pilot with the other two on the Galaxy Building ledge.
"Three seconds."
X-ray vision beamed at the earpiece of one pilot filled his head with hellish static. An ultrasonic squeal at the highest D-flat Superman could reach was the right pitch to vibrate another pilot's footrests and handlebars out of his grip. Once the two realized that they were disoriented they would fall to the roofs fifteen feet below them.
"Two seconds."
One of the last two pilots was a few blocks away. He could hear the police loudspeakers playing town crier and feel the diminishing of the vibrations his friends were sending at their assigned bank buildings. He had reached one hand down to a boot holster and was taking aim at the nearest police helicopter.
tchok-tchok-tchok
Superman caught the three .22 shells in his mouth like jellybeans and spat them out at the three guy lines connecting the pilot to his kite.
ping-ping-ping
The pilot was unconscious on his back.
"One second."
Superman quickly inspected the earphone attachments on the pilots with telescopic and x-ray vision. He had to be sure it was Luthor behind this. He threw his voice, disguised as Luthor's the way it would sound through a radio, at the left ear of the last remaining pilot. "Scrub the mission. Surrender to the police according to our contingency plan," said Luthor's voice.
"Zero."
Swinging over the city for the benefit of those on the ground who were finally catching on to what was taking place, the Man of Steel caught one at a time the three pilots tossed into the air ten seconds ago. They were mercifully unconscious.
And when the police in the four helicopters went to open fire they found, to their surprise, that there wasn't a glider left in the sky. They would collect three suspects from a ledge of the Galaxy Building, three unconscious under a potted tree on the plaza, two in a pile of crashed fiberglass on one roof, and so forth, each armed with a .22-caliber pistol whose firing pin was melted like grilled cheese.
Janet Terry, the new girl in the newsroom, had the presence of mind to get a camera at the window to catch the tail of Superman's performance. Someone always did. By the time Clark Kent walked into the newsroom with a detailed account, the place was a volcano of activity.
Lombard was in the corner of the room with his feet on the desk smiling as somebody frantically answered the phone and somebody bit a pencil in half as a bulletin came over the newswire and somebody pounded out new copy and somebody demanded that at least one phone line be kept free. Steve had nothing to do until his interview subject showed up.
"Steve, will you talk to me?" Clark asked.
"I'll tell you anything you want to hear."
"What's going on here?"
"Jimmy called up from Princeton and everybody went bazonkas."
"Why? Did you get Superman on film?"
"Sure sure sure. Hey, do you have any idea why he always manages to pick the emergency that's going on near a TV camera?"
"Will you stop it? What did Jimmy say?"
"Well, y'see, it seems there's a big joke on Superman."
"Superman? Joke?"
"Yeah. While Luthor's guys were keeping him busy playing tag the boss was down in Princeton stealing the papers from Albert Einstein's vault. Pretty funny, huh?"
"He what?"
"Stole the papers from Einstein. You don't hear too good, do you, Clarkie?"
Chapter 9 O RIC
T owbee's audience was nearly as heterogeneous as the planet itself—as heterogeneous as his own ancestry. It was the crowd coming out of the temple. The Chief Speaker of the temple was terribly impressed with Towbee's talent, was continually after the minstrel to chant the verses of Sonnabend's prophesies at the services. After a while Towbee finally agreed that his singing at the temple entrance would consist of the verses, along with Towbee's own introductions and transitions. One day of every ten, according to law, had to include attendance at one temple service. That law included anyone who spent more than six consecutive
"Three seconds."
X-ray vision beamed at the earpiece of one pilot filled his head with hellish static. An ultrasonic squeal at the highest D-flat Superman could reach was the right pitch to vibrate another pilot's footrests and handlebars out of his grip. Once the two realized that they were disoriented they would fall to the roofs fifteen feet below them.
"Two seconds."
One of the last two pilots was a few blocks away. He could hear the police loudspeakers playing town crier and feel the diminishing of the vibrations his friends were sending at their assigned bank buildings. He had reached one hand down to a boot holster and was taking aim at the nearest police helicopter.
tchok-tchok-tchok
Superman caught the three .22 shells in his mouth like jellybeans and spat them out at the three guy lines connecting the pilot to his kite.
ping-ping-ping
The pilot was unconscious on his back.
"One second."
Superman quickly inspected the earphone attachments on the pilots with telescopic and x-ray vision. He had to be sure it was Luthor behind this. He threw his voice, disguised as Luthor's the way it would sound through a radio, at the left ear of the last remaining pilot. "Scrub the mission. Surrender to the police according to our contingency plan," said Luthor's voice.
"Zero."
Swinging over the city for the benefit of those on the ground who were finally catching on to what was taking place, the Man of Steel caught one at a time the three pilots tossed into the air ten seconds ago. They were mercifully unconscious.
And when the police in the four helicopters went to open fire they found, to their surprise, that there wasn't a glider left in the sky. They would collect three suspects from a ledge of the Galaxy Building, three unconscious under a potted tree on the plaza, two in a pile of crashed fiberglass on one roof, and so forth, each armed with a .22-caliber pistol whose firing pin was melted like grilled cheese.
Janet Terry, the new girl in the newsroom, had the presence of mind to get a camera at the window to catch the tail of Superman's performance. Someone always did. By the time Clark Kent walked into the newsroom with a detailed account, the place was a volcano of activity.
Lombard was in the corner of the room with his feet on the desk smiling as somebody frantically answered the phone and somebody bit a pencil in half as a bulletin came over the newswire and somebody pounded out new copy and somebody demanded that at least one phone line be kept free. Steve had nothing to do until his interview subject showed up.
"Steve, will you talk to me?" Clark asked.
"I'll tell you anything you want to hear."
"What's going on here?"
"Jimmy called up from Princeton and everybody went bazonkas."
"Why? Did you get Superman on film?"
"Sure sure sure. Hey, do you have any idea why he always manages to pick the emergency that's going on near a TV camera?"
"Will you stop it? What did Jimmy say?"
"Well, y'see, it seems there's a big joke on Superman."
"Superman? Joke?"
"Yeah. While Luthor's guys were keeping him busy playing tag the boss was down in Princeton stealing the papers from Albert Einstein's vault. Pretty funny, huh?"
"He what?"
"Stole the papers from Einstein. You don't hear too good, do you, Clarkie?"
Chapter 9 O RIC
T owbee's audience was nearly as heterogeneous as the planet itself—as heterogeneous as his own ancestry. It was the crowd coming out of the temple. The Chief Speaker of the temple was terribly impressed with Towbee's talent, was continually after the minstrel to chant the verses of Sonnabend's prophesies at the services. After a while Towbee finally agreed that his singing at the temple entrance would consist of the verses, along with Towbee's own introductions and transitions. One day of every ten, according to law, had to include attendance at one temple service. That law included anyone who spent more than six consecutive
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