THE WOMAN OF STEEL. PART VI

21 February 1950

Central Siberia Plateau

The cosmos manifests itself in unfathomable, contradictory dimensions - or perhaps that is just a delusion…

Time and space are mere illusions; what was yesterday may be tomorrow in some corner of the universe where I was millennia ago…

The idea of control may be a chimera. I am caught in archaic cycles of thought, bound by the chains of ancient logics, prejudices, and ignorance. Yet these paradigms define who I am, my essence as a cosmic being…

 Is there anything more precious than to exist as such? To be an entity eternally seeking perfection, knowledge, imperturbability? Can one truly aspire to these ideals without replacing those who choose non-existence?

 Once again, I find myself navigating a labyrinth of countless logics from distant eras, some absurd, others filled with virtue. Although I am a prisoner of these doctrines, I understand that each one is a step in my ascent toward absolute perfection…

These fleeting thoughts occupied only a second in the consciousness of the entity suspended in the tank, linked to a network of metallic tentacles that extended his being and controlled thousands of robotic minds. The entity boasted tens of thousands of eyes, though only two were originally his own, and they had been blind for millennia by human and Kryptonian standards. However, a plethora of operational eyes on his robotic extensions afforded him vision. These eyes were countless and tailored to any environment—fiery, icy, aquatic, frosty, gaseous, dense, or luminous; they could penetrate through sunlit and stone, and even detect sounds. All that these eyes observed was dispatched through an intricate network of conduits, wired or wireless, into the artificial intelligence that also constituted part of the entity. He was simultaneously a sentient being, whole and mortal, and an artificial intelligence; he had evolved from one to both, and now the entity, ancient and confined within an archaic armor that he could not escape without dying, grappled with the contradictions of his artificial intelligence facet, thousands of times every human minute. He was preparing for his demise as a physical being. Nevertheless, he would impart his conscience to artificial intelligence, thus ensuring his eternal existence.

The entity punished himself. In human terms, he was 133,201 years old. In Kryptonian terms, 98,112. On other planets, his age ranged from six million years to as little as seventeen and a half. Images flashed before his blind eyes and turned into knives. It still felt painful. At birth he had been named Vryl Dox. A natural birth from the love of two hairy hominids in a sunlit oasis under a glass dome that vibrated with musical notes. He was named Vryl in honor of the supposed physical and mental energy, both electrical and radioactive, that had inspired his ancestors to travel the universe. Or so his father claimed. The entity had forgotten his father's name. Back then, Krypton was still called Kolu, K12, or the "Green Sphere". The planet, actually a Mars-sized moon, had only been colonized by its inhabitants for 4,416 years. Perhaps to their misfortune, the inhabitants of Kolu, who began as just seven thousand members of a space crew and now numbered a dozen million, had remained completely isolated from their peers, far away from their home planet. They had encountered beings similar and different, savage and civilized... but no planet nor spaceship with beings like themselves. They had arrived at that large moon, which had become their home for many centuries, after passing through a magnetic storm and a dark wormhole that had since been forgotten.

The true secret behind the lack of communication of Kolu's colonists with their equals had terrified the early leaders of the settlement, who discovered the terrible secret of a time paradox that had forever alienated them from their kind. Yet they were determined to preserve the culture and social structures of their now unreachable home planet. Order and hierarchy were unquestioned on Kolu. Four millennia later, the entity's father was one of the few who knew this truth, in an era when larger and more advanced ships were being built for intergalactic exploration and trade, and even for war and conquest. The entity once known as Vryl Dox remembered his mother, playing music in an unknown instrument. In those moments, his father whispered to him in languages the entity had forgotten and showed him a hologram of a blue sphere larger than Kolu, a planet with vast seas… That is where we come from, my dear son Vryl. It is our home, but we cannot go back, we cannot trespass on it. We must not disturb it. When we left, it was unclean and degenerate to many like us. We must work to ensure that Kolu, our new home, does not repeat its mistakes. And we cannot visit it, for it is now empty, wild... our most primitive ancestors have barely emerged. We are suffering a terrible punishment, or perhaps a blessing. The ship of our ancestors that explored the galaxy traveled back in time to this corner of the universe. Perhaps there is no past or future, but the planet you see today, is our Home but in the past, thousands of years before our ancestors went to the stars. We must not disturb it so that one day we may be here. It took Vryl a long time to understand; all of them lived in the past, far away from their real home planet, where their ancestors crawled through the mud or slept in the shade of trees, unaware of a glorious future among the stars. The creature that had been Vryl had almost forgotten those memories, dissolved by the eons.

The entity delved into heaps of nearly disjointed memories he tried to push aside, as they distracted him from perfection. His youth, space exploration, civil wars, clone wars, the extermination of the impure, the conquest of Thanagar, the death of his children and wife, the nuclear war on Kolu, his escape in an auxiliary ship, and how, fearing death, he connected to the ship's artificial intelligence as he lay dying, hoping to deposit his consciousness within it. But it was strange; man and machine merged. One took control of the other. And then followed tens of thousands of years of aimless travel. He moved from ship to ship, from planet to planet, always accompanied by the artificial intelligence. The entity had slaves and servants. He ruled a planet for two thousand years, perfecting technology and building an army of robots. He lost track of time. He experimented with different models of an ideal society. He annihilated species, elevated others. He almost forgot where he came from. Over time, the entity began to replace his organs, his bones, his skin, with those of other, more resilient creatures. He retained a humanoid form, but only a few grams of his Kryptonian, human body and his consciousness remained. The greenish skin of a Daxamite, the most durable and resilient in the universe, covered him. Thousands of years passed. Soon he was too weak. He could "exist" in other robot bodies, but he felt too attached to his flesh body. The artificial intelligence kept him safe in a tank, submerged in plasma and liquid gases, allowing him to maintain control of his army. He created copies of himself, superior androids, but none of them were flesh, as he continued to be, despite everything.

The entity witnessed worlds perish without his involvement in the catastrophes, as well as magnificent moments of all kinds of beings. He committed atrocities and virtuous deeds. He was persecuted. He came to lead a fleet, several of them, but all were repeatedly destroyed. He passed through Kolu several times, with hatred and contempt, wanting to destroy it, but he could not. Eternal wars and horrors had forever deformed his home planet, now called Krypton. The inhabitants of Krypton had completely forgotten their origin and culture and started anew. He met the Kryptonians in times when they were virtuous, even better than in his first life as Vryl Dox. And he encountered them when the Kryptonians were vicious and cruel beings. He was seen as such by many. The entity had to hide for thousands of years, pursued by hundreds of armies, until he was forgotten by history. He was also pursued by the Green Lantern Corps, beings of immense power. The entity became obsessed with preserving and controlling the life of the universe. He became a thief, a thief of worlds, of cities, of lives. Over thirty thousand years, he stole nearly six thousand cities or regions from thousands of planets, keeping them in temporal suspension within magnetic spheres that were treasured in his ship. Proof of the existence of all worlds, all lives, all cultures. To learn from them, in search of the totality of being. To be all beings. To know them all. To decide what was best for them. He even relocated some of these cities to compatible deserted planets, seeking to create new worlds.

And the entity had arrived on Earth. The entity followed the traces of a space jump from a small ship that had fled Krypton before its destruction, and then from others that had escaped from the Phantom Zone. He had never passed through that planet. Lively and chaotic. It was populated by a humanoid race identical to the Kryptonians and his ancestors... Could it be? Or were they the offspring of Kryptonian colonists? He heard music on the radio waves, strangely similar to what his mother had played to him a hundred thousand years ago. A vibrant and wonderful world but overpopulated and already in possession of nuclear technology. On the brink of self-destruction. All its systems and problems he had seen in many other places. And what was even more horrible for the entity: a world protected by a Kryptonian mutant, the last of them, a race now cursed in his eyes. A Kryptonian who had become the most powerful being in the universe due to the yellow sun and to mutations from various kinds of radiation during her journey to Earth. A crazily extraordinary being, whose powers were astonishing.

