Lionel Luthor paused outside the door to his study and mentally braced himself for a moment. He’d just finished an exhaustive meeting with the heads of his munitions plants overseas and before that had been forced to renegotiate a contract with Queen Shipping. He hadn’t planned on either; both had sprung up unexpectedly and had to be taken care of immediately. The plant managers had been using cheaper materials to boost their profits at the cost of quality. Lionel wasn’t averse to such practices per say, but a certain level of quality had to be maintained. Even worse had been Queen, that damn, arrogant upstart, trying to insert a clause in the contract at the last minute to force Luthorcorp to pay premium costs when they shipped over a certain level. Their discussion had ended in a shouting match and it would probably be weeks before they could go back to the table.
His head pounded, not from his exhaustion or the argument, but from the sheer, irritating pettiness of it all. It was galling that in the midst of a crisis of this magnitude, he was forced to waste his time disciplining his aides and negotiating rates. He would have gladly passed such trivial things onto Lex, but of course, his son had chosen the most inopportune time to make himself scarce. He’d only left a garbled message to explain his absence, something about a girl and a paternity suit. So much for hoping the boy had finally learned a bit of responsibility and restraint, he thought bitterly. At this rate, Lex would be as bad as that Wayne boy in Gotham.
Still, Lionel felt troubled by the meetings. Years ago, he realized, before She came into his life, he would have recognized the signs that such trouble was brewing and headed them off quickly. If you couldn’t think twelve moves ahead of your opponent, the only place for you was as a stepping stone in the world of business. Had he become too dependent on her abilities over the years? It raised some concerns certainly. With her otherwise distracted by this mess with the second alien, he was without her guidance at the moment. Was this a vulnerability? He resolved in the future to pay closer attention when he could to other matters and not let such things happen again.
Running a hand through his wild hair, he straightened and sighed. There was no longer any putting this off. Taking a breath, he opened the door quietly and stepped inside, listening to the door swing shut behind him. A young man looked up at him from where he had been examining the books against the wall. He was dressed in slacks and a tweed jacket, looking every inch the college professor. To call him slim would have been a gross understatement, skeletal came closer to the truth. He looked like he had been made out sticks, like some puppet or scarecrow, all bony points and angles. The skin on his face was stretched out over his cheek bones, making the hollows of his cheeks look like deep gashes. His sandy blond hair looked to have the consistency of straw.
“Ahh, Dr. Crane,” Lionel said jovially, not meaning it for a second, “so glad you could make it on such short notice.”
Jonathon Crane favored him with a too-large smile, the sort of things you only saw on sharks. For a moment, Lionel wondered what the doctor’s patients thought when they saw that smile. “Well I do have your jet to thank for that,” Crane responded, nodding at him deferentially. His voice was sing-song and educated, but slightly mocking at the same time. There was also an undercurrent to it that always set Lionel’s teeth on edge, like knives scraped across a blackboard. “It’s a lovely plane by the way, and I enjoyed talking to your pilots. I love pilots; such fascinating people. They face so many fears everyday; fear of heights, of equipment malfunction, of storms, of killing their passengers, of being killed by their passengers... It’s a wonder they’re able to cope with it all.”
“It’s always good to hear your unique viewpoints,” Lionel remarked dryly. “I was afraid life away from Gotham University might have dulled you. I heard you were working at a psychiatric ward now.”
Crane snickered, looking around the office again. “Oh Arkham’s not a psychiatric ward,” he said quietly. “People go to a hospital to be healed. People are sent to Arkham for something quite different.” Lionel raised his eyebrows but said nothing. Crane was regarding his books again, running one finger up and down the rows set against the wall. “You changed your study from the last time I was here,” he commented. “There were fewer books.” He seemed to consider this for a moment. “And if I remember, you’d changed it then as well, from the first time I’d been in it. I’m not sure if there is a fear of not changing, of stagnation. I’ll have to give that some thought,” he murmured. Then he inclined his head and spun around quickly. Lionel was again startled with the sheer vitality in his movements. Despite looking like he’d weigh ninety pounds soaking wet, the energy in his movements was frightening.
“But what I am saying?” he chided himself. “You didn’t set that wonderful jet for me so that we could discuss your redecorating habits. No, this must be about my star patient. How is Lana doing?” he asked brightly. “It’s been years since I’ve seen her. You never let me keep in contact with the poor girl,” he scolded Lionel, “and a doctor has a right to check up on his patients after all.”
