Next
By twenty after seven on Wednesday evening, the big tent on the Foundation Compound on the old Davis farm was already abuzz with the voices of the gathering audience, a mix of the out-of-town faithful and curious locals. Ushers scurried about, seating people and taking orders from an unseen director via the tiny wireless earphones they all wore.
"All right, people, snap to it!" From a command center set up just behind the stage, James Wolfe adjusted his headset as he spoke into the attached microphone, giving his final instructions to the volunteer ushers. "Remember what I told you --- stay alert to your surroundings and the people around you. If you see anyone who appears to have a problem, try to reassure them --- but whatever they tell you, don't let them interrupt the proceedings without the Doctor's or my approval. If they have a serious problem, tell them that they can talk privately with Dr. Jacobi after the lecture, when he can offer them more personal attention." For an additional "donation," of course. He took a drink from a large plastic cup. "Okay, let's get ready. Five minutes to showtime!"
Wolfe checked a row of video monitors that showed various views of the big tent's interior. Looking good out there, but it's about time we gave the crowd a little something to put them in the proper mood. He punched a series of buttons. Soft music began to build over the speakers situated throughout the tent, and the large screen that backed the stage started showing a moving starscape.
Donald Jacobi came up behind him. "Don't tell me you're swilling another of those noxious sports drinks!"
"Hey, manning the board is thirsty work." Turning to his partner, Wolfe held his cup up and swirled the bluish liquid around. "Besides, this is good for me. Helps replenish needed electrolytes and helps me to stay on the wagon." Lifting the cup to his mouth, he knocked back a long and deliberate swallow.
"I think it would drive me to drink, but to each his own. How do I look, Jimmy?"
Lowering the cup, Wolfe cast an eye over Jacobi. His partner wore a tan turtleneck, dark brown pants, and a light brown sport coat with patches on the elbows. Academic, but not stuffy. Just the right note for the Doctor's face and manner. Jacobi had gray eyes, a warm gray, set in a face that managed to look both friendly and distinguished. People seemed to instinctively trust him, especially when he smiled. Wolfe's own eyes were a pale, icy shade of blue; he sometimes made people uneasy without meaning to. It was interesting, that so much could turn on such little things...
"Jimmy? Something wrong?"
"No. No, you look very trustworthy. Like a young Carl Sagan --- with better hair."
"Perfect. Where's my earplug?"
"Right here." Wolfe handed his partner the tiny plastic device. "You're on Channel One, as usual. Emcee's on Channel Two, the ushers on Channel Three." As the plug disappeared into Jacobi's right ear, Wolfe turned away and cupped his hand around his headset's microphone. "You hear me okay?"
Jacobi smiled. "Loud and clear, Jimmy. How's our turnout?"
Wolfe returned to normal conversation. "A few hundred. We've filled less than half the seats, and there are maybe thirty to forty curious locals scattered among the faithful. Frankly, that is a lot better than I'd expected, especially for the middle of the week. Must be too many reruns on TV." Wolfe scratched his chin. "I wish we hadn't set up so many chairs, it makes us look bad."
"Not to worry, Jimmy. By the time we start charging admission, we'll have standing room only."
"I hope so. We can't afford to go on this way for long."
"Just stay on top of the board and leave the rest to me. Is our volunteer emcee ready?"
Wolfe looked over at the screens. Monitor one showed an earnest young man in a new, neatly pressed suit, standing behind a bank of speakers. The young man kept glancing at the index cards in his hands, silently mouthing the words of an introduction. There was a slight glisten of sweat on his forehead.
"Douglas?" Wolfe spoke softly into his headset microphone and the young man on monitor one jerked as if stung by a bee. Douglas pressed one finger to his right ear, listening intently to Wolfe's instructions over his earphone. On the monitor, he grinned and gave a shaky thumbs-up.
"Oh, brother." Wolfe put a forefinger to his temple and pretended to squeeze off a shot. "He's as ready as he'll ever be."
"Chin up, Jimmy. Let's do it."
As Wolfe faded the music, the nervous young man stepped up to a podium at stage right and leaned toward a microphone. His cough echoed through the tent like a rifle shot.
Wolfe smacked his forehead with his palm. "Don't get so close to the mike, Doug. Look, you're gonna do just fine. Just take a deep breath and say the lines."
Douglas nodded to the unseen voice and did as he was told.
"G-good evening, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Douglas Oliver, and it's my pleasure to welcome you all this evening to the first in a series of lectures on improving the potential of human life." Douglas took another breath. "Our speaker is a man I've long admired... a man who has devoted his career, not just to research into the secrets of the genetic code... and not just to the advancement and the enrichment of human life... but to making that knowledge available to us all." The young man looked out over the crowd. People were listening to him with rapt attention. This wasn't so bad after all. "He's a Graduate Fellow of the School of Genetic Study of San Mattese and a founder of the Ascendance Foundation. Will you please join me in welcoming... Doctor Donald Jacobi!"
As Jacobi entered from stage left, the veteran faithful in the audience sprang to their feet, applauding wildly. The locals in the audience seemed surprised by the enthusiastic display. They glanced at each other, then at the out-of-towners, and slowly got to their feet, applauding politely. Jacobi paused for a few seconds at center stage and smiled, graciously acknowledging the applause. As he reached the podium, he shook Douglas's hand.
"Thank you, Douglas." Still grasping the young man's hand, Jacobi turned him toward the audience. "Douglas Oliver, ladies and gentlemen! Let's hear it for him as well!"
The applause level held steady, and Douglas grinned from ear to ear. And then, as the young man made his way off stage, Jacobi stretched both arms out before him, as if in benediction, and gestured for the faithful throng to be seated.