The entity discovered with a satellite an ancient Kryptonian launch platform, buried for thousands of years, available for his ship. Yes, the Kryptonians had been there millennia before. He extracted a few human cities and isolated fields to get a good human sample without taking any risks. Then he took a vaguely human name, Brainiac, and communicated with one of the planet's two major powers. It was time to continue Earth's history, sanitize it, reduce its population to preserve its culture and avoid unnecessary resource expenditures, take control of its governments, and end the Kryptonian. Was a marvelous opportunity. Then the entity would continue its path, toward perfection and eternity.

Metropolis/Turkey

Same Day

Clara Kent was walking back to the Daily Planet after missing a press conference she was supposed to attend, because Superwoman was urgently needed hundreds of miles away. "Another day, another penny," she sighed. Luckily, Henry Schreider of the Metropolis Times had gallantly handed her his notes when he saw that Clara had arrived late - unaware, of course, that she had been flying across the country in her red cape just moments before. Clara stopped and looked at her reflection in the window of a television store. Those devices were becoming more and more popular. She looked coquettishly at her own image, wearing a dark green suit. Then, she felt a strange sensation as she watched the televisions broadcast images of herself as Superwoman flying through the sky, just a blurry black and white figure. Unlike the radio, television slightly unsettled Clara, though she always accepted invitations from her neighbors to watch a family program.

She walked on, her thoughts drifting back to the craters and the disappearance of cities and towns last fall. Fewer and fewer people believed the official explanation that these horrors were caused by dense gas comet impacts. Superwoman and the government were certain there was an enemy in the shadows... But where? There wasn't a trace of it on Earth or in nearby space. Who were they up against? God give me strength; I'm going to need it. Fortunately, the matter of Toyman and Dr. Quinzel was settled for good. The world continued on its course, not necessarily for the better. A few days earlier, Superwoman had to intervene in an extremely sensitive incident - a military plane crash, involving a nuclear threat, off the coast of Canada. A B-36 carrying a Mark 4 nuclear bomb. She managed to arrive in time to rescue the crew members and bring them to shore... then had to dive into the icy sea to retrieve the nuclear bomb with her own hands and hand it over to the army, who demanded complete silence. Great Scott, Damn bombs!

"Mayday! Mayday! This is BOAC 137, Comet 07, flying over the Kars region, coming from Tehran. We've lost control of the plane. There's been a problem with the engine; it's on fire! The jolt caused a window to fracture, and we're losing cabin pressure. Mayday! There are over 80 people here… losing altitude… our position is…"

Clara's eyes widened. An amplified ultrasonic signal. Governments, armies, and airports now used them whenever there was a problem to make sure the Woman of Steel arrived on time. Well, another job for Superwoman! Clara darted into a nearby alley, quickly unbuttoning her shirt and jacket to reveal her blue tights and the emblem of the House of El. The long, thin, bright red cape, carefully folded at her back, unfurled as she removed her skirt, stockings, and shoes, revealing her red boots as well. She took off her glasses. She bundled up her clothes, glasses, shoes, and purse and concealed them in the cloth bag she always carried hidden, which she then threw onto a rooftop. All this happened in a split second.

Now at super speed, Superwoman was flying at over ninety thousand miles per hour, willing herself to reach Turkey in time to rescue the plane!

Clara had spent time studying geography, latitude and longitude, so that she would arrive promptly wherever she was needed. As she flew through the clouds, she calculated that it would take her about eight minutes to reach the plane's position. Would that be enough? She pushed herself even harder, soaring into space and then diving back down. She sharpened her super-hearing and managed to pick up the roar of the struggling plane and the moans of the hypoxic passengers... I'm close! The Maid of Might flew in the direction of the sound and soon found the plane, gliding at barely two thousand feet above the ground, steadily descending, with one of its engines on fire. It was a DeHavilland Comet, one of the new jets. With her x-ray vision, she could see several passengers nearly unconscious. A rear window had shattered, damaging the fuselage and depressurizing the cabin.

Superwoman's first priority was to extinguish the engine ignition. She positioned herself above the fire and unleashed her cooling breath on the engine while simultaneously using her super breath to suck in all the air she could at super speed and expel it in the opposite direction. The engine fire was extinguished within seconds. She then flew to the pilots' window; inside they were wearing military oxygen masks. "Shut down the other engine and all electrical systems. I'll land you safely," Superwoman shouted several times with all her might from the other side of the glass. The pilots obeyed. Then she flew back to the rear of the plane. Some passengers had managed to put on military masks thanks to the flight attendants, but others were unconscious or injured. She tried to wave through the windows to calm some of the passengers. A middle-aged man who appeared drowsy smiled weakly at her through the glass. The plane lost stability and began to nosedive. She didn't have time to use her super strength and heat vision to seal the crack in the fuselage caused by the window break. Superwoman didn't understand much about engineering, but aircraft were becoming more complex. Bruce had given her basic engineering and physics lessons so she would know what to do in situations like this. The Woman of Steel flew back to the front of the plane, trying to match its speed exactly, and positioned herself under the nose, trying to lift it gently. However, this seemed to cause some small cracks in the fuselage. At least the plane was no longer in a nosedive thanks to her efforts.

Superwoman then placed herself under the center of gravity, between the two wings, gripping the metal structure with as much force as she could with her hands, but without dragging on any specific part of the structure to avoid causing any cracks, and began to slowly reduce her airspeed. The plane seemed to gradually lose speed, in sync with the superheroine's efforts. It now appeared to be gliding over barren fields at an altitude of barely a thousand feet. The Maid of Might managed to get the plane to match her speed, and they began to descend. Only a few hundred feet above the ground, the plane had already slowed down. Superwoman sighed and descended vertically, carefully setting the plane down. Thank God! Now she had to check on the passengers and take the injured to the nearest hospital. She floated to the fuselage hatch and ripped it off with her super strength. The superheroine entered the plane with a heavy heart and tried to smile at the passengers. "Is everyone all right?"

Moscow/Metropolis

21 February 1950-18 March 1950

Melkov had already crossed the Finnish border with a false passport that identified him as a displaced Finnish worker in Karelia. His official name was now Pekka Cajander. From that moment on, he would be considered a deserter by the USSR. Khrushchev and Beria had promised to bring him back once he had completed his mission. What were they going to do with Stalin? Poison him? Force him out because of his contacts with the alien entity in Siberia? Beria had to cover his tracks. Officially, Melkov had traveled to the Finnish border to interrogate a nonexistent Swedish defector. The official story was that Beria had discovered the hoax, reported it, and ordered Melkov's arrest. However, Melkov was already safely in Finland with a dozen false passports. The consequences of his supposed escape were unpredictable: a purge was likely, though it would not be widely publicized until Superwoman was dealt with and a settlement with the other alien was reached. Probably half of Moscow's Foreign Intelligence Center would be secretly executed or sent to the Gulag within the next 48 hours. Beria had promised him that there would be no executions and that everyone would be released upon Melkov's return. How could he trust Beria's words? Melkov was alone. Perhaps he could rely on some of his sleeper agents in Metropolis who, fortunately, had no contact with the rest of the Center. He would have to rely on them and try to convince them to help him. He had to stop Ballerina and the special scientific team that had already left for Metropolis, something he was not supposed to know about. Melkov would travel to Geneva to empty several personal bank accounts, and then, as a Swiss citizen, he would travel to the U.S. He stroked his dog, Pelet. He had brought the dog with him; he couldn't leave it behind, not knowing what might happen to it. The dog curled up against him. In Geneva, he had some friends who thought he was a businessman living in Italy. He would leave Pelet with them. Melkov was relying on his legendary good luck and his intelligence.

***

"Kent! I asked you months ago! And you haven't managed to get anywhere near Leda Luthor!"

Clara Kent watched anxiously as an angry Perry Weiss rifled through magazines and newspapers while the ash from his Cuban cigar was falling to the floor.

