The Last Daughter of Krypton

Green Chapter 2

Friday afternoon found the teenaged blonde in her seat in the back row of the study hall peering at the big old clock on the front wall over the teacher's desk. Claire Kent had finished all of her homework assignments in the first half of the period, and there were still several minutes before the bell. Wish I'd brought along an extra book to read... a magazine... anything! Bored, she stared at the clockface and through it, into the inner workings of its electric motor. With each passing day, she was finding it easier and easier to see through solid objects. Who needs X-ray specs? All I need is a little more practice...

Leaning back in her seat, Claire gazed through the side wall and out into the corridor. There she saw Mr. Weedmore carrying a couple of trumpets down the hall to the band room. Concentrating a little harder, she peered through to the music instructor's skeleton. As the skeleton limped along, she could see the series of metal pins that army doctors had used to save Mr. Weedmore's leg after he'd taken a near hit from a mortar shell in Vietnam. He passed by a second skeleton, who appeared to be standing several feet in the air. Claire softened her focus and immediately recognized Mr. Grady, the school janitor, up on an old wooden ladder. What's he working on? Hard to tell from this angle. Oh, must be the new emergency lighting system. As she watched, the janitor climbed down the steps and moved the ladder about ten feet farther down the hall. Before he could take another step, he reacted as if he'd heard a voice call out to him. The janitor turned and headed up the hall in response, leaving the ladder behind. With a start, Claire realized that the ladder had been left dangerously close to the closed door of an occupied classroom.

And then, the bell rang.

As the classmates around her began to collect their gear, Claire jumped up from her seat. She reached the corridor just as the door slammed against one of the legs of the ladder. The ladder swayed slightly, dislodging a big box of tools from one of the upper steps. The box fell straight toward the head of a dark-haired girl who was leaving an adjacent classroom. Laughing at something that someone behind her had said, she was completely oblivious to her danger.

Everything else seemed to move in slow motion as Claire raced down the corridor. Then everything seemed to almost freeze as she accelerated even further until she disappeared from sight, moving as fast as she could, into what she called "Claire time." The other students felt no more than a slight breeze, if even that much.

With the toolbox just inches from striking the other girl's head, Claire reached out and yanked it away. Momentum carried her another ten feet down the corridor before she decelerated hard and came to a stop. Setting the toolbox down on the floor, she straightened up and looked around. Students were again surging through the corridor at normal speed. The other girl looked up, a puzzled look on her face, and brushed her hand across her raven hair. No one paid Claire any special notice; it had all happened too fast. She casually turned around and started to saunter back to the study hall.

One voice stopped her dead in her tracks. "Claire?"

Recognizing the voice, Claire whirled around. "Landon... hi! What's up?"

"I wanted you to be the first to know --- I aced my French test!"

"That's great! But I'm not surprised. I knew you could do it!"

"Well, I wasn't so sure of that, until you helped me with that last study session. I really understand how to conjugate those verbs now. I can't thank you enough."

You could ask me out, Claire thought. Dinner, not studying. "I'm glad I could help," was what she said, returning his smile. It was the most handsome smile she'd ever seen. She had thought so for years, and couldn't imagine ever thinking otherwise. It would be even better if he were to direct it at Claire the girl instead of Claire the French girl.

Claire still remembered the first time she'd noticed --- really noticed --- Landon Lang. She'd known who he was, of course. When his parents had been killed in the meteor shower that had brought Claire to Earth, he'd been taken in by his aunt, Nell Potter, who lived on the next farm over from the Kents. In fact, Jonathan Kent had dated Nell Potter a couple of times when they were in high school, even been elected homecoming king and queen their senior year, though the romance had never gotten very serious. And Claire's parents had known Landon's parents as well.

She noticed him across crowded middle-school cafeteria. The tall boy half turned, talking to a friend, and Claire Kent fell completely, totally in love. Even then, Landon Lang was the most handsome boy she'd ever seen.

A week later, after steeling her nerve, Claire walked up to him. She hadn't heard him say anything nasty or mean to anyone --- she had been covertly watching Landon the past few days --- and had decided it was safe to say hello and introduce herself. She got close enough to notice that Landon had the most amazing eyes. Then she tripped over her own feet and wound up stumbling to the floor.

Landon was very gallant, shushing the kids who laughed at her and helping her retrieve her scattered textbooks. That, of course, just made the situation even worse. Claire retreated more awkwardly than in her worst nightmare, half paralyzed and having trouble breathing. If the Earth could have swallowed her up, it would've been all right by her.

It was nearly a month before she had the nerve to approach him again. In the weeks that followed, she tried again and again to talk with Landon. But every time, she broke out in a sweat and felt weak in the knees.

Martha Kent tried to reassure her daughter. "You have to understand, Claire, you're at that age when girls start becoming women and boys start becoming men. It's like with the birds and the bees..."

"We live on a farm, Ma. You and I already had that talk. Besides, I learned all about that sex-ed thing in grade school."

"Oh... yes." Martha looked completely flummoxed. "I keep forgetting they start teaching that at a younger age these days."

"Uh, Ma? About my problem? Is this like a hormonal imbalance or something?"

"Not exactly. You see, Claire, you're going through a lot of changes, and it just takes time to adjust to them. There'll be times when you feel awkward around boys. But it's nothing to worry about. It's perfectly natural."

It was good advice, but Martha was wrong on one count. Claire's weakness around Landon was not born entirely of adolescent anxiety. It was mostly caused by a leather wristband encircling his right wrist.

For years, Landon wore a small green crystal set in his wristband, a tiny piece of one of the meteors that had struck Smallville when he was a little boy. It wasn't until recent months that he put the wristband away. Once he stopped wearing it, Claire found she could finally approach him and have a normal conversation with no more than the expected nervousness. He even confided in her a few times, telling her about his parents, and the crystal in the wristband, and ---

"Landon!" Britney Fordman's voice completely destroyed the moment. "I've been looking all over for you. Oh, hiya, Claire."

"Britney." Claire tried to hang on to her smile as the cheerleader approached, but without a whole lot of success. She was truly beautiful, very popular, and --- worst of all --- Landon's steady girlfriend.

"Britney?" Landon read something troubling in her eyes. "Is something wrong?"