"Thank you! Thank you for that most gracious welcome, one and all. I have to say that Kansas hospitality is even warmer than I had been told it was. I am a stranger to this area, but tonight you have made me feel as if I have come home."
The audience responded with a second, more sedate round of applause, this time joined more readily by the locals.
Backstage, Wolfe was grimly amused. He had to give the devil his due. Onstage for less than a minute, and he already has them on his side. If Jacobi had been the one born with the cold, pale eyes, he might have had to find another line of work. Not necessarily honest work --- Wolfe couldn't picture Jacobi toiling at any sort of nine-to-five grind --- but not a slick con operation either. If I had the looks, the voice, I could have been the top dog in this team. Team? He shook his head. No, if I had all that, I never would've needed to be part of any "team."
Clipping a small microphone to his lapel, Jacobi moved away from the podium. "Lowell County feels like the end of a long journey to me, and perhaps for many of you as well. This area holds a legacy for us all, a legacy which was bestowed upon us more than thirteen years ago..."
Behind him, the starscape was replaced by an image of a billboard, surrounded by fields of corn. Jacobi turned to read it aloud.
" 'Smallville --- Meteor Capital of the World!' No doubt many of you saw this sign on your way here. Those of you who live nearby probably see it every day. It has become part of the scenery, as much a part of this area as the cornfields or the local LuthorCorp fertilizer plant. The Meteor Capital of the World... something to brag about to your friends and relatives in other parts of the country. But no one was bragging back in 1977!"
Backstage, Wolfe hit another series of buttons. The ground began to pulse from the deep, subsonic bass rumble of the sound system. And over Jacobi's shoulder, the screen abruptly switched to a somewhat grainy image of downtown Smallville, thirteen and a half years before.
"October 1977!" Jacobi's voice rang out, his volume increasing slightly to carry over the discomforting rumble. "It was a beautiful autumn day. The Smallville Crows had just won their homecoming game. It should have been a day to celebrate. But then the heavens opened up!"
Suddenly, the frozen image behind Jacobi began to move, panning shakily up into the sky.
"This home movie was taken on an eight-millimeter camera that day. I managed to acquire a copy of it from a Kansa City news agency. Apart from a few retrospectives, most of this footage hasn't been shown in over a decade. I'll warn you, many of these images may be too intense for some."
The audience sat mesmerized as bright, burning points of light streaked across the sky, leaving smoky trails in their wake. From just off-camera came a flash of light, a loud bang, and the whoosh of gasoline igniting. Startled shouts and cries echoed through the tent, some from the audience, some from the screen.
The picture became shakier, as the camera operator started running. The image abruptly swung skyward, just as a meteor blasted through a tall steeple. The screen seemed to explode in a ball of fire and a loud boom, and the audience jumped back, eyes wide.
"Heads up!" Wolfe's voice was an urgent electronic whisper in Jacobi's ear. "We've got a fainter! Row four!"
Jacobi rushed to the edge of the stage to see a woman in an aisle seat turn ghost white, her eyes rolling up into her head. An usher was already headed her way, but Jacobi jumped down from the stage and reached her first. He caught her by the shoulders as she slid from her chair and gently lowered her to the sawdust floor. People started to crowd around, but Jacobi held them back with an imperious wave of his hand.
"Stand back! Give her air! And clear that screen!" Wolfe had already blanked the screen and killed the subsonics, but no one in the audience had noticed.
Jacobi plucked a capsule of ammonia spirits from his pocket and snapped it open under the woman's nose. She gave a little cough and looked up, surprised.
"Are you all right, ma'am?"
"I-I think so. What...?"
"Careful, don't sit up too quickly. You still look a little faint." People drew back, giving them room, as Jacobi and the usher helped the woman back into her chair. "Can we get some water here, please?"
Another usher came on the run with a chilled bottle of spring water and a paper cup.
"Thank you." The woman gratefully accepted the water and slowly sipped from the cup. "I'm terribly sorry," she said, looking up. "I'm not usually like this."
"Think nothing of it, dear lady. If anything, I should apologize to you." Jacobi kneeled beside her. He refilled her cup, capped the bottle, and set it next to her. He took her hand and gazed into her eyes. "You were here that day, weren't you?"
She nodded slowly. "I... saw my sister and her husband die in one of the first strikes."
There were gasps of surprise and horror from the members of the audience close enough to hear her.
"And I brought the horror back to you. I'm so terribly sorry. Can you ever forgive me, Ms...?"
"Potter... Nell Potter. Of course I forgive you, Doctor. It wasn't your fault. You couldn't have known."
"But I should have anticipated such a reaction. I appreciate your sentiment all the more, Ms. Potter. Thank you, so very much ---"
In a very soft voice, she corrected him. "Nell."
"Nell... yes. Thank you, Nell." Jacobi stood up, still holding her hand. "Let me assure you" --- he looked up at the audience and raised his voice slightly as he addressed them --- "let me assure all of you, that we won't be screening any more footage like that tonight. Now, let's all take a few moments to catch our breath before we continue." He gently squeezed Nell's hand. "That is, if it's all right with you, Nell?"
"Goodness, yes. Of course, Doctor." Nell's face flushed, and she leaned closer to him. "I do want to hear what you have to say. That's why I'm here!"
Jacobi gave her his most beatific smile, released her hand, and returned to the stage.
Backstage, Wolfe pumped a fist in the air and began to bring up the music.
And in the middle of the twelfth row, Ray Harrison sat perched on the edge of his seat, leaning forward, listening intently.