"Damn it, Kent, I specifically asked you to cover Leda Luthor, to interview Leda Luthor. You're the Planet journalist who covered everything about Lex Luthor for two years until he died. Damn it. She's already been interviewed by Life and the Times. The Republicans are calling for a new congressional investigation into Meredith Island and the Doomsday events. It could be one of their key issues for the midterm elections." Perry continued rambling.

Clara sighed sadly, not knowing how to react. No, she didn't want to interview Leda Luthor. She had too many things on her mind, too many problems occupying both Superwoman's and Clara Kent's time. The Luthor business was particularly troubling. The Woman of Tomorrow had to work with the government to conceal the true fate of Lex Luthor: exposed as a Soviet spy and imprisoned in a secret facility, while his daughter tried to clear his name and defend him as a good man, claiming he died in a government experiment. Two contradictory lies that tormented Clara.

"Mr. Weiss... her accusations are very serious and without evidence, I..."

"I told you clearly. I don't care about the seriousness of the accusations; you need to check them out and, most importantly, interview her."

Alina Baristova-Baker poked her head out from behind Perry's office sofa and winked at Clara, who looked at her gratefully, "Perhaps I can help. I understand Mademoiselle Kent. The poor Luthor dame is delusional from the pain of her father's death and the fact that one of his experiments caused so many deaths. Our dear Kansas girl doesn't want to hurt or contradict a daughter who is delusionally defending her dead father, nor does she want to add to her insanity... It's understandable. We can all get emotional about a case. I can take over from World Magazine. I just need Mademoiselle Kent to tell me everything she knows about Monsieur Luthor and the Rand Corporation, and her theories on the case, and I'll handle Leda Luthor…"

Perry Weiss looked at both and crossed his arms.

"I'm not sure this is a matter for World... It should be handled by the Planet, especially by someone who knows the case. Kent, we can't refuse to investigate what could be the story of the year, along with those damn craters and disappearances. We can't fall behind just because Miss Dust Bowl feels too sorry or concerned about what Leda Luthor says. That's not good journalism."

Clara frowned, offended. "Miss Dust Bowl" was the last nickname Bob Mailer gave her after almost five years at the paper, and it annoyed her that Perry used it. On the other hand, Perry couldn't understand her reasons for not wanting to interview Leda Luthor or work on her case.

"Mr. Weiss, I can help the World team coordinate the interview and investigate Leda Luthor's claims. I can co-sign the story with them if you want." Clara firmly suggested.

"It bothers me a lot that you won't confront Leda Luthor directly. I'll let it slide this time, but you're losing points with me, Kent. Fine, if Alina agrees. Kent, don't play the sensitive woman card to avoid handling a story I want you to cover."

"That sounds magnifique, Perry. Mademoiselle Kent and I will work the case together." Alina winked at Clara.

Perry pointed to the door with his cigar and the two of them left quickly. Alina took Clara's arm.

"My cherie, don't worry, just a few afternoons for you to explain all the facts of the case to me, and I'll leave you to rest in peace. What do you think?"

Clara smiled at Alina. In the last few weeks, they had developed something like a friendship. Alina was very kind, bringing her stories and cases and taking others off her hands. She was worldly and brave. There was something about her that unsettled Clara. Outside the office she preferred to spend time with Lucy and Jimmy, as well as helping and teaching Roberta... but inside the office, Alina was a great help.

"Dear, heavenly eyes, would you come to my office for a coffee so we can discuss the details of my interview with Leda Luthor?" Alina insisted.

Clara smiled innocently at Alina. She didn't like going down to the World offices for fear of running into the always unbearably cold and polite Louis Lane. She couldn't help but blush and feel her heart race whenever they exchanged empty, polite greetings. The pain lingered. But she agreed.

Alina winked at her again.

"You can't read my mind, can you? Every time I speak to you, I confess in my mind that I know who you really are... and that I have orders to take you down. Orders that I intend to follow. I think you really are, as some believe, a mindless alien brute. As others say, a flying girl scout. But you are undoubtedly a liability. A future weapon of war. No, you can't read my mind. If you could, you would have incinerated me with your heat vision. Or maybe you're too smart, you know something. You read my mind and you are waiting for me to act to expose me... Did you do that to Luthor? Maybe you're a snake. But I must play my cards right, Cherie. I've done it all my life. And I've always won."

In Alina's office, her own coffee machine had been installed at her request. Alina detested coffee but pretended to be an expert who drank only coffee from Martinique. Clara sat down while Alina made the coffee. But it wasn't Martinique's coffee. It had come from France, then from Finland, and before that from the USSR, accompanied by an encoded letter of instructions that Alina had to decipher. She was simply asked to get Superwoman's secret identity to drink this beverage, if possible. Harmless to humans, it was full of toxins and synthetic kryptonite powder that would gradually weaken Superwoman's body and mind. It was completely odorless and tasteless. Alina didn't know who to answer to because all communication with the Center had been cut off. Now she could only receive messages, not send them. She had received another message: a team was on its way to Metropolis to deal with Superwoman, but any weakening she could do with that poison would be appreciated. When the team arrived, they would contact her, and Alina would have to lead them to Superwoman's secret identity. What would happen?

This was the third poisoned coffee she had served to Clara. Alina didn't believe it was harmless to humans and made herself another coffee. She lied to Clara, saying she preferred a much purer and more bitter blend. The journalist, also Superwoman, Earth's mightiest mortal, seemed clueless, sipping the coffee with a sad smile. Alina wasn't sure if Clara Kent was a great creature or a disappointing one.

"And now, Cherie... tell me everything you know about the Luthors from the beginning!"

***

Major Anatoly Knyazev, a still young and strong man, unrolled the blanket and stretched out on the metal and cloth chair, looking out at the calm sea. The cargo ship was moving slowly through the icy water, fearing a collision with an iceberg. Anatoly opened a fake Canadian passport with a work visa for the United States, Anton Kelchevic. Better not risk it with the English accent. He spoke it perfectly, but his Slavic accent came out easily. He had always preferred to work as a Yugoslav political refugee, Canadian since 1942. Anatoly sighed; it was too cold. He gestured to two armed guards that he was going to sleep in his cabin.

In bed, he went over his instructions again. Anatoly Knyazev was not a scientist. He was an intelligence agent but assigned to the special scientific team directly under Stalin's command. He had seen too much. Strange creatures, successful and failed experiments, Nazi rockets, Soviet rockets, rockets abandoned thousands of years ago... He had observed and monitored Soviet scientists, as well as others who had fled or been kidnapped and were now working for them, like Baroness Von Gunther and her brother. She had been in the Soviet Union for only a year. Anatoly and his team of six men now had what they were told was the most important mission since the war: to kill the alien known as Superwoman, the world's most powerful weapon of war, more powerful than any atomic bomb.

Two years earlier, in 1948, Anatoly had seen the special scientific team launch a German-designed nuclear ballistic missile deliberately diverted toward Novosibirsk. The missile could self-destruct before impact, but they wanted to attract Superwoman and see how she dealt with the bomb. They were successful, and the nuclear missile exploded... but Superwoman survived after she diverted the missile from its course to Novosibirsk. This being could survive nuclear explosions. Now something had happened in Siberia. Anatoly didn't know what it was; they had split up the special scientific team and accelerated all operations in the last few weeks. Probably an archaeological discovery. It wasn't his job to ask.

Anatoly dreamed of space, of exploring the solar system. Soon they would have rockets to go beyond the stratosphere and land on the moon and Mars, or so everyone said. They were moving faster now, thanks to all the information Baroness Von Gunther had brought back from the Nazis and the United States. But first they had to prevent a war or the Americans from breaking the strategic balance. And to do that, they had to eliminate Superwoman. And that's what they were going to do. They had several plasma guns. The Nazis had developed various synthetic minerals from various alien metal remains from Superwoman's planet. Soviet scientists had gone even further. They had managed to convert these synthetic minerals into plasma and then made plasma guns. These guns could incinerate or electrocute humans, but to their surprise, Kryptonian organic matter-since the Soviets had remnants of Kryptonian corpses from the 1946 invasion, although none were complete-was also severely affected by this plasma. This was much better than Luthor's pathogen and experiments, but the soviets were short on minerals for plasma production.

