earth. “From what I have learned, Superman’s love for this planet was even greater than what he felt for his native Krypton. I shall yet grind his bones beneath my heel, Jengur—after I have claimed the Earth as my prize.”

Jengur refilled Mongul’s cup and returned to his post. He thought of his own world, so far away and so long ago ravaged by the warlord, and he shivered as he considered what was about to happen to the Earth.
Poor little world! Your doom was sealed the day that Superman refused the imperial order of Mongul!

The Man of Steel awoke from a fitful sleep in the back of a LexAir cargo jet as it began its final descent into Metropolis’s O’Hara Regional Airport. Through the single small window in the cargo bay, he could see dawn breaking over the Atlantic.
What a night! A confrontation with the Sharks, the fight with ‘Superman,’ my LexCorp repair job—did all that really happen in just ten hours?
He shook his head; it hardly seemed possible.

John Henry eased himself off the reinforced packing crates that had served as his bed and stretched his arms out as much as his armor would allow. He was sore all over.
I’m probably one big bruise under this suit. I’d give anything for a hot shower and a soft mattress right about now.
The growl of his stomach echoed up through the armor.
And breakfast—a nice big breakfast. Dinner was a long time ago.

He thought back to Bakersfield. An hour at the LexCorp plant had enabled him to effect more repairs and refinements than he would have been able to accomplish in weeks on his own, but—despite Luthor’s guarantees of privacy—he hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that he was being watched while he was there. Because of that, he’d kept his helmet on the whole night and removed only a few of his armor’s components at a time.

As John Henry felt the big jet’s wheels touch down, thoughts of the Bakersfield plant vanished from his head. He was back in Metropolis. In just a few minutes, he could stash his armor in the mini-warehouse he’d rented since the apartment fire and start feeling human again.
Yeah, then all I have to worry about is finding a new job, getting the heavy arms off the streets, and figuring out what to do about that Superman impersonator who sent me flying across the continent.

The visored man weighed on the Man of Steel’s mind; he’d even dreamed about him during the flight east.
I managed to talk some sense into him out in California, but for how long? After all, before that idiot process server showed up, Lois Lane seemed to have talked some sense into him, too . . . and look how long that lasted. Besides, even if he stays on the straight and narrow from now on, that doesn’t excuse what he’s already done.

John Henry considered his options. Even at peak power, he was no match for the Son of Krypton. And even if he could subdue the man, he doubted that any grand jury would ever indict the guy for frying a gangster who was drawing a bead on another man, even an armored man like himself. The Man of Steel shook his head; whatever eventually happened, dealing with the Kryptonian was going to be more than he could handle alone.

Once the jet came to a halt at the LexAir freight terminal, the Man of Steel said his good-byes to the flight crew and prepared to take off again under his own power. He’d paced off a safe distance from the airport’s main air corridor when he was hailed by a man in a delivery truck.

“Hey, you the Man of Steel?”

John Henry couldn’t quite believe what he was being asked. “No, I’m the Man of Aluminum. The Man of Steel is my cousin.”

“What?” The delivery man squinted at him. “Oh, I get it! It’s like a joke, huh?” He gave a hoarse little laugh. “Well, I got a package here for the Man of Steel, and I was told he’d be coming in on that cargo jet.”

“I’ll take it.”

“Okay, just sign here.”

John Henry broke two pens before he managed to scrawl a semilegible M.O.S. on the delivery man’s clipboard. The package was a little easier to deal with; it actually seemed designed to be opened by a man with armor-plated fingers. It contained a small stack of photographs and a short typewritten note.

The photos were most damning. They detailed a crude factory setup for producing the heavy artillery that local gangs had been packing. Incredibly, the Toastmasters were being produced locally, at an old Metropolis motor plant that had been shut down some years ago after the parent company had shifted operations overseas.

With a chill, John Henry focused on the person in the photos who was overseeing production of the weapons. He recognized her immediately; she was a colleague from his old days at Westin Technologies. Dr. Angora Lapin was an albino, a startling beauty of West African descent, white-haired, with pale tan skin. Her specialty was computer analysis, but she’d always shown a special interest in the revolutionary weapons designed by John Henry Irons.