Thursday morning, Lionel Luthor looked down over the city of Metropolis from his corner office of the building that bore his name. The city stretched out in all directions before him. Far below, millions of people scurried about on their way to work, and nearly a quarter drew a salary directly from LuthorCorp or one of its numerous subsidiaries. LuthorCorp had holdings worldwide, but the home office was still in Metropolis. Its citizens lived in apartments managed by Lionel Luthor's agents, bought homes built by his contractors. They were born in his hospitals, attended his schools, shopped at his stores, ate in his restaurants, and were interred in his cemeteries. Metropolis was his.
It still wasn't enough, of course, but it was a good start.
Lionel took a step back from the window, and caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass. His beard was looking a little uneven. Time for a trim soon. His hair reached well below his collar. It was showing more gray these days, but there was still plenty of it, thank God. Men who started going gray at his age generally did keep their hair. The gray was a small price to pay, really.
He turned to his financial assistant. "Overnight summary?"
"Tokyo, Hong Kong, and Singapore are holding steady, sir. And trading is up on the European market."
Lionel stroked his beard. "Watch for a spike in share prices of TransNational. When it hits sixty, sell."
"Yes, sir." The little man bowed slightly as he backed from the room.
Lionel crossed the room to a massive oak desk and began to thumb through a thin manila folder. "Damien!"
A tall, powerfully built man emerged from the shadows. "Yes, Mr. L."
"Nice job, the way you cleared things for our Keystone City development project."
"Thank you, sir."
"The local Greens there had held things up far too long. I knew I could on you to break the logjam. Expect to find this reflected in your quarterly bonus."
"Thank you very much, sir."
Lionel Luthor looked (for him) almost mellow as he leafed through the rest of the folder. Damien Marco never went to Mass anymore, but he said a silent little prayer of thanks now. Placing the Keystone report at the front of the folder was having the desired effect. Now if only the good mood holds steady through the last item in the folder, Damien added a quick prayer of supplication.
Sure is taking his time today. Damien tried to distract himself by looking at the framed testimonials and pictures in his boss's office: Lionel Luthor with mayors, governors, and presidents. With foreign heads of state. With other top business leaders. With Olympic-medal fencers. Lionel had been a nationally-ranked fencer in college, and he still kept up his game. He was half a head shorter than Marco, and at least thirty pounds lighter, but Damien had resolved long ago to never, ever, get into a fight with his boss. Not even if Luthor publicly fired him.
Damien glanced back to his boss just as Lionel got to the back of the folder. He lifted a sheet of pulp paper from the folder. As he read it, his face darkened.
Uh-oh, thought Damien. Here it comes.
"Damien?" There was ice in Lionel's voice. "What is this?"
A thin film of sweat began to bead up on Damien's upper lip. "News story from Smallville, Mr. L. Off the wire. Came in too late to make the morning edition of the Daily Planet. Figured you'd want to see it."
"And why, exactly, wasn't I informed of this sooner?"
"It came across the wire just this morning ---"
"I don't pay you to read and rip wire copy! I pay you to keep on top of things!" Lionel threw the folder back down on the desk in disgust. "I don't expect to find out, after the fact, that some quack is running a New Age dog-and-pony show on farmland outside Smallville."
Lionel came around the side of the desk, advancing on Damien. "On the old Davis farm. The local S&L foreclosed on the property months ago. The asking price has been dropping lower and lower. I have plans for that property, Damien. Big plans. Those plans are now compromised."
"Mr. L, I ---!" The words caught in Damien's throat as Lionel fixed him with a stare.
"But even that isn't the worst of it." Lionel scooped up the wire copy and smacked it with the back of his hand. "If I'm to believe this exercise in journalistic drivel, this... 'Doctor' Jacobi... is preaching 'meteorite power.' I don't like that, Damien. I especially don't like that coming out of Smallville and making the national news wire."
There it is. I should have known it would come to this. Damien shifted uneasily. It all gets back to Level Three...
Well over a year ago, LuthorCorp had conducted a top secret experiment in the lower levels of its Smallville fertilizer plant. Lionel's scientists had developed experimental fertilizers from meteorite fragments. The results looked great at first. That project could have been a big, big moneymaker for the operation, if not for the damned side effects. Animal test subjects went into convulsions and literally shook themselves apart. Lionel ordered the experiments shut down, the level sealed off, the failure kept secret.
No one currently working at the Smallville plant had even known that Level Three existed, not the plant's manager and certainly not its new general manager. No one would've ever found out about it, if not for one janitor who'd been exposed to the fertilizer. The man went off his nut, held a bunch of people hostage at the plant. It had taken all of Lionel's skill and guile to bury that story. But his daughter, Lex, had learned much of the truth.
He tries not to show it, but I know that drives the old man crazy. Not that I blame him. I wouldn't trust his kid either.
"Uh, sir? If this is about Level Thr ---"
"Damien!" Lionel's eyes narrowed. "That subject is never to be spoken of."
"Yes, sir. But this Jacobi guy is just some quack. Who's gonna believe ---?"
"Apparently, some already believe." Lionel roughly jabbed at the wire copy. "The story says most of the attendees were from out of town. Many of them are camping onsite. And more are expected." He thrust the paper into Damien's hand. "I need to know more about this, Damien. There's not enough information here."
"That's all there was on the ---!"
"Not enough, Damien." Lionel clamped a hand over Damien's shoulder. His voice was a harsh whisper. "I want to know all there is to know about this quack doctor and his 'Foundation.' He must be dealt with." Lionel began to squeeze the shoulder, hard. "Understood?"
Sweat oozed down the back of Damien's collar. "Completely, Mr. L."
"Good." Lionel released his grip and returned to the window.
He was the king of all he surveyed. It had taken much hard work to become the king. It was harder still to maintain that power.
It was a never-ending battle.
Deep in the back of a storm cellar behind the Kent farmhouse, Claire pulled back a dusty old tarp to stare at the hull of the spacecraft that had brought her to Earth. I came here in that... from who knows where? I still can hardly believe it. She ran her hand over the pitted metal surface. It's like something out of a dream... but it explains so much.
