On the surface, it might have appeared to be the start of just another Friday morning at Smallville High School. Attendance would be taken, homework assignments would be handed in and more assigned, and quizzes would be popped. Surreptitious notes would be written, passed, and read in the study halls. The principal's office would distribute the usual number of tardy slips to all of the usual latecomers. For lunch, the cafeteria would even feature a choice of fish sticks or macaroni with meat sauce, not all of which would end up inside the students.
The students and teachers of SHS would try their best to go about their normal routines in preparation for the start of the weekend. But there was no way that this particular Friday could ever be considered normal. This was the day that Stuart Harrison was returning to classes.
One thing that might have been considered normal was a student missing the bus that morning when it made its stop at Hickory Lane. Arriving on foot a few minutes later, the blonde found the schoolyard clear and over a dozen reporters huddled together at the edge of the grounds, sipping tepid coffee Styrofoam cups. As she drew near the gates, the group surged forward, thrust microphones at her, and voices shouted out.
"Hey! Over here!"
"Just a few words!"
"Hey!" the girl shoved a microphone away from her, barely resisting the urge to crush it. "Get that thing out of my face!"
"Honey, do you know Stuart Harrison?
"Did you ever go out with him?"
"What's he like?"
"He goes to my school. Hey, back off!" With a move that an NFL fullback would have been proud of, the girl shouldered aside an especially aggressive reporter and slipped through the gates. Striding determinedly along the walk and up the broad granite steps, she didn't stop until she was safely inside the school's main doors. As she closed the door behind her and leaned back against it, dropping her backpack at her feet and turning her head around to stare back through a window, a voice hailed her from the other end of the corridor.
"You make it through the gauntlet all right?"
Claire Kent turned around, recognizing the voice. "What the heck is going on? Who are all those people?" She waved a hand at the window.
Charlie Sullivan joined her at the window, his eyes remaining fixed on Claire. "Bunch of news agency stringers. I hear they started showing up just after dawn. They were banished to the edge of campus by order of Principal Reynolds." He sadly shook his head as if in sympathy. "They've been there ever since, watching for any sign of the Miracle Boy. Poor souls."
" 'Poor souls'?" There wasn't a hint of sympathy in her voice. "They're like vultures!"
Even though Charlie was the editor of the school paper, the Torch, he ignored the slur on his fellow reporters. "They're wasting their time. Reynolds arranged to have Stuart smuggled in via a bread truck. He's been here for half an hour already."
"Good for him." Letting out a small sigh, Claire turned away from the window. "One of 'em wanted to know whether I'd ever dated Stuart."
Charlie shrugged and let out a small sigh, wishing that she was dating him. At least none of the reporters had mistaken him for Stuart. "Like it or not, Stuart is news."
"That's no reason to put him through hell. He's been through enough already." If this is the way they respond to a "miracle cure," how would they react if they ever discovered my secret? Claire frowned. "And you want to be one of them?"
"No." Charlie rolled his eyes and wrinkled his nose as if he'd just smelled something disgusting. "Those are the galley slaves of the Fourth Estate, the lowest of the lowly. I never want to be like them. You don't have to be a creep to be a reporter, Claire."
"Well, I hope not."
"But you do have to be crafty." He smiled. "I've been working on my exposé, and I'm thinking we should make a return trip to the Compound."
"The Compound, hunh?" Couldn't you have planned this before they started collecting meteorites? "And who do you mean by 'we'?"
"You and me, and Petra. What do you say?"
"I'd say you don't believe that Jacobi has morphed into a true humanitarian. I mean, about establishing this new Institute of his."
"Let's say I'm skeptical. Maybe he has changed, but I went to last night's lecture and it was run just like before, your donations greatly appreciated."
Claire stared at him, surprised. She'd mentioned the Institute just to stall for time. She hadn't expected to hear this. "You spent money on another lecture?"
"No way! I simply went back to the Compound and said I'd like to do a follow-up feature on their new plans. And, presto, another free ticket." He waved a hand as if it held a magic wand. "Like I said, the format was the same, even if Jacobi's line of patter was on the nobler side. Now, maybe he really has had a change of heart --- I'm willing to grant that it's possible --- but I refuse to take it on faith. So... are you up for a little investigative skulking?"
Claire gave her head a slow shake. "I think that would be a big mistake, Charlie."
Charlie looked shocked. "What? Why?"