“She’s not your patient, doctor,” Lionel said quietly. “I’ve seen your patients. But yes, this is about Lana. You have some explaining to do.” Crane looked at him for a moment and then grunted irritably and sat down on the rich leather sofa in the corner. He took out a pair of thin glasses and began to polish them carefully, avoiding Lionel’s eye.
“I was rather expecting this was going to happen,” he said, a touch of indignation in his voice. “It was all in my report, there’s no use pulling me away from my experiments about it now.”
“Today Lana came close to costing me a great deal,” Lionel remarked. Crane sniffed and went on polishing his glasses. “What’s more distressing is that she came within a hairs-width of disobeying my orders.”
“And let me guess,” Crane supplied, “you’ve started to notice a decline in her work as well?”
“Yes, yes,” he said, glaring at the doctor. “Well? Care to explain it?”
Crane shrugged like it wasn’t his concern. “I did warn you this would happen.”
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Lionel’s control started to slip. “You promised me you could produce what I wanted!” he raged. “A perfect guard! Someone I could trust with this! And now you expect to sit here and tell me you ‘expected this to happen?’” If Crane was frightened he didn’t show it. On the contrary, there was a certain degree of professional curiosity in his face now as he watched Lionel.
“Hmm,” he said clinically. “You don’t take disappointment well, do you? I figured that with your son, you’d be used to it by now.”
“Doctor,” Lionel warned, his teeth grating together.
“Oh very well,” he exclaimed. He put away his glasses and gave Lionel a serious look. “I am artist, Mr. Luthor; one that sculpts, yes, but I don’t work with stone. The psyche continuously grows, and it has been three years since my last session with Lana. She will have changed a bit in that time. Some of her tighter programming will have naturally started to fray.”
“It was a difficult thing you wanted me to do, after all,” he explained, getting up to walk around the room. “The girl was practically a vegetable when you handed her over. Bringing her back from that took time and no small amount of skill if I may say. Installing you as her father figure wasn’t particularly difficult, but removing certain natural restrictions on her, well…” he hesitated. “Despite what you may have heard, it’s not that simple to reprogram a child. It’s much easier when they’re over a certain age. You need a well defined ego to break I think, just so you can be certain when you’ve completely done it. Now if I’d had her from birth I could’ve given you exactly what you wanted, a remorseless, perfect machine.”
“You know that’s not what I want for her,” Lionel warned him quietly. Crane spread his hands apologetically.
“I don’t remember hearing any complaints three years ago,” he remarked, eyeing Lionel wickedly. “She wasn’t the confused, frightened little girl any more, I’d taken care of that.”
“If you had, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, would we?” Lionel commented.
Crane frowned and then shrugged. “Point.” He hesitated, thinking for a moment and then said, “Well, I suppose I can take another look at her then. It has been three years, and she is one of my better works, after all.” He laughed suddenly. “You could consider it like professional courtesy: as if she’s still under warranty.” He laughed at his joke for a moment.
Lionel didn’t join in. “How long will it take?”
“Give me a few months with her and she’ll-“
“I don’t have a few months!” Lionel snapped, his fist crashing down against his desk. “I’ll be lucky if I have a few days! I need her in control now!”
“Psychology isn’t an immediate science,” Crane remarked lightly. “Lana is rather susceptible to my suggestions, but no one’s that malleable.”
“Can’t you do anything to speed it up?”
“I could always pump her full of drugs,” Crane snapped irritably. “She’d do anything you told her to, yes, but she’d be lucky to come out of it knowing her own name.”
“Of course, she’s older now,” he remarked, thinking of something. “Certain techniques will have more effect. And if you could be persuaded to allow certain… other techniques we discussed the last time, I could definitely speed up the process.” A dreadful sort of light was in his eyes as he toyed with the idea. “I haven’t had many chances to experiment with that, you know. University officials tend to be rather nosy and the Arkham staff is almost as bad. But with private sessions, I think I could get you the results you need.” He smiled that too big grin and waited.
“One of these days, Doctor,” Lionel said slowly, “someone is going to put you in a cell right beside your patients.”
Crane sniffed, amused, and turned back to Lionel. “I enjoy my work,” he commented.
Lionel stared at him for a moment, the silence weighing heavily. Finally Crane went on in a much more even tone. “I’ve given Lana certain… medication to take in case she started to become confused again. As long as she follows my directions, she should be able to handle whatever you need to her. After that, when we have the leisure of time, I can give her back to you anyway you please.”