Even as a toddler, Claire could lift her mother's old rosewood table with one hand. That early show of strength had been enough to convince Jonathan that they shouldn't enroll the girl in preschool. I must've given the folks plenty to worry about, just keeping secret how strong I was. When I finally went to school, they were always warning me not to "show off." She grinned. I'll never forget the first time Ma caught me lifting up the back end of Pa's old pickup.
It was the year she turned eight. A puppy had crawled under the truck, just out of reach, and she'd been sure that no one was around to see. Martha Kent had come out the back door to call her in for lunch, and found her daughter crouched under the back of the truck, holding it overhead by the rear axle with one hand as she reached for the puppy with the other.
Claire smiled at the memory. I don't know which of us was more surprised.
"Lil' darlin'? You down there?"
"Yeah, Pa." Claire turned as her father descended the steps into the cellar. "I was just... checking things out."
"Yeah, well, I guess you're entitled." Jonathan Kent stared down at the uncovered spacecraft. "Ya know, when I was your age, your grandfather was still keeping things from me. And I didn't like being in the dark any more than you do. I swore that if I ever had a child, I'd never keep secrets from him or her --- not the important things." He looked up at Claire. "But I did. For over ten years your mother and I kept this from you. I'm sorry for that. I guess I was just waiting for the right time."
"I know, Pa. I was really angry at first, but --- looking back --- I'm not sure if there was ever a better time. If you'd told me when I was six, I'd probably have brought all the kids down here to check out my cool rocket ship. When I was twelve, I'd have been down here monkeying with it every day, trying to get it to fly again!"
Jonathan started to chuckle. "That's what I was afraid of."
Claire ran her hand over the metal hull once more. "Pa... last week, I had another one of those dreams."
"A flying dream?"
"Yeah. This time I woke up in the loft. I don't know for sure that I floated out there, but I'm afraid I might have."
"Maybe I should sit down for this. Maybe we both should." Jonathan pulled an old milking stool out from the wall and motioned his daughter toward a plank bench along the cellar wall.
Claire sat down, took a deep breath, and recounted her nightmare of the previous Monday. "... So now I have something else to worry about! What if I do take off for outer space? Or maybe even worse, what if I wake up floating over Lowell? With my luck, I'd wind up drifting past some factory just as the night shift was taking a break."
"You'd better start sleeping in your pajamas, then," Jonathan said, grinning. He knew that she often slept in the nude.
She grinned back at him, then folded her arms and stared down at the floor. "I just wish I knew what was happening to me... and how much more is still ahead."
"I know you do, lil' darlin'. And I wish I had the answers." Jonathan leaned forward on the stool. "We'll just have to keep dealing with these gifts of yours as best we can." He thought for a minute. "If you're really worried about floating off, there is a way to deal with that."
"There is?"
"Uh huh. We can install some motion sensors at your window. I know I saw some in at Fordman's. They're not too expensive. Just wire 'em up to a buzzer, and the problem's solved. Better to have an occasional wake-up call than take the risk of becoming a public spectacle." He again thought about her sleeping preferences.
"That should work." Claire looked at her father, impressed. "And it's so simple."
"Well, you know me, Claire. I tend to go for the down-to-earth solutions."
"Oh yeah?" Claire arched an eyebrow. "Then why did you and Ma adopt a kid from outer space?"
"You know, I've asked myself that very question many times." Jonathan grinned again, looked at the spacecraft, and shrugged. "Seemed like a good idea at the time."
"Very funny, Pa." Claire rapped the hull with a knuckle, listening to the deep, metallic echo. "You know, I used to search magazines and newspapers for stories of other kids with unusual abilities. I still check, from time to time. But I was never able to find anyone as strong as I am. Now I know why. For all I know, I may be the only one of my kind... at least the only one on Earth." She rapped the hull again, more impatiently this time. "I know how I got here, but I still don't know why. Was I sent here deliberately, or did I land on Earth by accident?"
"Lil' darlin' ---"
"I might have been the 'guinea pig' in somebody's weird experiment. Or part of some, unh, I don't know, some kind of ritual sacrifice." Claire dropped her voice an octave and intoned gravely: " 'I command you to send your firstborn child into the great vastness of space.' "
"Anything's possible, Claire." Jonathan laid a hand on the ship. "But did you ever consider that this might be an escape craft? Maybe you were put in this ship to save you from something."
"Yeah, or maybe I was the last-born child." Her eyes narrowed. "Or maybe I was just 'dropped off' the way some people dump unwanted pets out in the country."
"Claire!"
"It happens, Pa! It happens a lot. How many dogs and cats have been dumped right here, right on our farm?"
"Too many. I know it happens, lil' darlin'. What we don't know is whether that's what happened to you. We don't know if any of our guesses are correct. There's no need to torture yourself ---"
"Pa, we might never know." Claire got to her feet, shuffling about nervously. If there had been more room in the cellar, she would have started pacing. "What if 'my people' come looking for me someday? What if they want to take me back?"
Jonathan stood up and ran a hand through his hair. "For your first few years with us, I don't think a day went by without your mother and me wondering about that. But a body can't worry like that every day, Claire. It takes too much energy. We eventually decided that, if it ever happened, we'd deal with it then." He put a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "And if it does happen --- if your people show up and turn out to be decent folks, and you really want to get to know them... well, that's one thing. Your mother and I could live with that. But if they're not, if they just want to take you away" --- Jonathan's eyes narrowed and the muscles around his jaw tightened --- "they better come prepared. Because we are not giving you up without a fight."
