The two had spent the first night acquainting themselves with the basics of the flight command program. James was able to successfully power up the suit and got Clark started in the voice recognition sequences before he fell asleep on the couch. Diligently, Clark stayed up past 2:00 a.m. reciting scripted sentences and number sequences into the helmet’s microphone so the suit could learn his inflection, speech patterns, and pronunciation. He slept soundly that night having a sense of accomplishment for completing that portion of the training manual. From that day forward, the suit would only respond to his voice.
The next night Clark and James stopped at the pizza shop and then continued up to the apartment. When they entered, James took his duffle bag into the bathroom to change out of his work clothes. When he emerged in his running pants and sweatshirt, Clark was standing directly in front of him near the couch. The pizza box had not been opened, no plates were out, and no drinks had been poured. Clark had the suit on, fumbling with the clasps over his left shoulder, and the helmet was slung back behind his head. James was struck by how well the suit fit and how truly heroic his friend looked.
Clark looked at James and said, “Well?”
“Unreal, man,” started James. “But let’s follow our plan. I’m glad it fits good, but we need to get you more comfortable with the procedures.”
“Absolutely,” agreed Clark. “I just wanted to make sure no adjustments were needed.”
James smiled, “Alright. I’m going to eat real quick.” Before he turned to the kitchen, he looked Clark over one more time. He knew better than to bring it up, but it was remarkable how much Clark looked like Superman. When he was in the suit he stood taller and seemed more powerful. It seemed to bring out a confidence in his demeanor that James had not seen since Elaine’s death. He was certain now that helping his friend in this endeavor was the right thing to do. Clark looked intimidating and for a moment James contemplated the fear that would soon be struck into the minds of Elaine’s killers. He was glad to be at his friend’s side and felt proud of himself for being involved.
James got two plates from the cupboard, went to the refrigerator, took out two bottles of water, and turned to set the plates on the counter next to the pizza. By now, Clark had removed his glasses and put on the helmet. James must have looked concerned because Clark immediately said, “I’m just checking the fit. Take it easy.”
“How many pieces of pizza do you want?” asked James, dishing out two for himself.
“I‘ll get it myself, thanks,” answered Clark. Then his voice deepened and in a very deliberate tone he said, “Initiate Sequence A-0-4-2-6. Go.” Just as James had feared, Clark’s enthusiasm overtook his common sense as he powered up the electromagnetic flight suit inside the tiny apartment. Clark glowed and the air around him seemed to flutter as the output from the suit made the light bulb in the lamp glow brighter and then burst. Clark’s face changed from excited to intensely focused as every muscle in his body flexed beneath the neoprene shell. The retractable cape unfurled behind him. He clenched his fists.
“Shit, James. I feel strong,” he growled, “really strong.”
“Alright shut it off now,” insisted James. “We agreed to start slow: no manned power indoors. You promised, Clark.”
“Hover. Zero by six,” Clark commanded into the helmet’s microphone.
“Stop!” shouted James. He ducked behind the kitchen counter and covered his head, breaking both plates as they slipped from his hands and shattered on the floor. He was expecting a boom, or bang, or some sort of explosion, but he heard nothing but the breaking dishes. The silence that followed was only slightly obscured by the low hum of the suit and then the increased heavy breathing of its pilot. James uncovered himself, opened his eyes, and slowly lifted his chin above the counter.
The dampened sunlight that shone through the blinds backlit the floating silhouette of an unmistakable superhero. With arms outstretched, head down, and knees slightly bent, Clark hovered six inches above the carpet as if he was on an invisible crucifix. The sight took James’ breath away and he was overcome with such emotion that he thought he might cry. He felt his heartbeat in his throat as he thought back on all of the stories Clark had told of being tortured for his given name. He thought about the pain his friend had felt as he helplessly watched his wife’s last moments unfold on a computer screen. He thought about the feelings of rage and revenge that must have prompted the high jacking of the flying combat suit. All of this had accumulated and now, the mild-mannered reporter Clark Kent was becoming a real life Superman. James had captured over ten thousand images in his professional career but none were as striking as the one he witnessed at that moment.
Clark continued to breath deep. He lifted his head, made eye contact with James, and said, “Contact zero,” and then, “Power down.” His incredibly short descent was slow and gentle with his toes touching first, and then his heels. The cape retracted silently and once again, there was no sound. As the suit powered down, the microwave beeped. Neither friend had noticed that all of the power had gone out.
“Please don’t do that again,” pleaded James.
“I won’t,” Clark promised. With that the two men exhaled before they burst into an uncontrollable laughter. James ran from behind the counter and hugged Clark. He gave his battle-ready pal a playful shove followed by a strong hand shake.
Regardless of his intentions, Clark had earned the right to wear the suit. Still, James felt compelled to say, “Okay. Take that thing off. We have some more reading to do.”
Clark agreed and removed the helmet. As he unhinged the clasps and started the zipper down behind his shoulder, he thought again about how light weight the suit really was. He recalled the time when he and Elaine had taken scuba diving lessons in anticipation of their honeymoon. They had planned on exploring the shipwrecks and reefs in the Gulf of Mexico and maybe doing some spear fishing. The combat suit felt like a wet suit: soft and flexible, with no restriction on his range of motion. He stopped unzipping the suit just above his waste, withdrew his arms, and let the top portion hang behind him. He would finish the night that way, only completely removing the suit just before he went to bed.
The balance of the week was spent studying, discussing, planning, and exercising; all after a full day of work for both men at the New Rep. They were so energized by the covert project that neither one seemed to tire. Over the course of those five days James also noticed subtle changes in Clark. He was gaining confidence at work, stuttering less, being more assertive. But most impressive was the fact that he had started to talk very openly about Elaine’s death with his co-workers. When asked, James would attribute the transformation to the new information about her killer being introduced. James assured everyone that Clark was at ease knowing that the proper authorities were back on the trail of her assassin. Keeping up the cover of Clark’s emerging secret identity was becoming a bit of a thrill for James. He felt good telling his friends that “Clark trusts the U.S. Government to do the right thing and he knows it’s only a matter of time before Almar bin-Sawwadi gets what he deserves.” He knew deep down that at least half of that was true.
As the week came to a close, James decided it would be a good idea to get home for a few days and spend time with his family.
“I’ll see you in a few days, Clark. We had a good week. Got a lot done,” James reassured his friend.
“You got it. Be safe,” Clark replied.
“Promise me you won’t put that thing on while I’m gone,” James asked half jokingly.
“I promise,” answered Clark smiling as he started to close the apartment door.
“Hey man,” James said, putting his foot in the door. He leaned his head in and spoke quietly. “Be ready. Monday, you’re gonna fly.”
Clark smiled and closed the door. He was looking forward to a few days off. He folded the flight suit neatly, placed it back in the large equipment bag, rolled up the schematics and closed the instruction binder. He placed all items in the coat closet and made his way to the bench to start his evening workout. He laid down and lifted the weight bar over his chest, breathing sharply and feeling the twinge of each muscle group as he thought about what was ahead. In his mind, Monday could not come soon enough.
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