Clark lifted the microphone. “I'm here, Zatanna.”
“We've got some reinforcements on this end; we're ready to try again.”
Clark looked around. “Watch out, everyone.” They looked alert; Clark guessed that whatever was about to happen wouldn't be too dangerous, but prepared himself to move quickly just in case. “Go ahead.”
A young male voice, quiet yet penetrating, spoke a single word: “OPEN.”
The voice made Clark shudder. Everyone fell silent. There was something in that voice that even the Universe apparently decided it could not ignore.
The portal opened wide.
Clark could see through a hole in the air, filling the middle of the room, as if through a turbulent aquarium, another room, another place…another world. Home. He could see Zatanna, and Batman, and two other figures difficult to make out. He took a step forward.
“Superman!” Lauren took his arm quickly. “Is there any way any of us could persuade you to stay?” He looked at her sadly.
Batman answered for him. “He's needed here.” Clark nodded to Lauren in confirmation.
“Then, is there anything you'd like to tell the people of this world before you go?” Lauren persisted, holding up her recorder.
Clark looked at the recorder, then into Lauren's eyes. “I'd like to thank the Chicago Fire Department, and the Police Departments of Chicago, New York, and Boston, for being there in so many places I couldn't. Your world is full of heroes; appreciate them. Every inspector who doesn't take a bribe, every gang member who doesn't pull a weapon when he could, every person who thinks about turning to crime but doesn't—these are your heroes. If you do what you honestly think is right, you are capable of great things. Look for the stories of heroism around you.” Clark smiled. “As a wise man in Kansas told me yesterday, there is a lot of power in a good story.” Lauren blinked, and nodded to show that she understood.
Clark held up a hand, groping for more words. “Be kind to each other.” He stopped. Best to leave it at that; he turned towards the portal.
“Superman?” The young man Alan was holding something out to him; some electronic gadget. “Here. It isn't much, but you should have something from us.”
“There's no need…”
“Track 57, and onward—it's music composed in your honor, by a man named John Williams. There's music from Krypton in it. Not much, but…”
Wordlessly, Clark took the small device, suddenly moved. Music from Krypton. He never thought to hear such; he never imagined it possible. “Thank you,” he answered, quietly. He glanced back at Lauren, stunned. “You are capable of great kindness.”
He looked over at Mr. Goldberg. “Thank you, sir, for…an interesting adventure.”
“The honor was mine, Superman. I thank you for my daughter's life, and for my own.”
Clark took one final glance around, then stepped through the portal.
⛉ s ⛉
Murray watched Superman go with some relief; a weight of responsibility lifted from his shoulders. He hadn't meant to make such a mess, and it was embarrassing to have other mages vastly more powerful than he was show up to casually clean up after him. Yet all those feelings were dwarfed by the towering exultation he felt at the wondrousness of the Universe. Anything he could envision, anything he could imagine—all of it could be created with enough effort and skill. The possibilities were endless, and the responsibility great.
He would have to be very careful. No government labs for him; no silly CIA projects or threats against his daughter to blackmail him. He would have to be very public, work with the lady reporter, keep Sarah safe. Maybe the scientist could help; he seemed happy with what he had, and Murray didn't get a sense of greed from him. Well, he would have to show a little greed himself, at least at first: get enough money to take care of himself and Sarah, move someplace so the scientists could dissect the apartment as he suspected they would wish.
The power he sensed in the teenage boy at the other end was staggering, even compared to the already stunning powers of Zatanna. He was almost afraid to speak to him, but called out, “I would like to learn magic from you.”
The boy turned his attention from the opening itself to look through it at him, and laughed. “As soon as I learn what I'm doing, I'll let you know.” The voice sounded British, and was laced with bitterness even beyond the usual teenage disrespect; he must have touched a nerve. “Try to be more careful next time, Mister.” The opening began to close.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Hey!” Sarah suddenly shouted. “Where's Mary?” Everyone glanced around; she was not in the living room.
Through the portal, the boy shrugged. “I think she belongs here.”
“Mom's picture!” Sarah shouted. Murray didn't know what she meant, but the boy seemed to understand.
“Ah, ah, ah!” He waved a finger admonishingly at someone out of view, presumably Mary, and suddenly a picture came sailing through the opening to land neatly in Sarah's hands. Murray recognized it as belonging on the mantle behind him. “Can't you keep track of anything?” Disdainfully, the boy reached out with his arms and seemed to physically pull the opening closed.