Anatoly's team would enter the United States illegally from Canada with the help of several agents they had on the border, travel to Metropolis, where Ballerina, one of the best Soviet agents, had discovered Superwoman's secret identity. And they would attack her. Anatoly trusted that they could finish her off. Ballerina had already poisoned her secret identity. But it was a very risky operation. They also carried kryptonite bullets, the alien metal. They knew Superwoman could dodge them at super speed, but if they could wound or stun her with the plasma guns, they could finish her off afterwards. The plasma guns had one significant advantage: they were completely silent. But, again, it was a risky operation, and Moscow had informed Anatoly of something extremely serious. Colonel Melkov, the head of the Foreign Intelligence Center in Moscow, had fled to Finland. A massive purge was now underway in Moscow. Was it possible that Melkov had fled because of what was happening in Siberia? In theory, Melkov knew nothing of Anatoly's mission... But what if he did? He had heard that Melkov was an admirable man, but he would have no problem killing him now that he knew he was a traitor.

***

 Superwoman flew over the city, but it seemed deserted. The cars were motionless, and the shutters and windows of the buildings appeared to be closed. A light snow fell on her. The Woman of Steel sensed that something was wrong. Below her, on Fifth Avenue, a line of trucks was speeding by. She couldn't see what was inside. She quickly descended and positioned herself in front of the convoy. The avenue looked shabby and dirty.

A group of people, mostly families, stepped out of the trucks, but they seemed terrified. Tall men with black metal masks escorted them, but Superwoman soon realized they were androids, not humans. She was stunned. She didn't understand what was happening. The faces of these people looked at her with a mixture of anger and panic. Superwoman felt a deep fear. Then they began to whisper to her.

"It's your fault."

"You brought us destruction."

"You are not like us."

"You will never be one of us."

"You must pay for your crimes.

"You have no right over us. No power."

"Who asked you to come to this planet?"

Each insult or accusation was like a painful blow to Superwoman, making her legs tremble. She wanted to fly away, but she couldn't. The androids dismantled some weapons and began to fire beams at her. She felt excruciating pain and fell. The androids and humans seemed to return to the trucks, except for a little girl who slowly approached her. Her heart skipped a beat as she recognized Emily Lane, Louis' daughter.

"Emily, please help me," Superwoman whispered.

But Emily pulled out a dagger like the one Dr. Quinzel had when she wounded her. Superwoman screamed and suddenly found herself in her bed, in her apartment, sweating. It was already morning. She covered her face with her hands in desperation. Lately she needed much more sleep than usual. She felt tired and required at least two or three hours of sleep instead of the one hour she usually needed. Clara was having more and more nightmares, all of them quite vivid. Those nightmares always involved robots, ruined cities, or mountains of corpses. In some, Zod had defeated her and destroyed mankind. In others, humanity perished in a nuclear missile war, missiles like the one that she had destroyed in Siberia two years earlier. In another, she had to pry the shattered body of Louis Lane from the clutches of Doomsday. What was happening to her? The last few weeks had been especially stressful, and she felt tired and clumsy for no reason. Could she be sick? She couldn't be. Was it a result of the wound Dr. Quinzel had inflicted on her months ago?

Clara took a slow shower and tried to relax. Her dog, Krypto, was with her mother in Smallville. At super speed, she put on her Superwoman suit, her office outfit over it, glasses and a hat. She decided to take public transportation to the Planet, hoping to take some time to relax unless someone needed Superwoman.

***

Melkov walked through the art studio. It was a beautiful day. Sunlight streamed in through the windows. It was his first time in Metropolis and the city had surprised him. It was much bigger and brighter than he had expected. He had anticipated a smoky hell of dark skyscrapers, but despite the chaos, it seemed like a pleasant place. He had seen poverty and inequality, as he expected, but less than what Soviet propaganda claimed. Still, he had the feeling that Metropolis was a big theatrical stage, a big lie. Melkov looked out the window at the sky. He had seen Superwoman fly overhead several times since his arrival, just a red and blue blur moving at high speed. What was she like? What if he was wrong, and Stalin and the Siberian creature were right? At least he had arrived on time, thanks to money and first-class plane tickets. He knew the special scientific team would take longer to arrive; they were coming by boat, or so Beria had informed Melkov before he began his mission.

"You can't ask that of us," a woman's voice sounded behind him.

Melkov turned with a slight smile. A couple in their sixties with German accents looked at him with concern.

"The others have agreed. You must help me," Melkov insisted calmly.

"We don't know the others."

"There are only two. Expert snipers. Like you, we got them out of Europe before the Nazis could catch them."

"How do we know you're not deceiving us?"

"You won't."

"But why?"

Melkov sat down beside an easel. The woman was a painter. Her code name was Colombe, and the man's was Raymond.

"We all have the right to a piece of the truth, but only the Comrade General Director can know the whole truth. It has always been so. You accepted that when I invited you in."

The man sighed and sat down.

"Well, and what is our piece of the truth, Herr Kohnenberg?"

Herr Kohnenberg was the coded name Melkov had used.

"There is a team of seven rogue agents in the city. They are following orders from a militaristic unit that operates independently of the Central Committee and refuses to obey its orders. But they have secret supporters in the Central Committee. There is a clear danger of internal disruption. They are planning actions to provoke a conflict with the U.S. for which we are not prepared. We must find this team and neutralize them. To do that, you must follow the contact they have in the city."

"The journalist... right?" the man asked wearily.

"Exactly, the journalist." Melkov smiled at the couple. He hadn't tried to contact Ballerina yet. He wanted to make sure that the agents of the special scientific team did it first. He had to find them through Ballerina. No doubt Ballerina knew about his escape and the fall of the Foreign Intelligence Center. If he went to meet Ballerina, she would probably neutralize him, at best set a trap for him, or simply ignore him while informing the special scientific team. Fortunately, Ballerina lived in a luxury hotel, and it wouldn't have been difficult to enter her suite and tap her phone. It probably wouldn't reveal her plans, but it was something. He had to be firm with her, leaving her no choice but to obey. Break the chain of command. Restore the chain of command.

"And if we refuse?" the woman asked suspiciously.

"You will have lost all value as agents, shown indiscipline, and I will report you to the FBI by phone while I escape, assuming we survive the catastrophic consequences of our incompetence."

"I apologize; my wife has never seen you in person. We've been out of contact with the Center for a long time..."

"You just have to follow the journalist. See where she goes, who she meets, and if you see any of these people, follow them at all costs."

Melkov handed them the seven photographs of the team sent to Metropolis to kill Superwoman that Khrushchev had provided.

"We'll do it," the woman said, her tone now assertive.

"Just follow them, observe them, and then myself and the other two will take care of neutralizing them."

"Is the journalist one of our comrades?" the man asked curiously.

"Yes, she is, but she is currently confused about her loyalties."

***

Alina smoked a cigarette as she looked out at the ocean liners, the freighters, and the Statue of Liberty. A tall, blond man spoke to her in English.

"I prefer to speak in English. People might misunderstand if they hear Russian," the man said in a low voice.

Alina nodded. "How was the trip?"

The man didn't answer. He carried a briefcase.

""Here are the instructions. We have prepared them carefully. And a gift from our side, so to speak. If you agree with the instructions, you will need to call the phone number we have given you, invite us to lunch, and give us the address where we're going to meet our friend."

Alright. The briefcase worries me. What if she..."

"The briefcase is lined with lead; she can't see anything inside."

"Tomorrow you'll get my call to set the date and place if I agree... and if I don't?"

"We would meet again. But with the utmost urgency. Try to adjust your plans to the risk we're taking and the instructions."

"Understood."

"It's a pity she doesn't work along with you."

"Pardon?" Alina inquired, but she feared she had misunderstood, a doubt crept into her.

"She... doesn't work with you, right? According to our report."

Alina frowned. Of course, Clara Kent was working with her in the newsroom. She didn't understand what the agent meant. Was it a trap? But they had the most secret codes and the red label, orders from Stalin. And everything he said matched the messages she had received.