Because the Foundation is stockpiling rocks that make me sick as a dog. "Unh, because the people working for the Foundation probably aren't going to tell you anything useful. They're mainly volunteers, right?"
"Right. They're almost like DeadHeads --- they've put their day jobs on hold to be faithful little Foundation staffers."
"Uh-hunh. And how successful do you think you'll be, if you just show up and start grilling the faithful in full ambush-journalist mode?" Claire turned and looked out the window.
"Hmmm, you have a point." Charlie bit his lip contemplatively as he followed her gaze at the reporters gathered outside. "I don't want to tip off Jacobi too soon."
"Exactly!" Claire breathed a sigh of relief. "You need to dig up more background on the Foundation --- maybe keep your eyes and ears open for signs of discontent among the workers and follow up on that when they're off the Compound."
"Very good, Claire!" He smiled at her. "Sure I can't convince you to work for me on the Torch? You already have the instincts of an investigative reporter."
"I do?" Claire took a step back and winced as if she'd been slapped in the face.
"It's not a personal failing." Charlie started to chuckle. "I meant that as a compliment. Really." As he headed for his first class, he turned back and gave her a wink. "I look forward to seeing your byline on an exposé."
"Don't hold your breath!" Claire replied, giving her head a slow shake.
Between classes, Stuart Harrison moved through the halls like a young god. It was almost as if his long illness had never happened. He walked with a strong, surefooted stride. His skin had taken on a warm, healthy glow. His hair was already longer and thicker.
Many classmates stepped back to make way as Stuart passed among them. Some called out a greeting or encouragement. He acknowledged each and every one with a broad grin.
"Stu! Good to have you back!"
"It's good to be back!"
"Lookin' good, man!"
"Thanks. Feeling good, too!"
As Stuart crossed into the school's north corridor, he spotted a blonde bending over a drinking fountain. "Claire? Claire Kent!" He walked toward her.
It took a beat for Claire to recognize the tall fellow who called out to her. "Stuart?" Looking him over from head to toe, it was hard to believe that this was the same young man whom she'd helped carry from the tent just a week earlier. "Wow, you look great!" she said, and found to her surprise that she meant it.
"Yeah." Stuart chuckled. "I've been getting that a lot." He reached out and took Claire's hand. "Listen, my father told me what you and the others did for us. I want to thank you for that, and for giving the ambulance a push. I really appreciate it."
"That's okay. I'm glad I was there to help." Claire was a little surprised that the popular upperclassman knew her by name. "You'd have done the same for me."
"Well, I hope that's never necessary. But, yeah, if you ever need a hand ---"
"STU-U-U-U" Landon Lang came barreling down the corridor in full roar. Britney Fordman followed him at a somewhat more decorous pace. Landon slid to a halt beside Claire and threw a couple of air punches to just in front of his old friend's belly. "I knew you were too mean and ornery to die!"
"Lang!" Stuart laughed and grabbed Landon in a bear hug. He lifted the surprised quarterback a full foot off the floor, gave him a hearty shake, then let him drop. He then turned to the cheerleader. "Hiya, Brit!"
"Dude!" Landon took half a step back. His eyes were nearly as wide as his smile. "It's true! You're your old self!"
"Stronger than dirt but only half as dusty!"
"Man, it's too bad the season's over. We could've used you on the line!"
"Ah, you guys got along fine without me. 'Sides, I'm a little too busy these days for sports. I have a lot of class time to make up. Principal says, if I can maintain my GPA, I've got a good shot at landing the Carter Scholarship."
"The Carter ---?" Landon's smile started to falter. "No kidding? That pays full tuition to any college in the country."
"Hey, would I kid you? Yeah, if I can win the Carter, I'm set. Anyway, between getting back to speed on studies, and helping Doc Jacobi out with some Foundation work, I'm going to be a busy boy for a while."
"I can see that," Britney finally spoke. "I've been pretty busy myself lately. Since my dad's been laid up, I've been filling in a lot at the store."
"Brit! I didn't know." Stuart's smile faded as he turned to her. "Is it serious? Why didn't you say something?"
"You've had enough to worry about."
"Not anymore." Stuart snapped his fingers. "Hey, you should bring your dad out to see Doc Jacobi. A few meteorite sessions might be just what he needs. After all, Doc Jacobi gave me back my life."