There was a momentary flash and a pop, a sensation of severance, and that was all.
⛉ s ⛉
Clark was surprised to find that Mary had accompanied him by stepping through on the other side of the room; Batman looked positively angry. Clark guessed that Batman was probably mostly mad at himself for not spotting her coming, even under magical concealment, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to take it out on the boy who had just rescued him, so Clark preempted the accusations.
“Situation, Batman?”
“I noticed you were missing roughly twenty hours ago, and tracked some anomalies here,” Batman explained, obviously aware that Clark was distracting him but allowing it to happen. “Fortunately, I was able to arrange for a ‘chemical spill’ to be discovered before anyone was exposed,” he continued, with just the barest hint of emphasis. “This restroom and a couple of small portions of the floors above and below were sealed off for decontamination. After contacting you, I asked Zatanna for help, and then these two showed up to assist her.” Batman didn't sound pleased about that either; he gestured at a rather scruffy older fellow and a teenaged boy in white T-shirt and jeans. The man reeked of cigarette smoke.
“We were in the neighborhood,” he replied casually. “I thought young Tim here might be able to lend a hand. Now that he has, I'll just see him safely back. Zatanna, love, be a dear and tend to the nice crazy woman for us, eh?” Zatanna shot him a dirty look.
“I thank you all,” Clark said formally.
“Superman. There's other news.” Batman's tone grew more serious, if that were possible. “There has been an alien ship in orbit around Earth for several hours, and it's been scanning for something ever since it arrived. I've just gotten word that it's begun its descent. Apparently what it was searching for is you.”
“I'll scout the vessel.”
“Stay in contact.” Batman handed him a fresh earpiece to stay in radio communication; Clark put it on.
Clark pushed past the camouflage decontamination plastic and found the window to the outside. Metropolis lay before him in all its glory. Clark looked upward, and could just make out a potentially ominous shape descending towards his beloved city. He leaped up, up, and away, rising to meet the alien ship.
It was good to be back.
⛉ s ⛉
Lauren stared at the computer screen and squinted to bring it into focus. It was late, and she hadn't had much sleep in the past few days of excitement. She took another sip of coffee so that she could stay awake enough to finish this extended article for the Sunday edition. Frowning, she reread what she had just written:
> And if anyone doubts that these events truly happened, I first have to commend you for practical thinking; I would have a hard time believing it myself if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. I still have a hard time believing it. But if you can take out a telescope on any clear night, and find out when the International Space Station is overhead, then you can look with your own eyes and see Earth's tiny new moon beside it, a moon that humankind could never have created, and won't be able to for many decades…
She shook her head. Too negative. She deleted the last words, ended the sentence, started a new one:
> …look with your own eyes and see Earth's tiny new moon beside it. We might have developed the means to accomplish that feat, but it happens that we haven't yet. There is no way that any human nation put that rock where it is, and no way that it happened naturally. I asked him for proof; he gave it to us all.
Lauren nodded to herself, then got up to stretch. It just needed a little more. She wanted to finish well; this was going to be her Pulitzer piece, after all.
She looked around the hotel room, running her fingers through her hair. Her notes on the abused children cases were scattered around; it was trying to pursue all of those while the trail was still warm, and simultaneously keeping the stories coming about Murray Goldberg, and covering the science developments at MIT, which together were completely wearing her down. There was also the article to write about Inspector O'Malley, who had taken the courageous step of officially stating the airliner rescue was an Act of Superman. And of course, writing this down, preserving the first and greatest of Murray's miracles for posterity. In a few more days, it would let up a bit and she could sleep. For now, there was too much to do.
She swung her arms in wide circles, paced, and chewed her lip, trying to think of her finish. After a few minutes of that, she settled herself before her laptop again and continued:
> In the end, while people who did not meet him in person will debate whether he was here, and be convinced or not by the evidence, it almost doesn't matter. He's gone now, back in his world, saving people in Metropolis, not Chicago. But he has left us a legacy; a story of hope, and courage, and kindness, and generosity. He stepped off the comic book pages, into our world, and showed us what could be done, what we could do ourselves. Remember, he had to go out of his way to give us special proof—because everything else he did, every good deed, every life saved, every crime stopped, every hope renewed and future salvaged, all of those were things that we can do ourselves. He said our world was full of heroes, and he was right. We can do this. We can make the world a better place.
>
> He said that we were capable of great kindness. Let's prove him right.
>
> — Lauren Leigh Cooper, Chicago Tribune