Doug looked over expectantly as the door to the office opened, and a woman of about his own age or a bit younger walked out, looking flustered. No one followed her. Well, he hadn't really believed all the Superman nonsense, anyway. There were miracles enough going on in this apartment without getting silly.
If the magnetometer wasn't broken, Doug had just fished a magnetic monopole out of the easy chair. He had it stowed away in a plastic case in his pocket, still stuck in a bit of padding. He would take it back to the lab, test it eight ways from Sunday, and then accept his Nobel Prize with good grace.
Magnetic monopoles had been theorized about extensively, but never found. If he remembered correctly, someone had long ago figured out how to make more monopoles, given one to start with, and they would have many practical applications. He felt as if he had the world's only apple seed in his pocket. And that was only the beginning.
If his eyes were not playing tricks on him, and they could well be, he had seen either a new form of energy or a violation of the law of conservation of mass-energy, either of which would equally warrant a second Nobel. He had to get this guy to agree to come to a lab. Doug tried to rein in his hopes; he still considered the possibility that he had been in a car accident and was dreaming all of this in an ICU somewhere to be about as likely as what he had just seen. Or that he was the victim of a highly elaborate hoax.
But if he had just seen a naked singularity…then literally anything was possible.
⛉ s ⛉
Lauren looked around and spotted the newcomer. “Hi, I'm Lauren Cooper.” She offered her hand. The man wiped his palm on his pants quickly and shook with her. “And you are…?”
“Doug Ch—” The man caught himself. “Doug. Pleased to meet you. They said that you had Superman in the back room with you.” He had the tone of one reserving judgment.
“He had to run an errand. He'll be back in a few hours.” Other people glanced over at her when she said that, but continued their own conversations.
“Uh-huh.”
Lauren eyed the equipment on the floor. “So. You a scientist, Doug?”
“Physicist. Are you a, uh, psychic?”
Lauren grinned. “Me? No, just a reporter.” The man paled, but tried not to react. That's interesting. I wonder why he's scared of reporters, and won't give his name? Lauren wondered whether she was going to get anything good from this guy on the tape she still had recording in her pocket.
Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
“Boston Globe?”
“Chicago Tribune. I followed the Superman story here. What brings you to this apartment?”
“Weird readings on instruments. Ultrasonics, a unique magnetic field, low levels of radiation—”
Lauren grew alarmed. “Radiation?”
“Low levels,” he assured her. “About equal to standing in the sun an extra few minutes. Nothing to worry about; there's probably worse in your office building.”
“So how'd you track it, if it's so faint?”
The man shrugged. “I got lucky.”
“No ‘disturbances in the force’?”
“No,” the man enunciated carefully.
Aha. He's scared of being branded a kook. Lauren smiled. “Find anything interesting?”
“I won't know for a while.”
“Well, what do you suspect? Any theories on how Superman can fly?”
“Not a one. I haven't actually seen this person, you know.”
“Do you watch the news?” Lauren was curious to see whether he disbelieved the videos broadcast all day.
“Sometimes. I've been busy with my work since yesterday.”
“What's your reaction to all this, so far?”
“Well, it's not boring. I'd like to see whether this is some elaborate hoax, or whether Mr. Goldberg can make that light appear in a lab in front of stage magicians.”
Lauren blinked. “What light?” Doug told her, and Lauren kicked herself for missing it. Well, I can't be everywhere, she reminded herself.
⛉ s ⛉
Clark reached what he judged to be the halfway point, turned around, and started accelerating for Earth. As before, he kept flying towards his target at high velocity, which gradually began to decrease. He didn't think he'd used up anywhere near a quarter of the air in his lungs yet, so everything seemed all right. There wasn't any glowing spear of light rising from the Boston area, either. Actually, given the way things worked here, he wasn't sure he could get back much faster than planned even if he did get an emergency signal.
I hope no giant robots attack the city while I'm up here.
⛉ s ⛉
Hours passed. Lauren spent the time writing some of her next article on her laptop, and listening to tapes of conversations on her earphones, all while waiting for the occult experts to come up with something, or for Batman to call again, or for Superman to return. The young man Alan offered to fetch groceries, and Cassandra and Lauren pitched in money so that everyone could eat. Lauren got the impression that Cassandra was pretty flush; as for herself, she was carefully trying to stay on the good side of the Goldbergs.
They waited.
⛉ s ⛉
Clark felt his air starting to go a little bad before he had quite finished his errand. It was annoying, but not yet dangerous. Still, he was cautious, and after thinking carefully about his task, he detoured down into the atmosphere, exhaled vigorously, and inhaled sweet, fresh air from the tropics. Then he raced upwards to resume his efforts.
Matching speeds was a challenge, but he got the hang of it eventually. Proudly, he pushed his self-made asteroid up next to the International Space Station, turning it so that the sunlight glinted aesthetically against the iron ore and the silver and gold veins running through the giant lunar boulder he had chosen. Then, grinning broadly, he flew up to one of the windows and started knocking on the hull next to a window, in an unmistakable “shave and a haircut” rhythm. Eventually, excited cosmonauts gathered around the window.
“Good evening, Gentlemen,” Clark called out in Russian, conducting the sound through his hands into the hull. Then he gestured at the new moonlet behind him, smiling. “Where would you like it?”