"I just heard about Stu. Is it true?"

"Stu Harrison? Yeah, he's been back in the hospital all week."

Britney stepped closer to Landon and put a hand on his arm. "It's bad, isn't it?"

"It's really bad. It's about as bad as it gets." Landon's jaws clenched, and he looked down at the floor. "They found new tumors in his brain, a bunch of 'em this time. The doctors say there's not much they can do. So he's decided to come home for... for as long as he's got." Tears started to well up at the corners of his eyes, and he wiped one hand across his face. "This... this just sucks!"

Britney hugged Landon tight. "I know."

"I've known Stu since kindergarten! There's never been a nicer guy. Stu's the best! He doesn't deserve this!"

Claire hesitated, then put a hand on Landon's shoulder. "No, he doesn't. Nobody does."

Landon looked up and blinked. He'd almost forgotten Claire was there. "Yeah. You're right, Claire. What Stu's going through, I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy."

"I feel like we should be doing something." Britney bit her lip in frustration.

"Not much we can do, babe. The doctors will be supplying medication to keep Stu comfortable. Some of the guys on the team have talked about going to see him, y'know, to keep his spirits up."

Claire thought for a moment. "What about his parents? How are they holding up?"

"About as well as they can, but they're hurting. Aunt Nell was saying that their insurance has run out. They may have to take out a second mortgage to pay the doctor bills."

"Then maybe we could hold a fundraiser for them. They shouldn't have to lose their house, too. It's bad enough..." Claire let the words trail off.

"That's a wonderful idea, Claire!" Britney pulled out a notepad. She was off and running. "We could hold a benefit dance... bring in a few bands... I think we could get the Student Council to sponsor it!"

"Yeah." Landon began to brighten a little. "Yeah, that would be good for Stu, too, knowing that his folks had fewer money worries."

"We should check with the principal to see if we can use the gym," Claire said.

Britney started scribbling down ideas. "We'll need to hold a planning meeting... maybe after school at the Crow's Nest. Landon ---?"

He nodded. "Sure."

Britney looked up from her pad. "What about you, Claire? Can you be there?"

"Uh, sure. No, wait... I promised Mr. Ambrose that I'd help set up the chemistry labs for next week's experiments. But that shouldn't take too long. If you need a hand, I'll get there somehow. I just might be a little late."

"That would be great, Claire. There'll be a lot to organize, and we don't even have much time before the next bell. See you later!"

"Yeah, see ya, Claire."

"Right. Later." Claire quickly ducked back into the study hall to grab her books. For once, I'm not going to just stand there and feel sorry for myself while Landon and Britney walk off together.

As the last bell signaled the end of classes, Claire Kent made her way toward the science wing. She crossed the main corridor just in time to see Landon and Britney leaving, arm in arm. Despite her earlier resolve, she stood and watched wistfully as the two of them crossed the parking lot to Landon's pickup truck.

Landon and Britney had started dating while still in middle school. Easy to see why, Claire thought. He's Smallville's golden boy. Starting quarterback on the football team. She's a cheerleader, family owns the hardware store, the closest thing to a department store in town... hard for a farmgirl to compete with all that. Landon and Britney had broken up once or twice, but they kept getting back together.

The old clock in the main hall cycled over to the next minute with an audible click, and Claire remembered her promise to Mr. Ambrose. She turned away from the windows and headed up the wing to the Chemistry lab. Yeah, maybe we've had some bad breaks, but our problems are nothing compared to Stuart's. We still have our whole lives ahead of us.

Midway between Lowell and Smallville, a golden Lamborghini Diablo exited I-35 and headed west along the Argonia Pike. The old Kansas roadway was flat and straight, and the Lamborghini was soon shooting by cornfields in excess of ninety miles per hour. Behind the wheel, the driver slipped a tape into the custom stereo system, and in seconds the two-seater's speakers roared with the sound of Wagner's "The Ride of the Valkyries."

The driver smiled. Life is good. I managed to fly into and out of Metropolis without once having to deal with my father. Nothing could spoil this day.

Then Lex Luthor spotted the semis ahead.

There were at least two semitrailers, lumbering along at roughly half her speed, just a couple of miles ahead, exactly at the spot where the road began a gentle curve to the right. Had she still been on the interstate, Lex would have just blown past them without a second thought. But she knew from bitter personal experience that there could be unpleasant surprises along these two-lane country roads. She hit the brakes and quickly downshifted, managing to slow to fifty just two car lengths behind the rear truck.

No sooner had the Lamborghini fallen in line behind the semi than a rusty old pickup, loaded down with bags of fertilizer, rumbled past in the eastbound lane. As the pickup dwindled in her rearview mirror, Lex noted the familiar LuthorCorp logo on the bags.

That would have been an embarrassing way to die, done in by a truckload of the company's product. Especially that particular product.

Lex took a couple of long, deep breaths, dropping back an additional three or four car lengths and taking time to consider the freshly painted markings on the back of the semitrailer ahead of him. Bold green letters across the top of the double doors read: FULFILL YOUR DESTINY! In the middle was a strange graphic that looked like an oddly twisted rope ladder. Below was stenciled COSMIC LADDER and a telephone number and another number for a computer BBS. After a moment she realized that the graphic was indeed an abstract representation of the DNA double helix. What the devil are they supposed to be selling? And how far are they going?

Lex punched a button on her sound system, and the Wagnerian crescendos were instantly muted, replaced by the crackle of citizens' band chatter.

"Lil' Duck, this is Mother Duck... do you see what's followin' us? C'mon?"

"Hoo-wee, I do for true! That's one fine lookin' set o' wheels! Whaddya think it is?"

Lex pulled a wireless headset from a compartment beneath her seat and switched on the mike. "Breaker one-nine, you copy, Ducks? It's a Lamborghini Diablo."

"This is Mother Duck... howdy, stranger. Where are you? What's your handle?"

"I'm driving the Diablo. You can call me" --- Lex smoothed out the short skirt of her smart dark blue, almost black, business suit and looked at the emblem in the center of the steering wheel --- "Blue Dress in the Devil. Where are you guys headed?"

"Wide spot in the road called Smallville, Blue Dress in the Devil. You heard of it?"

Lex held back a disappointed sigh. "That I have, Ducks. Headed that way myself. You mind if I play through?"

