Free Enemies & Allies by Kevin J. Anderson

convincing, sir.”
    “Thanks.” Bruce frowned. “But you were his friend, Alfred. Talk with him. Find out if he’ll tell you more about his reasons, and see if he’ll have a private conversation with me. Discreetly.”
    “Discreetly. Of course.” Alfred cleared his throat. “But this evening, sir…the party?”
    Bruce gazed at the empty cowl of his uniform with its empty eye sockets, the stylized and frightening bat silhouette. He heaved a deep sigh at the thought of the party he had to endure upstairs. “Time to put on my other mask.”

THE DAILY PLANET
     
    C LARK KENT PICKED THE WRONG MOMENT TO GO TO THE watercooler. He bent over to fill a conical paper cup, and an air bubble belched up from the bottom of the tank. He straightened just in time to see Perry White lugging a swollen canvas mailbag across the bullpen.
    When he spotted Clark, the editor in chief turned directly toward him. “Kent! Today’s your lucky day. I need somebody to take over the ‘Lorna for the Lovelorn’ column.”
    Clark nearly dropped his water. Lorna Bahowic, who wrote the Planet ’s personal advice column, was a spinster in her forties, thin, with mousy brown hair. Hundreds of letters arrived weekly from people begging her for help with their love problems. Lorna had also just gone into the hospital for gallbladder surgery and would be recovering for at least a month, maybe two. Clark had already sent her a small flower arrangement and a “get well soon” card.
    “But, Mr. White, I—I wouldn’t have the foggiest idea how to give advice on relationships.”
    Perry whistled loudly. “Lane! Kent needs your help understanding women and their problems. You’re a woman. Give him suggestions on how to write Lorna’s column.”
    Lois turned, clearly annoyed by the editor’s whistle. “And just because I’m a woman, that means I’m an expert on women’s problems? I’m a reporter, Chief, not a psychiatrist.”
    “Besides, surely all the letters aren’t from women,” Clark pointed out. “A few must come from men—”
    “We usually don’t publish letters from whining men. It can be embarrassing. The two of you have worked together before, and I need that column.”
    Clark made a last-ditch effort without much hope. “But, Mr. White—the Korean War Veterans parade is today!”
    “Olsen can cover that. I just need pictures.”
    “And the ribbon-cutting ceremony at the new observatory—”
    Perry snorted. “No excuses. You’re the reporters, I’m the editor.” He lobbed the bulky mailbag, which Clark caught easily. “And this is your assignment. We’ll still run it under Lorna’s byline. Nobody needs to know she’s in the hospital.”
    Lois bustled past, purse already on her shoulder, pulling on her jacket. “Sorry, but I’ve got an interview scheduled. Confidential source about LuthorCorp, remember? Clark, you’re on your own for this one.” Then her expression softened, and she smiled at Clark. “All you really need is a soft heart. You’re halfway there already. And I promise I’ll help—just not right now.”
    “I’ll give it a hundred percent—I always do,” Clark managed forlornly, not needing X-ray vision to realize that the satchel contained hundreds of letters, each one written by a sad or tormented person. The only saving grace was that he would get to spend more time with Lois, working closely on the column.
    He had admired her from the first day he’d walked into the Daily Planet with his original story about Superman. Lois was smart, funny, talented, and beautiful—a girl as different from anyone in Smallville as the moon was from the sun. Lois carried an energy around her, as if Metropolis itself charged her like a power substation. He felt like a small-town boy whenever he was with her, and he couldn’t help but blush any time she paid him attention.
    With a sigh, Clark carried the heavy sack of letters back to his desk and thunked it on the floor beside his rolling chair. He pulled