"How can you be so sure of that?"
"Britney!" Landon was flabbergasted by her direct challenge, even though he and Claire had their doubts as well.
"It's okay, Lang. This is nothing new. The Doc told me that he's faced plenty of skeptics in the past." Stuart gave his full attention to Britney. "Heck, I was a skeptic myself. But, well you were there. You saw what happened."
"Stuart, I'm really, really glad that you're well. But last Friday night, I saw a flash of light, and then I saw you collapse onstage. That's all."
"Brit, you gotta understand." Stuart leaned forward and took her hand. For a moment, Claire thought he was about to kiss it. But he just held it, very gently. "I was dying. I had maybe two months to live at the most --- that was the best the oncologists could promise. Then I took part in Doc Jacobi's experiment, and look at me now! I'm not dying anymore, Brit. The tumors are gone, and so are the scars from all my previous surgeries. I've been completely healed!" He straightened up and threw out his chest. "I'm gaining back the weight I'd lost over the past couple of months. I'm me again. The other doctors couldn't explain it, but I'm sure it was Doc Jacobi's meteorite that cured me."
"Stuart..." Landon hesitated. "It's great that you're feeling so good again, but you can't know for certain ---!"
"Who knows what's 'for certain' in this crazy world, Landon?" Stuart continued to look at Britney as though she was the only other person on Earth. "Not even Doc Jacobi knows exactly how the meteorite cure worked, but it did. It must have. If it hadn't, I wouldn't be here, alive and well. That's why the Doc's work is so important. If we can study enough of those space rocks, and figure out their secret, maybe we could cure everybody. Maybe we could even change the world!"
"That's a... beautiful thought, Stuart." Landon could see how earnest he was. "I wish I could believe that some good could come out of that meteor shower."
Stuart released Britney's hand and placed his hand on Landon's shoulder. "It killed your parents, I know. And I can only imagine how much hurt that caused you, Lang. But a lot of weird things have happened this past year, and I'm telling you, those meteorites can be used for good. I'm living proof of that. I have so much to be thankful for." He looked around him, his gaze taking in Claire and Britney, as well as Landon. His smile broadened. "This morning, Principal Reynolds told me about the benefit concert you were planning. I don't know how to thank you."
"No thanks necessary, Stu." Landon gave his friend a playful punch on the shoulder.
Britney frowned at Landon. "Actually, it was Claire's idea." She moved a little closer to the other girl.
Claire dismissed the credit with a wave of a hand. "Sort of. But Britney and Landon did all the real work."
"Then I hope you didn't go to too much trouble on my account, 'cause it's not really necessary now."
"Oh? How so?"
"Lex Luthor picked up the tab for my recent hospital stay, and Doc Jacobi's making arrangements to cover any outstanding bills from before."
"He is? Really?" Landon seemed surprised. Well, at least that would be a good use for all the money Jacobi's been taking in.
"Really. I'm telling you, he's a great guy. I'd like to talk to you more about the Foundation's work" --- Stuart checked his watch --- "but I've got to get to my next class."
"We all do," Britney laughed nervously. "And me with an algebra quiz this period."
"Mr. Staples's class? I'm headed that way. Let me walk you there."
"Okay. Sure." Britney gave a little half-wave to Landon and Claire and fell in beside Stuart, other students parting to let them pass.
Landon opened his mouth as if he meant to say something, but nothing came out. He just stared, dumbstruck, as Britney and Stuart disappeared around the corner. It took him half a minute to find his voice. "What just happened here?"
Claire looked up at the much taller boy, confused by the question. "They left for class."
"No, before that." Landon gestured impatiently. "When Stu was telling Britney about all that meteorite stuff. The way she looked at him. It was like I wasn't even here."
"As if neither of us were here, Landon."
"Well, yeah! So what just happened?" Landon's face was a portrait of utter disbelief. All his life, he had been a winner. He always ran with the in crowd, dated the prettiest girl in school. Excelling at sports, he was an average student who nevertheless maintained good grades by charming the easy teachers and studying hard for the tough ones. Over the years, he had learned to overcome any obstacle, any opposition, whatever or whoever it was. But until now, Stuart Harrison had never been part of the opposition.
Landon and Stuart had been friends --- and teammates whenever the age difference allowed --- for as long as either of them could remember. Stu was a stand-up guy, and Landon would have done anything for him. But now, the quarterback realized the Stuart might be a serious rival for Britney's affection.