"Not at all, Blue Dress. There's just us two big rigs, and an RV leadin' this lil' caravan. I'm showin' straight, empty road ahead an' not a Smokey in sight. You put the pedal to it, and there should be smooth sailin'! Me, I'd like to see whatcha got! C'mon."

"Much obliged, Ducks!" Lex swung the Lamborghini into the left lane and pushed her foot to the floor. She shot past the semis and the lead RV as though they were standing still. In seconds they were just a big spot in her mirror. "Enjoy your stay in Smallville."

Far behind, the truckers were still flashing their lights and sounding their horns in salute.

"Eh?" Don Jacobi awoke in the front passenger seat of the RV just in time to see the glint of the Lamborghini as it disappeared over the horizon. "What was that?"

Behind the wheel, James Wolfe sat slack-jawed. "I'm not sure. But it was gold, and it had wheels."

The blonde checked her watch as she dashed down the main steps of the school, mentally calculating the distance to the Crow's Nest coffee shop and the quickest way to get there. She knew that she could be downtown in less than a minute, but running full speed through the middle of Smallville was out of the question. Fortunately, there were still some undeveloped areas between the school grounds and the middle of town. Once she reached those, she could sprint halfway to the Crow's Nest unseen.

Claire Kent was about to cross the parking lot when a trumpeting car horn caught her attention. She turned to see an exotic golden wedge glide to a stop just a few feet away. That can only be one person. As Claire drew near, the passenger-side door swiveled up and open.

"Hello in there!"

"Hello out there! I thought that was you, Claire. Need a lift?"

"Need? No. Will I take one? In this car? You bet!" Claire slid in and sank back into the soft leather seat. "Oh, this is too much."

"There's no such thing as too much, Claire." With the flip of a switch, Lex Luthor closed and sealed the car. The Lamborghini began a gentle glide across the parking lot, to the appreciative and envious stares of a few teachers who stood near a line of humbler vehicles. "Where to?"

"The Crow's Nest."

"Good choice. I could use a latte myself."

Claire craned her neck to look at the speedometer on the dash. "Do I dare ask how fast this thing can go?"

"Let's just say it can easily exceed the posted limits."

Claire shook her head. "And I'm sure you've already put that to the test."

Lex laughed. "You should have been with me earlier. I was the soul of courteous driving."

Claire looked skeptical.

"It's true. I even maintained a safe distance while following a truck." Lex braked to a gentle stop, checking for oncoming traffic before pulling out onto the main road. "Seriously. I know I have a lead foot, but I'm working on it."

"Good. You do that." Because the next time you barrel off a bridge ---!

"There are no guarantees in life, Claire. If I take another header off a bridge, you might not be there to pull me out."

Claire blinked in surprise. "That's just what I was thinking."

"What can I say?" Lex grinned. "Great minds think alike."

"I guess so." But not exactly alike. Claire glanced at her friend, recalling the day they first met. You got a glimpse of your own mortality that day. I got my first good look at how different I really am...

The accident had been just a few months ago, at the very beginning of the school year, the day Lex Luthor moved to town to take over as president and general manager of LuthorCorp's fertilizer plant. Claire Kent had been walking across the Old Mill Bridge, staring off into the water, lost in thought. She scarcely noticed the passing truck that hit a pothole at the edge of the bridge. The truck lost a bale of barbed wire, just before a late-model Porsche approached from the opposite direction.

Lex was behind the wheel of the Porsche, speeding around the bend, when the tape in the sound system reached the end. Momentarily distracted, she was reaching for it when she belatedly saw the bale of wire in her path. Lex dropped the tape and hit the brakes, but it was too little too late. The car hit the bale, blew both front tires, and went airborne --- flying right toward Claire. For a split second their eyes locked. Both young women froze.

Lex had no clear memory of what happened next, but Claire remembered it all too well. The Porsche slammed into her with the force of a ton-and-a-half fist, driving her through the bridge's guardrail. In free fall, Claire reflexively sucked in a deep breath of air, just before she and the vehicle hit the river.

Once underwater, it took her several seconds to get her bearings. The river ran cold that day, but Claire never felt it. As she turned, trying to orient herself, she saw the Porsche, its crumpled front end embedded in the riverbed. And through the shattered windshield, she saw the driver unconscious --- her head bobbing gently against the deflating airbag, dark hair swirling around her face.

Two quick strokes propelled Claire down to the Porsche. She reached into the yawning space where the top of the windshield had once been, grabbed hold of the car's roof and, with a single yank, peeled it open. Leaning down into the wreck, she pulled the driver free and kicked off for the surface.

Lex's lips were turning blue as Claire dragged her to the rocky shore. Remembering her CPR classes, Claire kneeled over the brunette and tilted her head back. Airway looks clear, but she's not breathing. She pinched Lex's nose shut and, taking another deep breath, placed her mouth over the victim's and blew a lungful of air into the unconscious form. She checked for a pulse, but couldn't find one. She brought her hands together over Lex's sternum and pushed down hard, again and again.

"Come on, don't die on me!"

Another compression, and Lex jerked back to life, turning her head to cough up a lungful of river water. Shaking, both from the cold and the heaves, Lex looked back up. It took a couple of seconds for her eyes to refocus, and then she stared at Claire with a mixture of wonder and disbelief.

"I could have sworn I hit you," the brunette wheezed, then fell into another coughing fit.

"Well, if you did," Claire began, "I'd be..." She paused, then looked over her shoulder at the missing section of guardrail, realizing that she really had been hit by the speeding car. "I'd be dead," she completed the thought.

The enormity of what had happened began to sink in. Claire felt a biting cold, a freezing sensation she had never for a moment felt underwater. She glanced down at her hands, the hands that had gripped broken glass and shredded steel. Not a scratch. Her back felt fine. She ran a hand across her chest. It was a little sore from where the car had hit her, but there was no blood, no broken bones. She dropped to one knee, swayed a moment, and somehow managed to sit rather than sprawl on the rocky ground.

Lex pushed herself up to a sitting position, shivering as the wind whipped over her sodden clothes. "Hey, are you okay?"

Claire nodded. "Yeah," she replied, her voice sounding distant and strange to her own ears. "I'm fine." She really was fine --- and that was the whole problem.