Claire had an instant flash of Jonathan and Martha facing off against an alien starship, shotguns in hand. They'd do it, too. She blinked back a tear. It was a long moment before she could speak. "I hope it never comes to that, Pa, but... thanks."
Jonathan nodded. "So... you going to put aside all those worries?"
"I'll try." Claire looked down at the craft and half smiled. "Some of them weren't exactly worries. This sounds stupid, but I sometimes wonder if I started up the spaceship myself... by accident. You know, like the stories you hear of toddlers accidentally starting up the family car?"
Jonathan nodded again, and then smiled. "It doesn't sound stupid at all, lil' darlin'. In fact, if that is the case, then you really were meant to be my daughter."
"What?" Claire's half-smile widened into a full grin. "Don't tell me you...?"
"Ohhh, yeah." Jonathan smiled wryly. "My Pa's pickup, when I was four or five. Lucky I didn't break my neck." His voice grew more serious. "But I want you to understand something. Whatever the reason you wound up here --- and whether or not we ever learn why --- it's their loss. Don't ever forget that. Their loss, and our gain. And something else you should keep in mind. Life did not begin here in Kansas or anywhere else in these United States. Go back far enough and you'll find that we're all immigrants here. You just came from farther away than most."
" 'Just'?"
"Okay, a lot farther away! Claire, what matters is what you make of yourself, not where you're from."
"I know, Pa. I... it's just... it's not easy, knowing that I'm a freak from outer space." Claire pulled the tarp back into place. "But before, I thought I was a freak of nature. At least now I have a better notion of why I'm the way I am, even if I still don't know where I'm from."
"Hey, you're not any kind of freak --- you're my daughter!" Jonathan reached out and tousled the girl's hair. "And your mother and I love you very much."
Claire smiled at that, but it was a distracted smile that quickly faded. She stared at the tarp, brooding, then up at her father. "Pa... why did you and Ma adopt me?" She gestured to the covered spacecraft. "I mean, you guys knew right from the start, but you kept me anyway. Why?" Claire looked back at her father. "And no jokes about how it 'seemed like a good idea at the time.' I need to know the answer to at least one of these questions."
"Claire, this may sound strange --- and I swear I'm not pulling your leg --- but the fact of the matter is, you made a great first impression."
"Pa ---!"
"That's the truth, lil' darlin'. The plain and simple truth. Besides, your mother and I didn't know right away from the start."
"Oh, sure, when did you find out?" Claire raised an eyebrow again, frowning this time. "A whole five minutes later?"
"I couldn't say to the second, but it was time enough. More than enough." Jonathan put a hand on Claire's shoulder. "What's going on here, lil' darlin'? We've been over all this."
Claire looked away, exasperated.
"Right." Jonathan nodded thoughtfully. "Your mother and I have been living with this for years. You've known for just the past few months." He gave Claire's shoulder an easy shake. "Tell you what. How about we continue this discussion after dinner? I strongly suspect that your mother would have a lot to contribute to it."
"Yeah. Yeah, let's do that."
"Great. Because I also suspect that she has dinner almost ready!"
Martha Kent stood by the stove, her attention divided between a skillet of peppers and onions and that day's edition of the Lowell Ledger. She barely glanced up as Claire and Jonathan came in the back door. "It's about time. Where have you two been?"
"Down in the storm cellar." Jonathan shot Claire a quick wink. "Claire and I have been working on her spaceship."
"What?" As Martha whirled around, the fork slipped from her hand and a slice of green pepper went flying toward the door.
Claire's hand darted out, catching the airborne slice before it could hit her father. She leaned back against the wall, happily munching the sizzling pepper.
"I think we finally got all the bugs out of that engine," Jonathan continued as if nothing had happened. "Don't you, lil' darlin'?"
"Yeah, she's purring like a kitten. Now I'll never be late to school again." Licking her fingers, Claire looked at her mother. "Want to go for a quickride before dinner, Ma?"
Martha cast a fishy eye on her husband and daughter. Both grinned like Cheshire cats. She pointed the fork in Jonathan's general direction. "You are terrible! And you" --- the fork swung around toward Claire --- "do not get your sense of humor from anyone strange. At least, not from anyone stranger than your father."
"Thank you, dear." Jonathan gave his wife a quick peck on the cheek. "I live for your acknowledgment. Anything good in the paper?"
"I don't know how good it is. There's a big write-up on that tent meeting last night."
"Hmmm? Let me see that." Jonathan quickly skimmed the front-page article as he and his daughter settled around the kitchen table. "Oh, this is just what the county needs! Some slick character trying to sell meteorites as the cure for everything."
Caught in midswallow, Claire spit half a mouthful of water back into her glass. "He's selling meteorites?" Putting the glass down, she grabbed the paper from her father, moving so fast that her arm was a blur.
"Not literally, lil' darlin'," Jonathan said as Claire spread the paper out on the table so they both could read it. "According to the Ledger --- which should always be taken with a grain of salt --- this Jacobi fella is touting 'self-fulfillment and total realization of human potential.' Looks to me like the meteorite angle is just window dressing for some crazy New Age scam."
"I don't know, Jonathan." Martha shook her head as she turned off the heat, set the skillet aside to simmer, and joined her family at the table. "Evidently, that Dr. Jacobi showed actual video footage of the meteor shower. Frieda Wilson was at the meeting, and she said that a lot more went on last night than was covered in the paper."
"Frieda said that, did she?" Jonathan rolled his eyes for Claire's benefit. That Wilson woman always could gossip faster than the speed of sound. "I don't suppose she passed along any other 'inside information' about the talk?"
Martha ignored her husband's sarcasm. "Just that Dr. Jacobi talked a lot about the weird effects the meteorites have had on people around here" And Nell Potter made a perfect fool of herself over him. "He seemed to know all about them."