Landon looked completely baffled. What the hell do I do now?
Claire turned and studied Landon. There was no way Landon could fight his old friend, even if he wanted to. It wasn't just that Stuart had made a miracle recovery from a life-threatening disease. Stu had been well liked even before he'd fallen ill. He was, Claire realized, the one boy in school who might be even more popular that the star quarterback.
"Landon ---" She started to reach for his hand.
"What?" He turned toward her, bringing his hand out of her reach.
"Nothing." Claire sighed and let her hand drop. "I don't know what to say. Sorry."
"Yeah... well... see ya." Landon turned and lumbered off to his next class.
Claire had never seen him move with less confidence. With his Aunt Nell under Jacobi's spell, now there was a possibility that he might lose Britney. To his best friend, no less. While that might leave him available for her, she didn't want it to happen this way.
Somewhat to her surprise, Claire Kent found herself feeling sorry for the star quarterback.
By Saturday morning, James Wolfe knew for certain that the situation had gotten completely out of his control.
On the surface, things were better than Wolfe could ever have imagined. The publicity following Stuart Harrison's miracle cure brought money rolling into their coffers. Jacobi's lectures had resumed in the middle of the week to great acclaim. Every seat in the big tent had been filled. There had been standing room only. Donations filled the ushers' buckets nightly, and paid subscriptions to the Foundation BBS had more than doubled.
From a window in the second floor of the old Davis farmhouse, Wolfe could see out over their campground area. Every space was filled and would, he knew, remain that way through the weekend.
Outside, there was constant activity in what everyone was starting to call the Ascendance Compound. Several teams of Foundation members and volunteers continued to scour the countryside, digging up meteorite fragments and depositing them in the barn adjacent to the farmhouse. And there always seemed to be one camera crew or another on the grounds, following Donald Jacobi around as he pontificated on the promise and importance of his latest breakthrough.
The continuing media presence made Wolfe edgy, and he holed up in his room whenever the cameras came around, which meant that he had spent much of the past three days skulking about the second floor, going stir crazy. It almost seemed as if he'd seen more of Jacobi on television than he had in person. Wolfe finally resorted to sending messages to his partner through their security staff, just to arrange a meeting to discuss the weekend's lectures.
Wolfe was nervously pacing the floor of the downstairs parlor when Jacobi finally arrived.
"There you are. It's about time!" Wolfe crossed the room and made sure the door was locked. "What kept you? Having tea with the 60 Minutes crew?"
Jacobi laughed and saluted his partner with a long cardboard tube he carried. "Just attending to a little business, Jimmy. And, of course, I had to greet some of the newly enlightened faithful on the way in."
"Of course." Wolfe gave a sarcastic snort. "Look, Don, we're going into our biggest weekend ever. We have to plan out the program very carefully."
"That's no problem. We'll start with the usual opening. I'll spend the first ten to fifteen minutes working the audience, then we'll run the edited tape of the miracle cure, and end by introducing young Stuart." Jacobi pulled a large roll of papers from the tube and began to unroll them on the parlor table. "We'll let him tell his story --- the boy's getting good, a real natural --- then I'll take over and talk about the upcoming clinical trials. If no one in the audience has stood up to make a donation by then, you signal one of our plants. We can wing the rest of it."
"I suppose. But I still want to go over a few cues." Wolfe stopped, his attention drawn to drawings on papers Jacobi had unfurled. "What the devil is that supposed to be?" He bent toward them.
"Architectural renderings of the Institute for Advanced Meteorite Research!" Jacobi stepped back to survey the perspective drawings. "These are just the preliminaries, but aren't they beautiful?"
Wolfe straightened up, aghast. "You spent good money hiring an architect?"
"Not 'an' architect, Jimmy, the best firm in the region. I thought it would be good public relations to stick with local talent, people with a feel for the area, rather than bring in someone from out of state."
"But why go to all this trouble for --- Oh, no." Wolfe's jaw dropped, and the color began to drain from his face. "Don't tell me you're serious about going through with this pipe dream."
"It's not a pipe dream, Jimmy. I've outlined the plan to every reporter I've met with this week. We talked about it ---"
"You talked about it! And I thought it was just talk --- just sucker bait for the rubes. I never for one moment believed that you actually wanted to build in this cow town."