Claire had never been in an accident like that before. Growing up, she had known that she was stronger, faster, tougher than the other kids. Her parents had always cautioned her to keep her physical power secret, to avoid drawing attention to herself --- and she had. But until that moment, she had never realized just how tough she really was.

When the deputy sheriff and the paramedics arrived, they all accepted Claire's story --- that she had been on the bridge when Lex lost control of her car, that she dove in and pulled Lex out.

"It all happened pretty fast." Claire hadn't offered much more than that. She didn't have to. They wouldn't have believed the truth anyway.

... At the time, I wasn't sure that I believed it.

"I still owe you my life, you know." Lex Luthor glanced over at her passenger.

Claire Kent shook her head. "No, you don't." She looked around as Lex steered the Lamborghini into the heart of Smallville. "We're getting a lot of stares."

"Nothing new for me. Don't worry, they can't see you through the tinted glass. You can make faces at them if you like."

"Do you ever...?"

"Not for years." Lex grinned at her passenger. "Ah, here we are..." She neatly slipped the car into a parking space at the curb just twenty feet from the door of the Crow's Nest. "... Smallville's finest new café and bookstore."

"You mean, Smallville's only café and bookstore."

Lex and Claire emerged from the Lamborghini, to be greeted by a blare of truck horns. Two semi drivers waved wildly, calling out to Lex as they followed an RV through town. Lex just laughed and waved back.

Claire looked amused. "New gentlemen admirers, I suppose?" Lex had more than a fair share of those, what with her looks and her money. Though they seldom drove trucks for a living.

"Alas, I believe they love me for my car, not for myself."

Claire stifled a snort as she continued to follow the trucks with her eyes. "Who are they? And what's a cosmic ladder?"

"I don't know, my friend. But I intend to find out."

The RV pulled over to the curb in the center of Smallville and James Wolfe leaned out the window. He called out to the driver of the lead truck. "This shouldn't take long. There's a diner up the street. You boys take a break, and we'll join you as soon as the papers are signed."

"Sure thing. You're the boss!"

"If I was really the boss, we wouldn't be here," Wolfe muttered under his breath. He looked up as Donald Jacobi came out of the RV's toilet. "Ready?"

"Fresh, clean, and ready to do business, Jimmy. Let's not keep the bankers waiting."

Wolfe locked up the RV and fell into step behind Jacobi as his partner entered the Smallville Savings & Loan. Confidently, Jacobi strode over to a pair of desks, picking out a likely-looking individual. Since only one desk was occupied, it wasn't a hard selection.

"Mr. Eaton?"

"Yes?" A balding man in his forties looked up from a sheaf of papers. "I'm William Eaton. May I help you?"

Jacobi held out a hand. "I'm Dr. Donald Jacobi and this is my associate, Mr. Wolfe. We spoke on the phone earlier in the week... about an available property."

"Oh, yes. Yes!" Eaton rose and eagerly shook the offered hand. "It's good to finally meet you, Dr. Jacobi... Mr. Wolfe. Please, have a seat. May I offer you some coffee?"

"No, thank you, William. May I call you William?"

"Please, call me Will."

"Will, we're working under some serious time constraints, and we'd like to get the paperwork taken care of as expeditiously as possible."

"Of course, Doctor. I have the final papers right here, ready for your signatures."

"Excellent. James, if you would do the honors?"

Wolfe pulled a pair of half-glasses from within his suit jacket and began to scan the sheaf of papers.

"I think you'll find everything is in order." Eaton smiled at the two men. "It's a basic three-month lease with option to buy. Fifty acres of prime land, complete with house and barn... a very good buy."

Wolfe frowned over his glasses. "If the property's in such good shape, why was it foreclosed upon?"

Eaton gave a long, mournful sigh, like an old tire leaking air. "It was a small family farm, and there was a death in the family. The survivors weren't able to make a go of it and... well, we hated to foreclose, but after a while we had little choice. Besides, I was given to understand that you're interested in the property for something other than farming."

"Yes, that's the case. Our foundation will be presenting a series of lectures and educational symposiums. I expect that we will be attracting quite a crowd during our stay. Many of our attendees will be traveling a great distance and will require space for parking and perhaps even for temporary on-site housing."

"Ah, yes! Where did I write that down?" Eaton rummaged through his notes. "Your earlier messages indicated that part of the property might be utilized as a sort of campground?"

"That's right." Wolfe frowned again. "And we want to make sure that all the proper requirements are met. You did look into the zoning as per our request?"

"Yes, yes. I have the confirmation from the county right here. The zoning for that parcel is perfectly in line with what you've described. I've gathered all the permits you will need. Once everything is signed, I can have them notarized and filed with the courthouse for you."

Jacobi beamed at the bank manager. "I knew you were a man we could count on, Will. Well, James?"

Wolfe looked up from the papers, allowing the suggestion of a smile to flicker across his face. "Everything here is just as Mr. Eaton described. I believe we have but one final requirement to fulfill." He again reached into an inner pocket, this time producing a business envelope. "Here's a cashier's check for the full lease amount. In addition, within a week, we will be arranging for several accounts at Smallville Savings & Loan, the better to handle our expenditures while we are in the area."

"I trust that all this is satisfactory, Will?"

"Most satisfactory, gentlemen! We will be more than happy to administer your accounts."

"Good. Now, where do we sign?"

At the Uptown Diner, Marc Greenwood and Mac Raeburn sat themselves down at the counter, each taking an appreciative sniff. The air was rich with the aroma of coffee and grilled onions.

"Coffee, gents?" Edna Mae Benson approached, clutching two large mugs in one hand and a fresh pot in the other. Today's specials are liver & onions and beef Manhattan. Both come with two sides and dessert."

Mac took one mug in hand and gave Edna Mae his most charming grin as she poured. "That sounds real temptin', Sweetness, but we drive the long haul and my stomach's been stuck on Pacific Time all month. 'Fraid it's still too early for me to be thinkin' of dinner."

Marc flipped through the laminated menu. "I like the sound of dessert, though."

Behind him, a feminine voice remarked, "I hear the pie is especially good."

Edna Mae's eyes grew wide as Lex Luthor sauntered into the diner and came to stand next to the truckers. She had seen the millionaire driving through town before, in one fancy car or another, but she'd never expected Lex to be one for diner food. And associating with truckers...?