"So, the man's read up on the area. Trust me, hon, this guy is running some sort of con. He's like the rainmakers who used to fleece this county, back when my dad was a boy --- just a little more sophisticated, that's all."
"I hope so." Martha still wasn't certain. "I'm just concerned that his lectures might lead people around here to poke around and learn the truth about Claire." She poured herself some coffee.
"I wouldn't worry too much about that, Ma. From what it says here in the paper, all the footage Jacobi showed was of the meteors hitting downtown. It's not like he had pictures of my spaceship or anything."
"And thank heaven for that!" Martha sipped her coffee, her eyes becoming distant as she leaned back in her chair. "I'll never forget the day the meteors fell. When I think back, I can still smell the burning corn."
"That's not corn." Claire suddenly raised her head, sniffing the air and looking around the kitchen. "The broiler ---!"
Flames licked up from beneath the oven, and the kitchen smoke detector began to blare. Before either of her parents could get up from their chairs, Claire had put down the paper and was across the room, turning off the gas. She pulled the broiler door open and quickly patted out the flames with her bare hands.
By the time Jonathan and Martha had risen, the fire was out and Claire stood facing them, licking the last of the hot grease off her thumb. "Relax, it's taken care of."
"Are you all right, sweetie?" Even as she said it, Martha knew she was, but she still took her daughter's hand and turned it over, just to make sure.
"No problem, Ma. See?"
"I still have to check, sweetie. It's part of the job." Martha winked at Claire, and Claire smiled back. Then Martha frowned. "Could've sworn I turned that broiler off. I must've been too distracted by the paper."
"Well, no harm done." After resetting the smoke detector, Jonathan lifted the warming cover off a platter on the table. "You remembered to get these chops out of there, that's the important thing." He started moving the chops to their plates. "What do you say we forget all about that tent show nonsense and enjoy this fine dinner?"
"Sounds good to me, Pa." Claire turned back to Martha. "But Ma... about the day of the meteor shower? Hang on to that thought for later, willya?"
Afternoon was fading into evening when Landon Lang turned the key in the lock and pushed open the front door of the big rambling country house he shared with his Aunt Nell.
"Hello, I'm home!"
"Oh, good!" Nell Potter's voice came echoing down the stairs. "I was just about to leave you a note. You're running late, dear."
"I had to stop at the Crow's Nest. I went over the receipts, and made sure all the shifts were covered for tomorrow and the weekend." Landon dropped his books on a side table. "Lex may own the building, but we manage the place, remember?"
"Of course, where's my head?" Nell came down the stairs, her heels clicking on the steps as she adjusted her earrings. "There's dinner in the 'fridge. I'm not sure how late I'll be."
"Okay." Landon's eyes narrowed appreciatively as he surveyed his aunt's outfit. Despite being the proverbial maiden aunt, she still cut quite a figure. "Are you driving in to Lowell for dinner and a show or something?" And with whom?
"No. I signed up to take a seminar at the Foundation Compound tonight. I told you about it, didn't I?" She noticed the look her nephew was giving him. "Why? Too dressy?"
"For Thursday night in Smallville? Maybe a little."
"Strictly speaking, it's outside of Smallville." She checked her makeup in the hall mirror. "Besides, the other attendees will mostly be from out of state. It won't hurt to show them that we're not all hicks around here."
"You're really buying that whole 'cosmic ladder' consciousness?"
"I wish you wouldn't use that tone of voice, Landon. You make it sound like I'm joining some sort of cult." Nell paused to touch up her lipstick. "It's really a very interesting line of study. I'm finding it quite useful. I think that Donald --- that Dr. Jacobi can help me deal with a lot of issues I've kept buried."
"Donald, huh? Is he handsome?" His voice took on a teasing tone.
It didn't fool his aunt. "He's distinguished-looking, but that has nothing to do with it!"
Landon looked at his aunt skeptically.
"All right, he's very handsome. He has dark blond hair and the most amazing eyes. But this is about much more than just his looks. The way he talked..." Nell blushed a bit. "I wish you could have been there last night. The doctor showed us an entirely new way to look at that terrible meteor shower. He's already given me a whole new perspective on life in general."
"He talked about the meteors? You didn't say anything about that this morning."
"I didn't? Well, I've had so much on my mind. In a way, the meteors are what brought Dr. Jacobi to Smallville. There's a little piece about it in today's paper." She reached out to take Landon's right hand. "Landon...? I haven't seen you wearing your wristband lately."
"Oh, I kind of got out of the jewelry habit when football started last year. I couldn't wear it on the field, and it was too much of a hassle."
Now it was Nell's turn to look skeptical. "But football's over for this year."
"Actually, it's something like what you were just saying... about new perspectives? It was time for a change." Landon gave his aunt a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, Aunt Nell. I still have it. I'll never forget what it meant to you... to us. I just don't feel like wearing it all the time anymore."
"All right, I can see that. You've become such a young man, taking on all these new responsibilities. There's so much of your father in you." Nell gave him a hug. "Well, I have to go. Don't wait up for me!"
With a wave, Nell was gone. Landon locked the door behind her and went upstairs to his room. Sometimes I wish I really could find a new perspective on things. As he put his jacket away, he stared into the big, double closet. Too many clothes. He closed the doors and looked around the room. Too much stuff! He began opening bureau drawers, sorting though a seemingly endless assortment of socks and sweaters. I don't even wear half of these things anymore. I should give them to Goodwill! Landon started making a small pile of clothing on his bed. Then he pulled open the big, bottom drawer.
Landon kneeled on the floor, pondering the drawer's contents. There were the trophies he'd won as the most valuable player on the football team his last two years in middle school. A handful of ribbons from equestrian contents won before that. Way too much stuff. Would Goodwill have any use for a drawerful of old ribbons and trophies? They all seemed so meaningless now.