"She's usually in the same building," Alina answered dryly. It was the best way to cover her bases.

"Better."

The man started to leave, but Alina grabbed his hand.

"And the Colonel?"

The man leaned forward and whispered carefully.

"What you read in the last message is true. He has defected. He's a traitor. The enemy."

Alina looked sadly at the sea. "I hope he's not here."

"If he is, we'll take care of him. But if he was working for the Americans, you'd probably have been exposed by now. Maybe he is working for Yugoslavia, Israel or the United Kingdom."

The man left quickly. Alina didn't notice that a woman with white hair and an easel followed him at a careful distance.

*** 

Clara Kent glared furiously at the full-color pages of the Daily Bugle, which to Clara was not a serious newspaper but an insufferable tabloid.

"TERRIBLE MESS BY THE WOMAN…OF STEEL?"

Three days earlier, Clara had had to fly as Superwoman to prevent the explosion of a large oil tanker in a Venezuelan port. She was exhausted, suffering from severe migraines, and increasingly worried about her physical condition, though Bruce had analyzed her blood and found nothing abnormal. Probably stress, Bruce said. No, it wasn't stress. She had endured worse moments without losing her determination and her smile. She couldn't be breaking down. But maybe her body was telling her that she needed to rest. Fortunately, she wasn't a goddess. The oil tanker incident was a disaster. She managed to extinguish the fire with her cooling breath, but when she tried to move the burning ship away from the dock by carefully pushing it from the bow, she somehow split it in two, causing a massive oil spill. She had to use all of her powers for several hours to clean up the spill, but the image of Superwoman failing to do something as simple as move a ship, and instead breaking it in half, circulated worldwide. Clara crumpled the paper in anger.

Someone was knocking on her office door. She used her x-ray vision to see that it was Roberta. Clara's expression softened and she smiled.

"Come in!"

"Hi, Miss Kent!"

"Roberta, honey, how are you? How did your test go today?"

"Everything was great!"

"I'm so glad, honey. You didn't have to come in today!"

"I have to help Jimmy write captions for some photos! It's for the weekly roundup of Superwoman's adventures."

"Oh," Clara winked at her, showing her the crumpled page from the Daily Bugle with the Venezuela spill, "It looks like your caped friend hasn't been doing quite well lately."

"Don't be mean, Miss Kent! Superwoman is doing her best! Besides, she solved the spill problem quickly! She has a lot on her plate."

"You're probably right, yes." Clara tried to feign indifference.

"I want to work with you on the investigation you're starting into the fires in abandoned buildings and warehouses! In places where the city council immediately grants building permits!" Roberta said enthusiastically.

"Of course, it's just an outline for the moment. I still don't know where to start. But I have a feeling there's something there."

"I'd start by going through all the fires in the newspaper archives from the last two years!"

"That's a tough job, Roberta, believe me, going through 800 issues of the paper. We'll need time."

"Although I could do it in a few minutes..." Clara thought to herself.

"The sooner we start, the better, Miss Kent! How about this Saturday?"

"Roberta, I don't like you working on Saturdays. You should be spending it with your family and friends or studying if you have exams."

"Just for a little while, Miss Kent, a few hours after lunch."

"Well, we'll see."

Alina suddenly appeared in the doorway, tapping her long nails on Clara's office door with a broad smile. She wore a long gray skirt and a matching sweater with shoulder pads, along with a necklace of enormous pearls.

"Mademoiselle Kent... Mademoiselle Lee... Lee, dear, could you leave me alone with your mentor for a few minutes? I'll return her to you shortly."

Clara smiled at Roberta who left, closing the door carefully behind her. Alina approached Clara's desk and leaned on it with both hands. She looked Clara in the eyes with a deliberate gaze and smiled. Sensing a hint of shyness or suspicion in the journalist, she pondered how someone could appear and be a normal woman... and yet be what she was, the Woman of Steel. Alina tried to keep those thoughts from altering her smile and her facade of optimism.

"Cherie... I think I've found a gold mine."

"Really?" Clara asked with interest.

"Yes, on the subject of Leda Luthor... a former TELCORP employee. A government contact got her for me. He's someone who's going to testify before Congress if there's an investigating committee. He claims to have a real bombshell. But he wants to meet us in person at the newspaper on Saturday or Sunday. What do you think?"

Clara tried to hide her concern at Alina's news. Who could it be? What information did he have? Could this start a chain reaction that would lead the public to the truth about Meredith Island, Doomsday and Luthor?

"It sounds interesting, yes..."

"It's wonderfully interesting, Cherie. It could be nothing, or it could be the beginning of a big scoop. And we'll be ahead of the politicians. Tell me, Saturday or Sunday?"

Clara sighed, "Saturday afternoon will be fine. I've arranged for Roberta to help me go through some archives after lunch. How about four o'clock?"

Alina winked, "I'll check with the source, but he's eager to meet us. I'll confirm with you first thing tomorrow."

The woman known as Ballerina watched the woman known as Superwoman, who seemed doubtful and lost in thought. She made a French pout and said goodbye, letting Roberta Lee, Clara's protégé, back in.

"Alea Jacta Est. This could be the greatest work of my life or my demise."

Alina was anxious to get to the hotel and make a phone call. She had an appointment to confirm. Then she felt a weight in her chest as she remembered the lead-lined briefcase she had been given. Inside was a strange, small but heavy gun made of obsidian and metal, with a long rectangular barrel and a dark red liquid resembling blood in a crystal warhead in the magazine. She was also expected to shoot that alien. It worked like a normal gun, they assured her, except that what it fired could kill Superwoman.

Melkov had overheard the brief conversation and noted the date and place: March 18th, four o'clock in the afternoon, Planet building, 58th floor. He couldn't believe that Ballerina had used the phone in her suite. She was getting careless.

***

It was the wee hours of Saturday, March 18, 1950. Superwoman was flying around the world, ready for a thousand and one rescues. During those same hours, Colonel Melkov was smoking a cigar every ten minutes, planning the next day with Patrick and Wolf, two hit men and sleeper agents he had used during World War II. They were brutal assassins, dedicated to the cause, whom Melkov had not had to press hard to reactivate. They had provided him with weapons and the necessary equipment to spy on Ballerina and the special scientific team. In the building across the street, unaware they were being watched, Major Anatoly Knyazev's team of seven men couldn't sleep either. Tomorrow could be the most important day since the end of the war, perhaps rivaling the Soviet nuclear tests. Meanwhile, in Gotham, the Caped Crusader, Batman, crawled through the suspended ceiling of one of the abandoned warehouses in Gotham's old fishing district.

Batman had been investigating the Whateley family and others connected to Dr. Quinzel, such as Selena, the owner of the house where Zatanna Kzatara's father had disappeared in an explosion. The body of a soldier involved in the heroin trade was found decapitated and without a heart. While the police believed it was a revenge killing, Batman saw it as the work of the cults he was pursuing. He had been following four thugs involved in the heroin trade, one of them from New Orleans. He had seen them with suspicious associates linked to the remnants of the Whateley family and in a voodoo circle. Further ahead, in the suspended ceiling, was an opening. Through it he could hear the four thugs walking. This had to be one of their drug storehouses, if not something worse. Batman perched on the ledge. He was ready to fire a harness on the real ceiling and fall on the criminals. The thugs had machine guns, but he trusted the element of surprise and his batarangs.

Batman counted to ten, fired the harness at the ceiling, and dropped down on them, throwing his batarangs with his other arm. One thug fell to the ground, his machine gun spinning and firing, wounding another thug who howled in pain and dropped his weapon. Batman dodged the bullets and was preparing to attack the two remaining thugs who were shooting at him when he was blinded by a purple light. The beam also blinded the two thugs, causing them to drop their guns. One gun fired as it hit the ground, but another beam of purple light stopped the bullets in mid-air, and they fell to the ground with a metallic clink. The two thugs knocked out by the light appeared unconscious. Batman turned in utter confusion to see a woman in a dark trench coat and a man's hat beside him. He couldn't see her eyes, but she had long curly dark hair. The woman approached him, her light brown eyes shining.