"Hey, it's our little Blue Dress in the Devil!" Mac gave a quick wolf whistle. But it obviously wasn't directed at the shapely figure in the dark blue business suit. "Man, I gotta tell ya, that lil' buggy of yours is the sweetest thing I've seen this side of a NASCAR track. Whaddya got under the hood? V-8?"

Lex sat down on the next stool. "A V-12, actually." She offered a hand. "And you'd be... Mother Duck?"

He took the hand, giving it a quick shake. "Right the first time. I'm Mac, an' this is Marc." Releasing her hand, he gestured to the man on his other side. "He's the Lil' Duck an' I'm the Mother!"

"He sure is!" snorted Marc, reaching across Mac to shake Lex's hand. "But you were sayin' somethin' 'bout pie?"

Swiveling on her stool, Lex pointed out a sign high on the wall. "Baked fresh daily." She turned back to the waitress. "What's the pie du jour, Edna Mae?"

"Wha ---?" Edna Mae was flustered that Lex knew her name, forgetting for the moment that it was embroidered on her blouse. "Oh... pie. Well, today, we have apple, blueberry, peach, pineapple, and sweet-potato-pecan. And I think there're a couple of slices of banana-cream left. I could check ---"

"Not necessary, Sweetness. I'll have a slab of that pineapple pie."

Marc folded the menu. "Sweet-potato-pecan for me."

Edna Mae looked expectantly at Lex. "And you, ma'am?"

"Just coffee. Light. And this is all on me."

"Hey, thanks, Blue Dress."

"My pleasure. So, what brings you to these parts, Mac?"

"Oh, that's strictly a one-way haul. The Doc and his buddy hired us to pull their gear out here. Once we reach the site, Marc an' me unhitch and we're outta here. We're due in Albuquerque tomorrow." Mac took a big swallow of coffee. "They've got people comin' later to unload an' pitch the tent."

"The tent?"

"That's what I said. Yep, they're rentin' land outside o' town for some sorta show. Pretty good-sized one, too, I'd guess."

"Really...?"

When the Talon opened in 1940, it was hailed as the finest theater of its kind. People flocked from all over the county to see first-run motion pictures, especially during the dog days of summer --- in addition to movies, it was one of the first establishments in Lowell County to feature air-conditioning.

In 1972, a young serviceman on leave from Fort Riley struck up a conversation with a girl working at the concession stand. That conversation led to a romance and a year later, upon his discharge from the Army, Robert Lang and Sarah Potter were married.

They were hardly the only couple who found love there. The Talon was a popular dating spot for generations of young men and women.

But in the last quarter of the twentieth century, the old town theater had fallen on hard times. Competition from cable television, video rentals, and suburban multiplexes had done in the Talon. Lionel Luthor finally purchased the property with the intent of putting a parking garage on the site... until the son of Robert and Sarah Lang came to the daughter of Lionel Luthor with a plan for renovating the building. Lex Luthor had agreed and purchased the building from her father. One thing led to another, and now Nell Potter and Landon Lang managed a new establishment, on the same block as Nell's flower shop.

Now, the lobby of the Talon dispensed coffee and pastries, in all their many forms. Shelves of the latest bestsellers reached up to the mezzanine. The stage sat ready for next weekend's performance by a folk-rock trio out of Wichita. Renamed the Crow's Nest, the place had quickly taken over from the Beanery as the place for teens to hang out after school.

As she walked past Nell Potter's flower shop and through the doors into the Crow's Nest, Claire Kent was immediately impressed by the group that Britney Fordman had brought together to discuss the benefit. There were three members of the Student Council's Concert Committee, and Jeff Hetzel, the school audio wizard. When Claire arrived, the discussion had gotten around to technical matters.

Britney checked something off her list. "And suppose an outside group wants to use its own audio equipment?"

"Not a problem!" Jeff added to a schematic diagram he'd sketched out. "I'd set up their equipment in front here and run a line feed off their amp into our system" --- he added a few arrows --- "as backup, just in case."

"That's great --- I followed that completely!" One of the committee members looked at Jeff. "Is there any chance you could take over teaching my algebra class?"

Jeff laughed. "Trust me, you wouldn't really want that. Math for math's sake isn't my favorite subject." He inclined his head and executed a gracious half bow. "But thanks all the same for the compliment."

After a heated discussion of what bands they should contact, everyone broke into subgroups, and Claire motioned Charlie Sullivan to one side. "I came in late. How did you wind up as part of this little gathering?"

"Landon asked me, same as you. He figured that I'd be a good choice to handle publicity." Charlie saw the corners of her mouth start to crinkle. "Don't laugh!"

"Sorry."

"I am a good choice!"

"I never said you weren't, Charlie." Claire took a sip of coffee. "And Landon didn't ask me. It was Britney."

Charlie's brow went up at the revelation. Claire would do anything for Landon, but for his girlfriend?

"I didn't suppose there's much of a weirdness angle to this," Claire said before Charlie could say anything.

"I write up all sorts of news for the Torch. And as editor, I oversee the reporting of everything from scholarship announcements to ---"

"Sports?" Claire grinned, knowing his distaste for athletics.

"Yes." Charlie gritted his teeth. "Even. Sports."

"Yeah, I guess high-school newspaper work can't be dangerous and exciting all the time."

"Stop it! This is for a good cause."

"You're right. I'm sorry. You'll do a great job with publicity."

"Thanks. And I'm sure I can count on you and Petra to help."

"Of course you can."

"I can?"

"Sure." Claire set down her cup. "I figured you'd be asking me when you first mentioned publicity. That's why I preemptively busted your chops."

Charlie wagged a finger in her face. "You're a devious girl, Claire Kent. Almost as devious as I am. Sometimes."

Landon came over, an optimistic smile on his face. "I think we've already made a lot of progress for the first meeting. Cindy and Steve know all the local bands, and Harry has contacts with booking agents in Lowell and Wichita. He thinks there's a good chance that we might be able to get a name act to appear. A lot depends on scheduling. We're already promised the auditorium for the first Saturday of next month."