"We already have an option to buy this land, Jimmy. You insisted on that in the lease."
"That was just to build our credibility with the local savings and loan!" Wolfe ran both hands through his hair, as if trying to keep his scalp from splitting open. "Do you have any idea what a project like that would cost us?"
Jacobi nodded thoughtfully. "We'll need to establish a substantial building fund, but I have every confidence that we can do that. I've already got people started checking into government grants."
"Have you lost your mind?" Red-faced now, Wolfe grabbed his partner roughly by the lapels. "We've been very lucky here, luckier than we have any right to be. A week ago, I thought that we were cooked!"
Jacobi broke free of Wolfe's grasp and shoved him back. "A week ago, I saved a young man's life. I cured him, Jimmy!"
"That was a fluke! You fell into a manure pile and pulled out a pony. Don't press your luck --- there are still too many things that could trip us up."
"If I cured one, I should be able to cure others. What's gotten into you, Jimmy?" Jacobi sounded almost disappointed in his partner. "We can't stop now."
Wolfe took a deep breath and tried to massage away the pounding at his temples. "Don, we have to stop now. This is the sweetest deal we've ever pulled, but it can't last. Yes, we can probably milk it for another week or two, but then we'll need to move on."
"We're not moving, Jimmy. The Foundation is going to put down roots here." Jacobi's voice was firm. "I am going to build my Institute. I will collect all the meteorites I can, and test them until I understand how to make them work. I will lead the world into a new golden age!"
"Oh, my God!" Wolfe turned pale again and sat down heavily on the sofa, practically falling onto it. He stared up at Jacobi in total horror. This was something Wolfe had never expected. This changed everything. "You've bought into the con."
"It's not a con, Jimmy. Not anymore. It will take a lot of hard work on our part, but we can do this -- I know we can! And I am going to need all your help, all of your skill, to pull it off. Help me, Jimmy!" Jacobi held out his hand.
"No! No way, no how!" Wolfe evaded the offered hand, scrambling up off the sofa and backing away from his partner. He knew genuine evangelical fervor when he saw it, and he saw it all over Jacobi's face. "I can't work a con if my partner's a believer! It'll all fall apart for sure. I am out of here!" He strode to the door and unlocked it.
"Where do you think you'll go, Jimmy? Cleveland?"
Wolfe froze with his hand on the doorknob. Some things hadn't changed. Some things were still the same.
"No, not Cleveland." The edge was back in Jacobi's voice, cold and cutting. Wolfe knew that tone all too well. "It wouldn't be safe for you to go to Cleveland --- would it, Jimmy?" That edge meant that Jacobi had decided on a course, and not even an earthquake could budge him. He would do whatever it took to carry out his plan. "No, there are still too many people back there who would just love to know where to find you."
Sweat beaded up on Wolfe's forehead, and he slowly turned around. "You wouldn't ---"
"I wouldn't want to." Jacobi crossed the room. "I'd rather have you right here, alive and healthy, helping me take the Foundation to even greater heights. We're a team, Jimmy --- it wouldn't do to break up our winning combination now. Not when we're on the verge of launching such a great project. We have an opportunity to make a real difference in the world, a real contribution, and we must not waste another moment."
"Don, I'm old and I'm tired ---"
"Nonsense! There's nobody better qualified than you to run this operation. I don't want to have to train some new kid." Now it was Jacobi who grabbed Wolfe, but gently, with one hand on his shoulder. "Do this for me, Jimmy. Help me get the Institute up and running. Afterwards, if you still want to leave --- no problem. You can pack up and go wherever you like. I won't say a word."
Yeah, like I haven't heard that tune before. Wolfe hung his head.
"Tell me that you'll stay, Jimmy."
What choice do I have? Wolfe pushed the door shut behind him. He could hear the lock click shut. "I'll stay."
"That's my man!" Jacobi clapped him on the back. "Now, I believe there were some cues you wanted to discuss for tonight's performance?"
Wolfe nodded and slowly walked away from the door.
Sunday after lunch, Claire Kent finished a few lingering chores, and then set off on a brisk cross-country hike. Walking had always helped clear her head, and it was a good day to get out. Besides, she was almost leery of kicking back in her loft, afraid that someone new might drop by to vent. She hadn't minded listening to Charlie Sullivan, and she'd listen to anything Landon Lang might have to say, of course, but there had to be limits, didn't there? Yes, Claire had to draw the line somewhere. Everyone unloads on good ol' Kent. Who am I supposed to unload on? There were her parents, but she leaned on them too much as it was. Petra was pretty good at talking her through a mood, but she'd been preoccupied all week. Still walking briskly, Claire looked down the road and smiled. The answer was right in front of her.