“Are you sure she’ll be able to handle this?”
“Well I don’t know the situation,” he remarked lightly, “but I do know my patient. I did make you one dangerous young woman after all.”
Lionel considered that, strumming his hands on the desk lightly. “Afterwards, you’re sure you can help her?” he asked after a moment.
Crane nodded, smiling in a way that Lionel found in no way reassuring. “I’ve perfected a few new techniques in the last three years. And I’ve already laid the frame work, haven’t I? In a few months time, she won’t even remember feeling a moment’s doubt.”
“Good,” Lionel said tersely. He leaned back, rubbing his temples. “Perhaps its better she didn’t remember any of this,” he mused. “When this is over, I was thinking of reassigning her, and as she is now, she’d resent it. Yes, have her forget everything,” he decided. “Her parents, the alien, everything.”
“There won’t be much left of her then,” Crane commented.
“That’s the point,” Lionel told him. “She’ll be working closely with me, and she doesn’t need to be troubled by all those bad memories.”
Crane cocked his head, studying Lionel. “How close would that be, I wonder?”
Lionel glanced at his watch and then looked up at Crane pointedly. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut this short now. It’s been a rather long day.”
“It’s your time and you’re plane,” the professor smiled. “Ah. We can discuss payment next time?” he asked somewhat intently.
“Of course, doctor.” He stood up and winced, feeling the muscles in his back twinge. Rubbing it, he looked at Crane. “I’ll have someone escort you out in a moment. If you’ll excuse me.” Crane nodded and Lionel left the room quickly, his feigned good temper falling away as he left the room.
Crane might have been the one of the most skilled psychiatrist and behavioral scientist in America, but sometimes Lionel wasn’t sure the doctor was any saner than his patients. The only reason he had ever put up with his dangerous habits was that he did get results, and could be trusted to remain silent about certain things. Not that Crane was particularly trustworthy, Lionel thought. It was just that the doctor had enough dirty secrets of his own to be able to appreciate the benefits of mutual silence.
But Crane was a separate problem, and not in the least bit important at the moment. What was important was capturing the second alien, and for that he needed Lana in complete control. He cursed Lex again for leaving so suddenly. Just when he seemed to be turning around, he pulls this, he raged. Without Lex here, he had been too busy to check up on Lana until now. He worried for a moment, thinking back to the farm. She’d been unusually quiet after the alien and the others had escaped. He had expected her to be in a rage, or ashamed; to show some emotion at least. But she’d just sat like a statue the entire ride back, staring blankly ahead. When he’d ordered her to her room, to wait for him, she’d hardly seemed to respond at all. For a moment, he’d almost thought she’d regressed back to the way she’d first been, all those years ago before he’d given her to Crane. She’d been so distant then, only very rarely aware of what was going on around her.
He frowned, thinking for a moment. She had been putting herself under a great deal of pressure to capture the alien. Perhaps the shock of a second failure had caused her to revert. Lionel started to walk faster. The last thing he needed was for Lana to have some sort of emotional breakdown at the moment. He cursed her under his breath and hurried on.
Finally, past the barracks halls for the LuthorCorps soldiers, Lionel arrived at Lana’s door. Pausing at the doorway, he straightened his jacket and then knocked on the door lightly. “Lana,” he said quietly. There was no answer. “Lana, open the door.” Still there was no answer.
Thinking perhaps a different tact was needed, his lowered his voice to a more gentle tone. “Lana, I’m not upset with you. Today was not your fault. There was no way of knowing he would be there. I don’t blame you at all, do you understand? Lana?” He reached down and tried the handle but it wouldn’t budge. The tiny light above the handle winked red at him. Angrily, he reached over and punched in a quick code into the keypad by the door. All of the doors in the lab had electronic locks, but only a few people knew the master codes for the system. The lock clicked off and he swung the door open.
Lana’s room was small, hardly more than a dormitory, but it wasn’t cluttered, on the contrary, it was practically empty. There was a neat bed in the corner, its sheets folded crisply, a worn old rug that covered most of the concrete floor, a dresser with a single picture standing up on it, and a full length mirror set in the wall; there was nothing else in the room, including Lana. Lionel stepped inside, glancing around quickly, but it was pointless. It wasn’t like there were many places she could hide in here. Lana was gone.