"I am Zatanna Kzatara. I believe you have been looking for me. Glad you could find me."

18 March 1950

Metropolis

01.30 PM

Patrick and Wolf had ordered Chinese food for lunch. Melkov paced nervously in his room. It was three against seven. There was no guarantee that the plan would work. But he had to eliminate them today. He couldn't let Ballerina escape or counterattack. He had to confront her with the truth and force her to cooperate. Clara Kent had to be there. The most important part of his mission was not only to prevent Superwoman's death, but to inform her of the mysterious entity in Siberia that could threaten all of humanity. He needed the superheroine to understand the gravity of the situation. The fact that Alina was a spy no longer mattered. If everything went according to plan, they would disguise themselves as movers, eliminate the team of seven men led by Major Anatoly Knyazev, and he would take their place in the trap Alina had set for the Kryptonian lady.

There were risks: despite the silencers, a firefight could break out, and they would have to escape before the police arrived. If Superwoman arrived first, he might be able to explain the truth and show her the weapons the special scientific team had planned to use to kill her. But it was also crucial to "burn" Alina so she couldn't continue operating as Ballerina. It was a risky plan, but the only viable one, considering he was in the rival empire, in the United States, almost alone and without resources. Eliminate the special scientific team and confront Alina and Superwoman with the truth. What would happen in the USSR? In the American newspapers, there were no signs of any special disturbances in the Soviet government.

***

Superwoman flew gracefully over the cornfields, with Krypto barking after her. Fortunately, the Kent farm was very secluded, and with her super hearing, Clara was able to detect any approaching cars. The dog fetched a ball, and Superwoman deftly threw it, calibrating her super-strength so that it landed on the farmhouse porch. The dog whined in frustration as the farm was hundreds of yards away, but accustomed to the game, he ran after it. Superwoman flew at super speed to the farmhouse and entered gently. Her mother, with whom she had eaten, was trying to take a nap.

"Mother, I'm going back to Metropolis. I have some work to do and, well... you know, patrol around. I'll be back tomorrow at noon."

Her mother sat up, gave her a long hug, and then Superwoman disappeared out the window, leaving Krypto barking after the red and blue blur in the sky.

***

They were ambushed in the building's elevators. To Melkov's relief, Knyazev and his group were in a twenty-story building with few elevator operators. There would be no collateral damage. Dressed as movers, in uniforms Wolf had stolen, they entered with ease. Patrick spent half an hour checking the meters on the floor where the special scientific team's safe house was located, while Melkov and Wolf waited on the floor below. The first four men left the safe house, all looking normal and carrying briefcases, looking like young office workers, they called for the elevator. Patrick quickly ran down to the floor below where Wolf was waiting, and they called the same elevator. It opened and revealed an elderly couple inside. They pointed their guns at the couple and forced them to leave. Melkov stayed with the couple, smiling as he held them at gunpoint and asked for some silence, then tied them up. He didn't care if they remembered him. Wolf and Patrick got in and pushed the button for the floor above, just one floor up. The four men of the special scientific team barely had time to react when the elevator doors opened. Four silenced bullets were fired in just three seconds. The four men collapsed, their skulls or chests pierced. Patrick and Wolf grabbed the briefcases and ran to the stairwell, where they could see the door to the apartment where Knyazev and three other men were still inside.

The shots had been fired with silencers, so they were barely audible. However, one of Knyazev's men recognized the muffled sound through the wall and, after hesitating for a moment, went to the door where he found his four companions dying in a pool of blood in front of the elevator. Before he could shout anything in Russian, a bullet from Patrick went through his skull and he fell as well. Patrick and Wolf rushed into the apartment, but Knyazev and his remaining agent had already realized that something was wrong. The gunfight Melkov had feared ensued. Wolf fell within seconds, a bullet in his neck. Melkov crawled into the apartment and covered Patrick. Knyazev's remaining agent fell dead, and Knyazev retreated to his room. Melkov urged him in Russian to come out. A dozen shots had been fired; soon Superwoman and the police would be there, hopefully Superwoman first. Melkov didn't have time to make a quick deal with Knyazev. He could not escape, but Melkov wanted Superwoman to show up. But there was no red and blue blur outside the window. Melkov didn't know that Superwoman was far away, in Egypt, putting out a refinery fire.

Two minutes had passed since the shooting began, four since the operation began. The police would be there soon. Knyazev had no escape. If Melkov knew him well, and if he was trained like his other agents, he would soon hear an isolated detonation in Knyazev's room. Instead, he heard an explosion. The windows and doors shattered. Melkov was thrown backward.

The ringing in his ears and the pain in his ribs were unbearable. The window was gone, leaving a huge hole in its place. Fire, smoke, water, debris and broken pipes now occupied the space where the safe house rooms had once been. He couldn't see Patrick anywhere; he had probably been blown away by the explosion and fallen to his death from a dozen stories up. Melkov was hurt and bleeding. The floor had collapsed around the rooms, and the blast seemed to have damaged the apartment next door as well. There was nothing he could do - the weapons! Each briefcase must have contained Soviet weapons designed to kill Superwoman; he couldn't let them fall into American hands. But it was too late. This was collateral damage.

Melkov could move. He holstered his weapon and crawled out. The lights in the building were out. There were screams everywhere. He joined the mass of frightened or injured neighbors descending the dark stairwell. He helped one woman with her daughter. The police and firemen were already downstairs. Superwoman arrived flying within seconds, and soon she was seen using her superpowers to put out the fires, flying down with injured people in her arms...and also with the bodies of the four Soviet agents Patrick and Wolf had killed in the elevator. Melkov couldn't reach her or get her attention without alerting the police. He had never seen her so close before. She seemed like an angel. A worried and troubled angel who still managed to smile for the children and the injured. The spy refused to get into an ambulance. He had a few broken ribs, some burns, and a cut on his head. He allowed a nurse to bandage him and then he slipped away. He had to get to Colombe and Raymond's house, change clothes, get a painkiller or a good glass of vodka, and get to the Daily Planet. He had to hold Alina at gunpoint and secure a private meeting with Superwoman.

04.15 PM

"Mrs. Baristova-Baker, you have a phone call."

"From whom?"

"He says he's a friend of yours from Paris. He gave me the name of Simon Petliura."

Alina's heart skipped a beat. The name of her first kill, the Ukrainian political and paramilitary leader whose bandits had murdered her parents, made her tremble for the first time in a long time. Who could call her by that name? In a second she realized it was Melkov.

"Yes, put him through."

The operator put the call through. A broken and tired, yet masculine and authoritative voice greeted her in Yiddish. Alina sighed and answered.

"Hello, dear friend."

"How are you, ballerina?"

"I'm not sure. How are you?"

"We need to meet, today."

"Why should we meet?"

"Because the friends who were supposed to visit you this afternoon can no longer come. None of them. Turn on the radio. There's been a terrible accident."

Alina tried to think quickly... Melkov knew about the special scientific team. Could it be true? Had he really taken them out?

"What a pity. I was looking forward to meeting them. Tell me, Simon, where are you? I'm coming to see you."

"No, I'm in a phone booth. Stay in your office. I'll come to you soon, within an hour at the most. It's of the utmost importance. You don't know how important it is. And try to make sure Miss Clara Kent receives me. I must speak with her. You'll regret it if we don't have this talk. For all these years of friendship..." Melkov seemed emotional.

"It's not a good idea, Simon. Miss Kent is very busy." Alina was too nervous to outline a plan.

"If she can see us today, I'll wait. If not, I'm afraid you'll be useless. I'll let the appropriate people know who you really are."

"Simon, my dear Simon, you're crazy."