She strolled up to the gate of the Luthor mansion and thumbed the intercom button.
"Good afternoon, Ms. Kent."
Claire smiled and waved toward the hidden camera. She knew that the metallic voice belonged to one of Luthor's security people, but she was never sure which one. Lately, she'd taken to thinking of the unseen guard as "Raspy."
There was a soft buzz, and the massive barred gate began to swing open. Claire quickly slipped through and headed up the gracefully curving drive.
The big oak door of the mansion swung open with her first knock, and a dark-suited butler gave a slow, formal nod and bade "Miss Claire" enter.
Claire nodded back. "Afternoon, Julius. Is Lex around?"
The butler's shoulders rose a fraction of an inch. "Miss Alexandra is currently running laps. You can no doubt intercept her by the main stair."
The main stair? Claire followed the hall deep into the heart of the mansion. Sure enough, just as she reached the great staircase, Lex Luthor appeared on the landing. She was clad in white shirt and shorts, and a fine sheen of perspiration was just beginning to coat her face.
"Lex!"
"Claire..." Lex descended the stairs with a measured, deliberate gait, and stopped at the bottom to catch her breath.
Claire ran her hand along the dark wood of the balustrade. "Is it really a good idea to run stair laps here?"
"Why not? I want to stay in shape, and this is a great cardio workout." Lex picked up a towel that had been draped over the banister and mopped her brow.
"No, I mean, is it good for the stairs? The wood is so nice."
"It was built to be walked on, Claire. Or run up, in my case. The staircase is at least a hundred years old." Lex draped the towel over her shoulders. "If it can last that long, I doubt that my lap work is going to do it much harm. Come on ---" she raised an arm and sniffed herself "--- if you can stand the smell."
Lex led a grinning Claire into a large adjacent room. She retrieved two bottles of springwater from the refrigerator of a corner wet bar and handed one to Claire. "So what brings you here?"
"I was just out taking a walk. Thought I'd drop in and say hello." Claire stopped with the bottle halfway to her lips. "I should have called first, shouldn't I? I'm sorry."
"Mmmmph!" Lex took a sip from her bottle. "It's all right. My door is always open to you, Claire. You know that." She pointed to the big mahogany pool table by the fireplace. "Join me in a game of stripes and solids?"
"Sure." Claire started racking the balls, while Lex pulled a couple of cues from a cabinet mounted along one wall. "I was talking to Stuart Harrison the other day. He said that you paid the bill for his stay in the hospital."
"That's right." Lex handed Claire a cue.
"That was a nice thing to do." Claire sighted down the cue. It was straight, of course. Her friend wouldn't have tolerated a warped one in her house.
" 'Nice'." Lex chuckled. "You know, there are any number of people who would be surprised to hear that word applied to me." She began chalking up. "Given the circumstances, I just wanted to make sure young Mr. Harrison got the best of care. Besides, I was curious to see if there was any known medical explanation for what had happened at that meeting. Mind if I break?"
Claire leaned on her cue. "Hey, it's your table."
Lex sent the cue ball smacking into a good, clean break, scattering the other balls across the felt. The twelve ball teetered for a moment at the edge of a corner pocket, and then fell in. "Looks like I'm stripes." She moved around the table to line up her next shot. "I would have offered the Harrisons help with the rest of their outstanding medical bills, but I knew that you and Landon had been planning a benefit to that purpose, and I didn't want to get in your way. I hear that the good Doctor Jacobi has since rendered that benefit unnecessary."
"According to Stuart, yeah." Chalking her cue, Claire looked out over the table. "I suppose that's a good thing. At least we know that some of the money the Foundation's collected is going to a good cause."
"I take it that you doubt Jacobi's abilities to heal the sick and infirm." Lex scored a solid hit on the fifteen ball, but just missed sending it into a pocket. "Your shot."
Claire finished chalking her cue. "I don't know what all to believe about Jacobi, but I don't trust him. I've talked to a few people who actually subscribed to the Ascendance Foundation computer BBS." She fitted the cue through her left hand and sent the one ball sailing into a side pocket. "One of them showed me a few pages of the 'members only' section, and I didn't see anything worth paying ten bucks a month."