Finally, down in one corner of the drawer, Landon's hands fell upon the soft, thick leather band. He pulled it out and looked at it. It sparkled in the green light of the gemstone.
The stone in Landon's wristband had come from the meteorite that struck his parents' car, all those years ago, killing them before his eyes. Nell had raised him since that horrible day. His aunt had given him the wristband on the day the adoption was formalized, and it had gotten soft and supple with time. It was Nell's own eccentric way of helping the boy come to terms with his parents' deaths. He knew his aunt's words by heart: "Life is about change, Landon. Sometimes it's painful, sometimes it's beautiful. But most of the time it's both."
Landon put the wristband back into the drawer, and decisively pushed it shot. Well, there's time to wear the symbols of the past, and a time to put them away. And if that isn't in Ecclesiastes, it ought to be! He got back up to his feet and returned to his sorting.
One of the cardinal rules in the Kent household was: "Whoever cooks, does not have to do the dishes." But there was never any mandate that cleanup had to begin immediately after the last bite. Generally, the family would linger a bit at the table after the meal.
But this evening, the instant dinner was over, Claire Kent leaped up, cleared the table, loaded the dishwasher, refilled her parents' coffee cups, and was back in her chair --- all in under fifteen seconds.
"Claire...?" Martha Kent looked around, taken aback. "Is something on your mind?"
"I asked Pa earlier, and he said I should ask you as well." Claire cupped her hands around her water glass and looked earnestly at her mother. "Why did you adopt me?"
"What a thing to ask!" Now Martha looked distressed, as well as taken aback. "How could we not adopt you! You were so adorable ---!"
"You obviously needed a family ---"
"I arrived here in a spaceship ---!"
"--- and we'd been wanting a child for so long ---"
"Ma, are you even listening to me?"
"I've heard every word, sweetie." Martha reached across the table and took her daughter's hand. "Seriously, Claire, when you came into our lives, it seemed like fate. We'd wanted a child of our own for so long, but it just didn't seem to be in the cards. We tried everything."
Jonathan cleared his throat. "Well, not everything. We drew the line at a fertility clinic. I wasn't about to have your mother poked and prodded like some kind of ---"
"I get the picture, Pa." Claire stared into her glass, feeling herself blush. "That's maybe more information than I really needed."
"Anyway," Martha continued, "we were just starting to look into foster programs and adoption, when you came along and settled things for us..."
Martha and Jonathan Kent had been driving home from town, when the sound of the first meteors boomed over Smallville. As their pickup truck sped alongside the road, a small meteor crashed into the field alongside the road, less than twenty-five feet away from them. Then another meteor tore through a billboard, blasting it to smithereens, just seconds after the truck passed it. They peered back, terrified to see the smoke trails streaking down over the field of corn.
"What's happening, Jonathan?"
Before he could respond, something streaked across the road not a hundred feet ahead of them. It seared a huge gash into the blacktop, igniting the asphalt and plowing into the adjacent field. Jonathan frantically hit the brakes and held tight to the wheel, fighting for control, but it was useless. The truck plowed into the billowing, black smoke. Its front wheels hit the edge of the ditch, and it flipped over, spinning around and coming to rest upside down in the new ditch that had been created in the middle of the road.
"... That's when we blacked out. I'm still not sure how long we were unconscious, but when we came to, we were both upside down, held in by our seat belts."
"Yeah, that was pretty disorienting." Jonathan stirred his coffee. "It took us a minute or two to figure out what had happened and where we were. That's when I saw something moving out of the corner of my eye, something outside the truck."
Martha smiled. "It was a little girl, not more than three or four at the most."
"Yep. And naked as a jaybird."
"Pa!"
"What, did you think you were wearing a little spacesuit when we found you?"
"You had the cutest smile, Claire." Martha tilted her head fondly at the memory. "And such a heavenly laugh."
"Ma!"
"Well, it was!"
"Your mother's right, Claire. I ought to know, I'm the fist one you laughed at." Jonathan rubbed the back of his shoulder, as if trying to ease an old injury. "I just about broke my neck, trying to get out of that truck."
Jonathan Kent braced himself against the wheel with both hands, while his wife unfastened his safety belt. Slowly, he let himself slide down out of the seat until his back was just a few inches from the floor. Then he let go and fell onto the top of the inverted cab. Outside, the little girl clapped her hands together and giggled.
"Come on, Martha, you next." Jonathan looked up at her. "It's just like tumbling in high-school gym... except I'm here to catch you. Just unbuckle yourself and slide."
It was as easy as that. Jonathan made sure her landing was softer, if not necessarily more graceful than his. They crawled out of the truck, and Martha Kent held out her hands to the little stranger.
"Are you all right, sweetheart? Don't be afraid..."
She was anything but fearful. Again she replied with a gurgling laugh, as she took hold of Martha's outstretched hand.
"Oh, Jon, she'll catch her death out here."
Jonathan reached back into the truck cab and pulled a blanket out from behind the seat. He wrapped it around the girl, and Martha picked her up, cradling her in the crook of her arm. They looked around them. They, the girl, and the truck were in the bottom of a huge gash in the earth, topped by lines of burning asphalt. Thick black smoke still billowed all around them. They turned and followed the gash out into the field.
Jonathan led the way, with Martha following close behind, talking to the girl.
"What's your name? Where are your parents?"
The girl cocked her head and tried to mimic her. "Payyrennz?"
"Maybe she doesn't understand English." Turning around and leaning forward, Jonathan smiled encouragingly at the girl. "¿Habla Español?"
The girl looked from Jonathan to Martha, her lips pursed.