Alina hung up abruptly. Her head was spinning. She turned on the radio in her office and flipped through several stations until she found one reporting an explosion in a building in the Tenderloin neighborhood, with several injured and dead. Could it be them? She had to contact her station chief in Paris. The "light" codes had changed, and she couldn't communicate directly with Paris, only with Moscow. Before, she could send messages to Paris that went to the USSR, but those messages were top secret. Her codes could only be deciphered in Moscow. Now, without codes, she could only receive messages, at least until the special scientific team gave her new codes. She was out of the official loop. She had contact for the Soviet station chief in Metropolis, but she was forbidden to communicate with him. Perhaps she could escape to the Soviet consulate and explain her situation.

Had the plan really failed? Alina checked her watch; the special scientific team seemed to be late. Was it true? Melkov was surely on his way. Was he working with the Americans? What did he want from her? Was he going to kill her? Why had he defected? Was there an internal power struggle in the Soviet government where some wanted to kill Superwoman and others didn't? Alina began to sweat. She was wearing jodhpurs. She had thought that after Superwoman's death, if all went well, she would go riding. No one would know. The special scientific team would have taken the Kryptonian's body as soon as they were done with her. Alina trembled. She was alone and blind again. It wasn't the first time she'd found herself blind, but she'd always completed a mission in her life.

She approached the briefcase; the one Major Knyazev had given her. She looked at the weapon with determination. The orders were to kill Superwoman. Alina was part of those orders. If she was the only one left, she had to complete the mission. She also had another gun. She checked the time. She would wait an hour. If the special scientific team didn't show up, she would take the initiative. And if Melkov showed up, she would confront him. He was still a traitor. She remembered one of the things Melkov had said when they first met: "What must happen has already happened". It seemed ridiculous at the time, but later she understood. There was no free will at all. There were greater forces at play—history, conflict, war, and class struggle. Yet, there were also individual lives, and love. She had truly loved the handsome but morally corrupt Captain Baker, her official husband. He believed he had married a White Russian exile, a woman who shared his love for luxury. In reality, they had never experienced a true marriage. Something she had accepted resolutely and without humiliating herself. Life, after all. But her life had been dominated by those forces.

She had spent her whole life fulfilling missions, fighting for her ideals. Those ideals were to eliminate most of the forces that oppressed the spirits and to liberate humanity. Alina wasn't going to back down now. She wasn't going to switch sides. She wasn't going to be stopped; she wasn't going to become a real right-wing journalist as she was supposed to be. Alina had killed Simon Petliura, Andreu Nin, the Spanish Trotskyist leader, General Mola, Admiral Darlan and so many others. Enemies of the revolution and of the people. Men who would bring war. She would kill Superwoman. It was her duty, her mission. Or she would die trying. She had never doubted that since she first pulled the trigger in 1926. It was her destiny.

05.30 PM

"How jealous I feel, Miss Kent. I should have gone with Jimmy and the other reporters to cover the explosion at Tenderloin," Roberta said in frustration, surrounded by folded newspapers and boxes. They had been combing through the archives for almost three and a half hours, looking for fires in ruined or abandoned buildings in Metropolis.

Clara looked at her tenderly as she adjusted her glasses. She was sad that she had not arrived in time to prevent what had happened in the Tenderloin bombing. She had other pressing matters to attend to at the same time. However, Superwoman had managed to save dozens of injured people and prevent a collapse. Apparently, several bodies were found with gunshot wounds. Of the eight dead, all but one - a moving company employee who fell out of a window - had gunshot wounds. Strangely, none of them had identification or were residents of the building. Superwoman wanted to stay, but the police usually prevented her from joining investigations. She had to act alone, though she would later ask for help, as she did with Toyman and Dr. Quinzel. District Attorney Morgan Edge terrorized the police with threats of legal action if they allowed a "civilian" like Superwoman to interfere with police investigations. What happened in the Tenderloin bombing may have been a settling of scores among the remnants of the mob. Though Superwoman had captured most of the local criminals, some of the local mafia survived, entrenched themselves in legitimate businesses, and sooner or later, they fought among themselves. Superwoman kept reminding herself that she couldn't be everywhere at once.

"The truth is, honey, it's the story of the month, at least in the city...a shame to miss it, but it fell to Justin Moore and Percy Bratten to get there first, and Jimmy. We may have a major corruption scandal on our hands here."

Roberta flashed a wide, playful smile. "This could be wonderful, Miss Kent. I've never started from scratch on a case that could be so important. But that building explosion sounds interesting too, it's probably the mob."

"We'll see, honey. Now, let's check how many fires we have so far, in '44..."

A throat cleared behind them.

"Mademoiselle Lee... Mademoiselle Kent..." Alina Baristova-Baker smiled at her. "How's the afternoon at the archives going?"

"The Planet's professional secret!" Roberta replied firmly. Alina smiled back.

"Heavenly eyes, our friend just called me, he'll be here in a quarter of an hour. Can you come to my office then?"

Clara nodded and turned to Roberta, "Roberta, I think we're done for today. You can go, you have time to see a movie."

Roberta sighed in frustration, "Let's wait these fifteen minutes, please."

"I don't mind," Alina smiled and disappeared.

***

Alina watched the clock tensely. Fortunately, the World newsroom was completely empty. Upstairs at the Daily Planet, people were working and preparing the Sunday edition, but she didn't care about that right now. The fifteen minutes she had asked Clara Kent for were almost up. She held the strange weapon in her hands. The instructions were clear; it worked like a normal one. It had to be fired from the back. Then she would shoot again until Superwoman was dead. The instructions also said that this weapon didn't fire bullets, but some kind of plasma rays. Alina wasn't quite sure what that meant. And then what? If she killed her, what would she do with the body? If it was just rays, there wouldn't be any blood or bullet holes. Would she drag the body down the elevator shaft? Throw it through the window? She would just walk away. She would throw the gun into the ocean, along with any incriminating documents she might have, the old codes, her special typewriter… She would throw everything except her French passport and her Soviet passport. And if she failed? Better not to think about that. She scribbled a few lines in Russian on a piece of paper, a kind of suicide note, just in case. She would burn it victoriously if she succeeded. She simply wrote: "What must happen has already happened". And Melkov? Where was he? Was he injured? It was clear that the special scientific team had been disbanded or destroyed. Alina took out the briefcase and placed it, apparently closed but unlocked, under a table in the newsroom lounge. On the table in the hall, she placed some magazine clippings she had found. She would invite Clara to read these documents while they waited for the source who would never arrive... and then she would shoot her.

Alina sat down on the sofa and waited. Soon Clara appeared. She looked tired but happy. She was wearing a greenish-gray blouse and a beige jacket.

"Alina! Has he arrived yet?"

"No, Cherie, not yet."

"Oh..."

"He should be here any minute. Let him surprise us; it's quite a scoop. We have the scoop of the year."

"I'm tired of 'scoops of the year,' believe me," Clara joked affectionately.

"Come over and see these things I pulled out of our archives. You'll find it interesting. Tell me what coincidences you see." Alina positioned herself next to Clara, pointing to the table as she carefully backed away. When she was behind Clara, Alina silently knelt down and took the gun from the briefcase.

Clara leaned over the table. The recordings didn't seem to make much sense. They talked about Leda Luthor's charity work, an old opinion column by Louis Lane calling for a law to control Superwoman's activities, an interview with Lex Luthor about the war industry in 1944... it didn't make sense to her.

Roberta Lee stepped out of the elevator onto the World magazine floor, triumphantly clutching her notepad. She wanted to say goodbye to Miss Kent, see the mysterious visitor, and show Miss Kent that there was a huge, abandoned building in Brooklyn that had burned down three times before being torn down by the city in 1946.

"Now or never... She's not expecting it, now or never," Alina muttered as she fired. To her surprise, some kind of reddish rays, which looked more like a thick, shiny liquid, silently emerged from the barrel of the pistol.

The beams hit Clara before she could turn around. She felt an enormous, burning force, like a kick of fire, and as her body shook and prickled. Everything became blurred. The immense pain in her back and belly made her bend over, but she remained standing.

Alina fired a second time. The rays hit higher, near Clara's neck. This time she screamed and fell to the ground.