"There's another factor which you may want to take into consideration." Lex Luthor stalked across the café, a bulging leather satchel in hand, heads --- especially the male ones --- turning in her wake to follow her. Before anyone could question her further, she flagged down a passing waitress. "A double mocha latte, please, and an almond croissant. As quickly as you can humanly manage. And a glass of water, no ice. I need something to clear my palate." She slipped into a seat at a corner table as Landon, Claire, and Charlie gathered around.

Landon looked concerned. "What are you talking about, Lex?"

"Does this have anything to do with those semis?" Claire asked.

"Stop, stop!" Charlie held up both hands. "What factor? What semis?"

"A moment..." Lex accepted a tumbler of water from the returning waitress and drained about a third of it. "That's better. A word of caution: If you ever enter the Uptown Diner, avoid the coffee."

"Wait a minute!" Charlie gaped in disbelief. "You --- Lex Luthor --- went into the Uptown? What were you doing there? That place couldn't get four stars from the Board of Health!"

"Not my usual milieu," the young millionaire agreed with a wry smile, "but a charming establishment in its own retro way. Their coffee, however, is a crime against nature. I believe they still brew it in urns. Ah!" Lex gratefully received her mocha latte and cradled the cup in her perfectly manicured hands, breathing in the aroma, as she waited for it to cool. "Now, to answer your questions... I went to the Uptown looking for information." She lifted her cup in a little salute to Charlie. "As a journalist, I hope you'll appreciate my sacrifice, Mr. Sullivan."

Charlie solemnly put his hand over his heart. "I'll remember it forever. Now, what did you learn?"

Lex took a sip of the mocha latte and smiled blissfully. "That Smallville is about to host some new visitors. A pair of semis that Claire and I saw earlier were hauling equipment for some sort of attraction that's coming to the area. Precisely what, I've yet to discover. But it does involve a tent, a good deal of audio gear, and a laser light show."

"You mean... like for a concert?" Britney Fordman had come up and joined the group.

"The men I spoke with weren't certain, Ms. Fordman. All they would really tell me was that they were hired by two men named Jacobi and Wolfe." Lex took a bite of the croissant and chewed thoughtfully. "Jacobi is apparently a doctor, though of what the man didn't know. Jacobi and Wolfe were conducting business at the savings and loan this afternoon, but the time I found that out, it had closed for the day."

"Jacobi and Wolfe... Jacobi and Wolfe." Charlie looked pensive. "Sounds like a law firm. Could they be promoters?"

"Just please don't let them be concert promoters," Landon said as Britney fidgeted nervously inside the crook of his arm. "That could ruin everything."

Claire gently patted Landon's other arm. "Hey, no sense in worrying about this until we learn more. Right, Lex?"

"Absolutely." Lex paused over another sip. "For what it's worth, Landon, I get the impression that this is something other than a concert. Believe me, I want to get to the bottom of this as much as you do. I'll make a few calls." But in the meantime, let's see what we can find in the horse's mouth, so to speak."

Lex unzipped the leather satchel and opened up a silver-gray portable computer. She pressed a recessed switch and the system was up in seconds. Her fingers flew over the keyboard, and they heard the sound of a modem dialing out.

Charlie's eyes goggled. "Don't you need to plug into a phone line?"

"Mobile phone," Lex said, favoring him with a brilliant smile and patting a bulge on one side of the computer. As the banner appeared on the screen, she read it out loud, "Welcome to the Ascendance Foundation."

Claire managed to keep her spot as some of the more techno-minded students began to gather around the computer. She looked over the young millionaire's shoulder at the screen. " 'Fulfill your destiny!' That was the slogan from the back of the semis, all right."

They couldn't get into the members' area. Lex instead went into the visitors' area and selected History. People continued to drift over as Lex read out loud. Finally, looking up from the screen, she sat back, rotating first one shoulder and then the other, to work out the kinks. Looking around, she asked, of no one in particular, "Anyone here have any experience with concepts like these?"

"Sure, some of them." They all turned to Jeff Hetzel. He waited a beat, then added, with a shrug of his shoulders, "Whenever I play a cleric in Dungeons & Dragons!"

Saturday morning, Jonathan Kent was among the first to see the tent go up. He had just left the house on an errand to pick up cattle feed, when he spotted two pickup tricks pulled off by the side of Old Carter Road. Recognizing the trucks, he pulled off as well and called out to their owners. "Bob... Forrest?"

"Morning, Jonathan! Come and get a load of this!"

Jonathan followed the voices, joining his neighbors where they stood alongside a new fence. From their vantage point, they could see a dozen men, spread out over nearly an acre of land, working hard to convert the farmland into something else. Dump trucks poured loads of gravel into a curving roadway. Big metal stanchions rose from the prairie. Thick nylon rope began to pull a brilliant white canvas up over a framework of poles and cables.

"They started arriving last night." Bob Gundersen gestured toward the work area. "There'd been talk that someone from outta town had rented the old Davis place, but I never expected anything like this."

"I can't rightly figure out what they're setting up." Forrest Morrison pulled off his cap to scratch at the back of his head. "When I saw them spreading sawdust and hauling that canvas, my first thought was that a circus had come to town. But unless they're hiding more canvas somewhere, that tent won't nearly be big enough. And it's wide open at one end."

"That's not for any circus." Gundersen shielded his eyes with his hand. "Look, down at that far end... that's a stage they're puttin' up there, Forrest. And check out all of them speakers!" He shaded his eyes and looked off toward the east. "Appears to me like they're markin' off that old pasture for campgrounds. I'll bet someone's getting' ready to hold one of 'em music festivals, like Woodstock or somethin'. What do you think, Jonathan?"

"A festival? More like a carnival." Jonathan considered the layout of the site. "Or a sideshow. My daughter Claire heard about this show yesterday... said one of her friends checked out its computer BBS."

"It has a BBS?" Neither Gundersen nor Morrison had kids in high school, but they knew about computer bulletin board systems --- it was a good way for farmers in rural communities to keep in touch. They both looked at Jonathan, waiting for him to continue.

"According to her, this whole shebang is being run by some out-of-state foundation. They're supposed to stage some kind of lectures about alternate healing, 'cosmic fulfillment,' and I don't know what all. Sounds like a bunch of New Age bull to me." Jonathan watched as a truck pulled up and workers starting off-loading Porta Johns. "I don't know who these foundation people are, or what they're selling, but they sure seem prepared to host a good-sized crowd."