"Jonathan, stop. You're confusing her."
"Sorry."
"It made some sense," Jonathan Kent told his daughter. "You were walking... you should have been talking. Though I will admit you didn't exactly look Hispanic, some kid of a migrant farmer." He reached out and patted Claire's golden hair.
"We still didn't know how you'd gotten there, sweetie. You were such a beautiful little girl, just like a little angel."
"Ma...!"
"Well, you were. I still have pictures to prove it!"
"Don't roll your eyes at your mother, lil' darlin'." Jonathan Kent paused. "Actually, on second thought, go right ahead."
"Jonathan!"
"No, Martha, I think it's fine. Proves that it doesn't matter where she came from. She still reacts the same way any teenage girl would. I know I wouldn't have wanted to be called an angel at her age. Not that anyone ever did. Though of course, I never was a teenage girl." Jonathan caught his daughter's eye, and they both started to snicker.
"All right, you two!" Martha turned to her daughter. "I thought you wanted to hear about this?"
"I do!" Claire straightened up. "Pa was trying to speak to me in Spanish, which I didn't understand any better than English."
"Yes, but you were so bright and cheerful, you didn't seem to have been neglected. And I couldn't believe anyone would abandon such a healthy, good-natured child."
Jonathan nodded. "Remember, we'd just crawled out of that overturned truck. In the back of our minds was the fear that there'd been another accident nearby, that you'd somehow survived when your parents ---! Well, I was afraid that any second we'd come upon a horrible car wreck..."
Martha Kent had begun to hum a little tune to the girl she carried, as her husband led the way, kicking clumps of smoldering cornstalks from their path.
"Kids... don't just fall out of the sky, Martha."
"Then where did she come from?"
"I don't know, but she must have parents."
They suddenly came to the end of the trench, and froze in shock. There was a strange metallic craft embedded in the ground just ahead of them.
She hugged the girl to her. "Well... if she does, they're definitely not from Kansas."
The longer they stared at the strange craft, the more accurate Martha's reaction seemed. Near one end of the vessel, a small hatchway gaped open, and in the raw earth alongside it were tiny footprints... just about the size of the girl's. The craft itself bore no familiar markings, nothing recognizable beyond the telltale scorch marks left by its fiery descent through the atmosphere. There were no flags or insignia of any nation on Earth, no logos from any military force of space agency.
They watched apprehensively for a while, wondering whether something else might emerge from the craft, something less innocent. All remained quiet. That was reassuring, but this was still a much stranger First Contact than from any science fiction movie that Jonathan and Martha had ever seen. There were no tentacled blobs, no giant insects, no big-headed humanoids with saucer-shaped eyes.
Just an utterly alien ship and a perfectly human-looking little girl.
Martha looked from the craft, to the girl, to her husband. Then she began gently rocking the child in her arms. Jonathan Kent didn't have to ask what his wife was thinking. She didn't care one bit where the girl had come from, not really. The bond between Martha and the child was growing stronger with every passing second.
Jonathan felt drawn to the girl as well, but a more down-to-earth question gnawed at him. "Sweetheart, we can't keep her. What're we gonna tell people? 'We found her in a field'...?"
Martha stared into the girl's eyes, convinced that they shared a destiny. "We didn't find her... she found us."
Jonathan looked up into the sky, as if looking for a sign, and the smoke seemed to part before them. He shook his head slightly, then started to smile. Maybe Martha was right. Maybe the girl had been sent to them.
"Wow." Claire Kent sat back in her chair. "So what did you tell people about where I came from?"
Jonathan Kent looked a little sheepish. "Actually, Claire, we wound up telling them that we found you wandering in a field. The whole area had been thrown for a loop by that meteor shower. Emergency services were taxed to their limits. County welfare was happy to let us provide foster care while the Sheriff's office tried to match you against the missing person files."
"We knew there was no one on Earth who could claim you, sweetie. Getting the approval for your adoption was complicated" --- Martha Kent took Jonathan's hand --- "but we managed to get through it."
"And the spaceship? How did you ever get it out of the field without anyone noticing?"
"With great difficulty and a lot of luck! Under cover of darkness." Jonathan shook his head at the memory. "I burned out a good winch engine getting that thing out of the ground and onto a wagon. We hid it under hay in the barn until I could enlarge the storm cellar."
Claire pushed her chair back from the table and stared off into space. Jonathan and Martha fell silent, giving their adopted daughter time to take it all in. The only sound in the kitchen was the soft whir of the refrigerator's compressor.
"Well..." Claire slowly turned back and looked at her parents. "... I have to say, I'm very glad I found you. A lot of people would have turned around and sold me to the Enquirer or something."
"Sell my little angel? Claire, have you been listening? You were the answer to all our dreams!" Martha went over and hugged her daughter. "You still are."
"That's right, li' darlin'. We've never regretted having you as our daughter." Daughter. Jonathan rolled the word around in his head. It triggered an old memory that made him grin. He leaned back and raised his cup. "To paraphrase the great Bill Cosby: 'You are my daughter. You will always be my daughter. And you can live here...' --- " he paused for dramatic effect --- " '... as long as you have a job.' "
Claire sighed and rolled her eyes. "Great. So the answers to all my questions ends with a sitcom punch line."
"Oh, that wasn't from one of Cos's TV shows, that was from a story about his father, from his old stand-up comedy routine."
Claire's jaw dropped. "Bill Cosby used to do stand-up?"
Jonathan looked from his daughter to his wife and threw up his hands in mock resignation. "Now this is what parenthood really comes down to: I try to reassure her, and she tries to make me feel really old."
"What can I say?" Claire looked at her mother and grinned. "It's my job!"
"Then I guess you get to stay!" Martha returned the grin, and Jonathan began to laugh.