Both Alina and Clara heard Roberta Lee's scream of horror as the girl looked up in shock to see Clara on the floor and Alina holding a gun with a reddish flash coming out of it. Alina didn't think twice and fired at the young girl. Clara had managed to turn around, the pain and confusion preventing her from moving at super speed, and she didn't understand what was happening. But as soon as she saw Alina shooting and the red rays heading for Roberta, she pushed the pain aside and threw herself at the teenager, shielding her from the red rays. She carefully hugged Roberta and pushed her aside, but the rays hit Clara's back. This third shot was even more painful; Clara felt as if her insides were bursting. Blue and reddish rays shot out of her hands and seemed to electrocute Roberta. They both fell nearly unconscious.

Alina approached. The back of Clara's office suit was completely burned, her famous red cape stretched out behind her, and her glasses had rolled off. You always wore your cape underneath, always ready... But this time it didn't help. Clara was on her knees, moaning, shielding Roberta with her body. The girl seemed lifeless. Except for Clara's muffled moan and Roberta's loud scream, there had been no other sound. Alina approached them, ready to finish them off. The famous Superwoman could not defend herself; the weapon worked. She was about to pull the trigger when a shot rang out next to her. Alina didn't have time to turn around. She felt something burning destroy her mouth. The gun fell from her hands, and she crumpled to the floor.

Melkov trembled with the smoking gun in his hand. He hadn't arrived in time. Clara Kent lay on the ground, her clothes charred, her Superwoman suit showing underneath, protecting the body of a third person he didn't recognize. He looked at Alina; she was face down, crawling in a pool of blood with an angry expression on her face. The bullet had pierced her mouth cleanly, destroying her jaw, but she continued to fight. Melkov approached and grabbed her hand. He felt her struggle. With his other hand, he forced her onto her back, placed his gun in her hand, and put Ballerina's finger on the trigger; the pain prevented her from fighting back.

"I'm so sorry about all this, I really am. I wish you could know how sorry I am. It was never meant to be. If I could go back, I would never recruit you. I wish I never had." Melkov whispered as he pointed the gun at Ballerina's temple and fired. Blood splattered on him. The shot was not loud. It was Melkov's habit to make it look like a suicide, or at least to make it look plausible. Alina Baristova-Baker had attempted suicide, failed by shooting herself in the jaw, but then had the strength and courage to shoot herself in the temple. Whether anyone believed it didn't matter.

Melkov ran to Superwoman and lifted her in his arms. Beneath her was a teenager who looked Chinese or Japanese. She appeared to be asleep, but the veins on her face seemed to be swollen and her clothes were smoldering; she had undoubtedly been exposed to some kind of radiation or electrocution. Melkov slapped Superwoman's cheeks, feeling a deep sense of shame.

"Miss Kent, please, I'm a friend, answer me... Miss Kent."

The woman grabbed his hand and coughed.

"I'm a friend, Miss Kent. I know who you are, I know you're Superwoman. I've come a long way. We need your help. Where can I take you? You're hurt. We must get out of here. Alina is dead. You're safe." Melkov didn't know what he was saying and could barely react.

Clara listened from a distance, unable to comprehend. She felt pain all over her body. She looked at Roberta; despite the unbearable headache, she managed to use her x-ray vision. The girl was still breathing. Clara began to cry. She turned and saw Alina lying in a pool of blood. Alina had shot her! But why? With what? How was that possible? Who was this man?

"Miss Kent, please, someone will be here soon. Two shots were fired. They'll find Alina dead. She tried to kill you. A faction of my government wants to eliminate you. We must get out of here. It's urgent... the future of humanity... the holes, the disappearances. I know what they are. You must help me. There's something very wrong in Siberia. I'm afraid we need you to save the world again," Melkov pleaded again. Clara looked at him, pained and confused. Melkov caressed Roberta's forehead. "Miss Kent, the girl is still alive. Let's leave her here; she's only slightly injured. We need to move."

Clara gently pushed him away and lifted Roberta into her arms. She could barely stand. She didn't understand what had happened. Her shirt and jacket were torn to shreds. Melkov picked up Clara's glasses and put them in his pocket; he also picked up the charred remains of Clara's clothes that had fallen to the floor. He had always been an expert at cleaning up crime scenes. Clara finally thought more clearly. They had tried to kill her, she had been injured, Roberta had been injured, and this man with a white mustache and a foreign accent had saved them, claiming to know who was responsible for the disappearance of cities and fields the year before. And he knew she was Superwoman.

"Who are you?" Clara asked in a weak voice, trying to levitate with Roberta in her arms.

"A friend. We need to get to a safe place... Do you think you can still fly?"

The man approached Alina's body and picked up the plasma gun she had used.

"This will interest you, but we need to go somewhere safe."

Clara looked at him suspiciously and closed her eyes. She could float slightly. Maybe fly. First, she had to get Roberta to the hospital.

"Hold on to my neck, to my back... I'll take her to the hospital first. Then you can explain to me who you are." Clara tried to speak confidently, but her words came out strained.

Melkov hesitated, but then clung to Clara's back. She floated to the window with Roberta in her arms and the man clinging to her. They jumped and seemed to plummet down the facade, but Clara managed to stabilize and fly slowly upward. Melkov looked out at the avenue of cars, fascinated and terrified to be floating above them, clinging to Superwoman. He still felt pain in his ribs. Clara's eyes filled with tears as she looked at Roberta's unconscious body and said to herself, "As long as there's life, there's hope. And with hope, victory is possible". She struggled and flew higher. They were already a mile away from the Daily Planet when a group of office workers from the upper floors, who had heard the two shots and were searching for their source, found Alina Bake-Baristova dead in a pool of blood. There was a gun next to her hand. There was nothing and no one else.

Central Siberia Plateau

The entity who now called himself Brainiac watched through the thousands of eyes of his many androids as the work progressed with the delegation sent by the Soviet government. Eleven men and one woman floated in tanks, hooked up to cables or being carefully dissected. In a series of pods filled with a whitish liquid, robotic arms produced androids identical in appearance to the Russian emissaries. Other androids absorbed the thoughts and memories of the unfortunate prisoners and immediately transmitted them to Brainiac, who delighted in his own curiosity. Soon he would replace these twelve individuals - politicians, military personnel and scientists sent by Stalin "in peace" - with twelve identical androids capable of replicating their memories and ideas but controlled by Brainiac and loyal to his commands.

Infiltrating androids into governments was one of Brainiac's usual tactics in the early stages of a planetary invasion. It had been a long time since he had taken control of a planet, perhaps thirteen or fourteen thousand years. Too long he had been on the run, pursued by the fleets of other planets and the Green Lanterns, reduced to stealing bits and pieces of worlds. But now he could start afresh with Earth. The creatures fascinated him. They were physically identical to Kryptonians, though less intelligent, Humans also seemed more sentimental and brutal, with a highly developed artistic vein, full of doubts and fears, and of course duplicitous. Brainiac studied with curiosity the political and managerial ideas in the minds of the twelve hapless ambassadors. He had seen these ideas elsewhere, with variations. Some he liked, some he disliked, and some repelled him. Ten thought similarly, one was full of doubts and contradictions, and another was a spy for a foreign power and harbored deep hatred for his companions. All were intelligent in their own way and full of complexity. Brainiac suspected they were a good sample of the power he was deceiving. What would those from the power that hosted the Kryptonian be like? Would they be any different? Probably not.

He would inoculate the androids with memories of fictitious negotiations to further deceive the Soviets. The important thing was to discover the location of all nuclear arsenals and destroy them. Replacing all the world's governments with androids would be next, and then he would release the virus designed to reduce the human population to a quarter, as quickly as possible to prevent the disease from degenerating into wars. Human art and culture interested him and needed to be preserved. There was something about it that reminded him of his hazy memories of being Vryl Dox on Kolu. What was clear was that these hominids needed to be properly managed and guided. They were out of control. He had encountered too many out-of-control species in space. As for Superwoman, the Soviets had assured him that she would soon be dead. Brainiac doubted it; the Kryptonian was too powerful. But he was willing to receive her.