Saturday afternoon, colorful posters began to appear around Smallville and the rest of Lowell County. Emblazoned with a FULFILL YOUR DESTINY! banner, the posters spoke of great new discoveries that promised new opportunities for a better, more fulfilling life. They invited the general public to a free lecture the following Wednesday by Dr. Donald Jacobi of the Ascendance Foundation. After a brief listing of time and place, the posters directed those with computer access to the Foundation's BBS.

Those who bothered to access the BBS found a brief history of the Ascendance Foundation, a new listing of the times of upcoming lectures and seminars, and an offer to become a Foundation member and thus gain access to more privileged information for just $9.95 a month. Most locals declined the offer.

But the Foundation already boasted many members, scattered across the country. Announcements for the new lecture series had gone out via the computer BBS just minutes after Jacobi and Wolfe had finalized their lease. And the most devoted members were already on their way to Smallville.

The first of them began to arrive late Saturday afternoon. Some found lodging in the few motels around Lowell County. Others parked their RVs or pitched tents on space made available --- for a modest fee, of course --- on the old Davis farm. They all came eager to hear more from the great Dr. Jacobi, and to do all that they could to help the Foundation.

James Wolfe gratefully put the early arrivals to work. After volunteers had thoroughly cleaned the old Davis farmhouse, Jacobi and Wolfe took up residence on the second floor and set up an operations center on the first floor. On-site members were organized into teams to handle security, maintenance, and logistics for what they were already starting to call the Foundation Compound.

By Sunday morning, Wolfe was able to replace all of his hired workers with member volunteers. As night fell Sunday, the Compound's campground was nearly a quarter full. Jacobi stood out on the front steps of the farmhouse headquarters, greeting the newest arrivals, as Wolfe led them inside to collate flyers and stuff envelopes for the Foundation's mass mailings.

Eight-thirty Monday morning, James Wolfe walked out onto the back porch, nursing a cup of coffee. It had been many long years since he'd staged a tent show. The last time had been when he was touring the Southwest with the Reverend Mike. Mike could "cure" everything from malaria to a goiter, thought Wolfe, and everyone except himself. But it taught me a lot, God rest his conniving soul.

This show would be a little different. Donald Jacobi wasn't posing as a faith healer... Thank God! If he were, they'd need a full-time staffer or two just to help handle the crowds, people fully in on the game, people who could gently turn away the obviously hopeless cases before they ever got near the stage. No, he and Jacobi ran a slicker operation; they had always managed with volunteer ushers.

Wolfe blew across his cup to cool his coffee. He knew from experience that audiences often became less inhibited under the canvas than they would in an indoor auditorium. A little extra briefing would be in order for this latest crop of ushers.

And therein was the challenge --- if Wolfe was too diplomatic, the ushers wouldn't get the point that part of their job was to protect Jacobi from embarrassment. If he was too blunt, the eager volunteers might get a glimpse of the real truth about the Foundation.

Wolfe leaned over the rail of the back porch and looked out over the Compound. Fifty feet away, a security volunteer, wearing an orange vest and a Foundation ball cap, directed a Volkswagen minivan toward the campgrounds. A small team of volunteers policed the grounds, picking up litter and trimming the grass and shrubbery. Another team was setting up ladders in preparation to painting the barn.

By God, we just might make this work after all!

Monday night after dinner, Stuart Harrison shuffled into his family's living room and all but fell back into the big recliner that faced the television. When his mother joined him a few minutes later, she found him zapping with the remote from channel to channel, never lingering on any one for more than a few seconds.

"I don't know how you can get any enjoyment from that."

"Not much on right now, Mom. There's a great movie coming up in an hour."

"Well, while you're waiting, why don't we watch something on tape?" Mary Harrison picked through a small stack of videocassettes. "You know, it was very nice of your friends to bring these over."

"Yeah, good ol' Lang. He knows my tastes better than just about anybody." Stuart smiled softly. "Remind me again... what are the choices there?"

"Let's see... Best of NFL Bloopers... Zombies of the Stratosphere, that looks like an old serial... several Three Stooges tapes ---"

"The Stooges? Do we have the one where they're plumbers?"

"Which version? A Plumbing We Will Go or Vagabond Loafers?"

Stuart sat up in the recliner. "I didn't know there were two."

"Oh, yes. Curly was in the original, where the boys were pretending to be plumbers. In the remake, with Shemp, they actually were plumbers. That's the one involving the theft of the valuable painting." Mary pulled out two cassettes. "Oh, good, they're both here. They're both very funny."

Stuart looked at his mother. "How did you come to know so much about the Three Stooges?"

"Oh, I used to watch them on TV with my brother Fred when I was a little girl. It was Fred's idea of babysitting."

"Uncle Fred likes the Stooges?" Mary's older brother was an elementary-school principal back East. Stuart couldn't think of any less-likely Stooge fans than his mother and uncle.

"He certainly did when we were kids. I imagine he still does. We'll have to ask him when he and Aunt Ev call next weekend."

"Sure! I wanna hear about his favorite Stooges shorts." He looked at his mother, still not quite believing. "You know, most guys' mothers hate the Stooges. You really liked them, huh?"

"Well, not at first. They scared me. I was just a little girl then." And I didn't know about the really frightening things, like metastatic cancer. Mary sat down on the floor next to the VCR. "But Fred kept telling me it was all make-believe, that they weren't really hurting anyone. Where we grew up, there used to be a kids' show host who introduced each episode. He said the same nice, reassuring things." She smiled at the memory. "Sometimes he'd even show pictures of the Stooges with their families. That's when I realized that they were really nice, normal people who just happened to have unusual jobs. That's when they became funny to me."

"Huh! I guess I never gave it that much thought before. To me, the Stooges were like cartoons that were acted out by people."

"Works for me. So, what'll it be?" Mary waved the two cassettes at her son. "Curly or Shemp?"

"Let's watch 'em both. Curly first. I want to see how different they are." Stuart settled back into the recliner as his mother popped a tape into the VCR. "And then, maybe you can tell me more about Uncle Fred and your adventures in babysitting."

In the kitchen, Ray Harrison looked up from a stack of papers and grinned as he heard the familiar opening notes of an old familiar theme song. "Hey, you knuckleheads! You watchin' the Stooges in there?"

"Why, soitenly," croaked Stuart. "Come join us, Dad."

"Be there in a minute." Ray turned his attention back to the papers. There were brochures from alternative healing clinics, literature from the local hospice organization, and bills... always bills. He set those aside and thumbed through the brochures. The clinics all seemed to be in Mexico or California. No big surprise there, he thought. A trip to any of those clinics would be expensive, and even if they could scrape together the money, he wasn't sure his son could survive the trip.

He flipped through the material that had been left by the hospice volunteer. The five stages of grief --- denial, anger, bargaining, despair, acceptance. He knew them all too well. He'd been through this before, when he was a boy, and his grandfather was dying. People didn't talk much about grief in those days and even less about cancer. Ray had been kept in the dark the whole time, told only that his grandfather was "very sick." Don't know if Gramps accepted what was happening to him or not. Momma was denying it up till the day he died.

Ray knew more about cancer than his entire family had known back then, more than he wanted to know. He had watched his son and wife progress through to the acceptance stage. Ray himself was stuck at anger, and had been since Stu's first diagnosis. Mary had tried to tell him that it wasn't healthy to stay angry, but he'd dismissed that. Anger was natural. It was cancer that wasn't healthy. Besides, it wasn't like Ray ever turned his anger on anyone. Okay, he'd yelled at a couple of doctors, but that was different. He didn't smash things or get drunk. Ray looked over at the empty beer bottles on the counter. Two an evening, same as always. Pretty damned moderate for a fella whose old man used to put away a case of the stuff every day.

Ray's anger had fueled a ferocious drive to learn everything he could about the disease that was claming his son. Unfortunately, what he'd learned was depressing as hell.

The first cancer had been a malignant melanoma --- on Stuart's scalp, for God's sake. Their barber had spotted it. None of the Harrisons was particularly dark-complected, but they weren't exactly albinos, either. Ray didn't need a medical degree to know it was a god-awful bad sign when his son was diagnosed with the most serious kind of skin cancer. Most people would never get a melanoma even if they spent their entire lives out in the sun.

Still, the surgery and follow-up treatments had gone well, and the doctors were "cautiously optimistic" that the cancer hadn't already spread. Stuart had three pretty good years, then he started to stumble and run into things. For a boy who'd played baseball and football since he was six, it was a bad sign. And it was the one time that Ray --- briefly --- moved past anger long enough to pray: Please, God, if it has to be a disease, let it be something like multiple sclerosis. Something he can live with.

But it was cancer again. In his brain this time. Like it wasn't satisfied, taking part of his scalp. Oh, no, it had to go deeper. This time there was neurosurgery, monoclonal antibodies, radioactive iodine... a whole raft of medical jargon that Ray would remember for the rest of his life. They did "complementary medicine" as well. All three Harrisons joined support groups and learned guided imagery. Stuart started to keep a journal. And those things did help some. From the doctors, there was more cautious optimism: Malignant brain tumors used to be an automatic death sentence, but the new combined therapies had shown considerable success for many patients.

Which just meant that they didn't work for everybody.

The doctors gave it their best shot, and they had a helluva lot more ammunition than they did when Ray's grandfather took sick, but even the best shots can miss. Now it was time to try something else, something drastic. There would be time enough later for despair and acceptance, but now it was time to stay angry.

Ray picked up another clinic brochure. He would accept the situation after his son died. Not a minute before.

By the time Ray Harrison finally wandered into the living room, Stuart was asleep in the recliner, the television still on. Ray picked up the remote and hit the mute switch. For several minutes he stood there in the silence of the room, watching his son in the light of the picture tube.

"Ray?" Mary stirred from the couch, her voice a hushed whisper. "Let him sleep there. It's all right."

"It's not all right, Mary. It'll never be all right." Ray clenched his big hands into fists.

Mary got up and crossed the room to her husband. Ray Harrison was a big, physically strong man. She knew how bitterly frustrating this was for him., knew how much he wanted to strike back at the disease that was killing their son. If only there was a way Ray could grab hold of cancer and wrestle it into submission, Stuart would have been cured years ago.

Ray stared down at the boy. "Stu sleeps more an' more every day. How long'll it be --- how many weeks --- before he falls asleep an' never wakes up?"

Mary shook her head. It was an awful question, and she didn't want to consider the answer. "The dishes are all done and put away. If you don't mind, I'll just stay in here a little while... in case Stuart wakes up and needs something."

"Sure. You do that." Ray took a couple of deep breaths, gave a weary sigh, and unclenched his fists. "Call me if there's anything I can do." His kissed his wife gently on the forehead and left the room.

In stocking feet, Ray padded down the hall to his den. There, he sank down into his desk chair and wheeled closer to his desk. A stack of medical journals sat piled on a table to his right, pages folded back and information highlighted. He had read through them all dozens of times, searching for something --- anything --- that might lead to a cure for his son.

There had been nothing.

He started to leaf through the week's Times-Reader. He was halfway to the classifieds, when a line of type seemed to jump out at him:

"... new potential for the treatment of disease and improving the quality of life."

He read back through the article. "The Ascendance Foundation.... Dr. Donald Jacobi... internationally renowned geneticist..." Why did that sound familiar? Then he remembered the poster he had seen in the window of Fordman's Hardware Store, the one that said, "Fulfill your destiny!" Ray thought about that. Worth a try, I guess. He booted up his computer and dialed the BBS.

Twenty minutes later, Ray had read and reread most of the material easily accessible on the Ascendance Foundation's BBS. A year ago, he would have passed right over stuff like this. But now, the more he read, the more he saw reason for hope. Says here that Dr. Jacobi's spent years studying alternative medical treatments. Maybe I can't get Stu into one of those clinics out West. But this fella's come here... to us! Ray thought about that. Maybe it's a sign...

But the next screen looked like a dead end. More information about Dr. Jacobi's research was available only for member-subscribers. Ray impatiently selected How to join from the menu and read over the solicitation as it scrolled onto the screen. He didn't have to think twice. What the hell, it's only ten bucks.

Going to the next screen, Ray Harrison began to enter his credit card number.

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