"Neither did I."
"Don't tell me that you signed up!"
"Just for a three-month trial subscription. Aside from some vague promises about the power of the meteorites, most of it was predictable New Age nonsense about auras and vibrations and 'recharging your DNA'." Lex grinned. "I wasn't aware that my DNA could be jump-started like an old car battery."
"Tell me about it." Claire moved to the end and sighted up the table. "Charlie's been doing some digging, and as far as he can tell, Stuart was the first one with a really serious disease that Jacobi managed to 'cure' with his meteorite. All the other people that he's supposedly helped, have suffered from inflammation like bursitis or tendinitis, or from very mild cases of multiple sclerosis." She sent the cue ball ricocheting into the two ball, knocking it into the pocket in the far corner. "Things that either come and go, or clear up on their own."
"Yes, that's more or less what I've been able to determine, as well. Up until this point, Jacobi has been very careful not to promise anything from his meteorite 'research' that could easily be disproved. On the other hand, you and I both know that the meteorites of Lowell County have been the cause of some rather outré effects."
"I know. Stuart's cure was the first really good thing to be connected to the meteorites. It just burns me that the Foundation is using this to soak money from a lot of decent people." With an angry lunge of her cue, Claire sent the three ball careening into the four ball, sinking both.
Lex looked at one pocket and then the other, and then across the table at Claire. "Is this a hustle?"
"Charlie thinks so." Intent on lining up her next shot, Claire didn't look up from the table.
"No, I meant ---!" Lex started to wave her pool cue over the table and then shook her head and pulled back the stick. "Never mind. Go on."
"The impression I get is that, for the past few years, Jacobi had just used his meteorite as a glow-in-the-dark prop, like for crystal power or something. He more or less admitted that Stuart's cure was an accident." Claire sent the cue ball whizzing across the table toward a small cluster of balls. It knocked the ten ball into the five, which then started rolling slowly down the table. "I don't think that Jacobi knew that there was anything special about the local meteorites until he ran across Charlie's stuff." At the far end of the table, the five ball bumped past the fourteen and dropped into a corner pocket with a soft thunk.
"Nice shot. The question is" --- Lex tapped the end of her pool cue --- "is Jacobi a total fraud, or does he believe the claptrap he's been spreading? It's been my experience that many of these self-styled therapists and teachers are quite sincere. And Jacobi has been carrying a meteorite around with him for some years now."
Claire's stick glanced off the cue ball. Straightening up from the table, she got a horrible, sinking feeling deep in her gut. In her mind, she could picture what Charlie Sullivan called the Wall of Weird, a collection of clippings and pictures. "You don't suppose that he's been affected, do you?" she asked, looking across the table at Lex. "Like Heather Fox?"
Heather Fox had been a student at Smallville High. She'd always been an animal rights activist, opposed to the use of fur and even meat for food. Through the meteorites, she'd gained the ability to take on the form of any animal she touched. Incensed by the LuthorCorp display of animal trophies used as the backdrop for the speech competition at the Lowell County Fair, she'd gone on a rampage. It had taken everything Claire had to stop Heather and save the lives of the speakers, including Landon Lang.
"No, Claire, I doubt very much that Jacobi has gained any special powers from his meteorite. He's just naturally charismatic. That in itself can be dangerous enough." Lex applied a bit more chalk to her cue stick and contemplated the arrangement of the balls on the felt surface. "But remember what he said about not having had a cold for over three years? There must be something to that besides hot air." She considered one shot, rejected that, and moved into a new position across the table from Claire. "Did you know that mildly elevated white blood cell counts are common among the citizenry of Smallville?"
"Really?"
"Especially in those who'd lived here at the time of the meteor shower. And particularly in those who were young children at the time, or those who were born right around then. A little gem of information I picked up from my personal physician." Lex banked the cue ball off the side of the table, sending it clicking sharply against the fifteen ball --- but too hard. The ball hit just shy of the pocket and bounced back. "Ah, so close!"
Straightening up, Lex pointed her stick across the table at her friend. "Think about it, Claire. Aside from Stuart Harrison, how many locals of our generation have suffered life-threatening illnesses?"
"Well, there was... no, he and his folks had just moved here from Nebraska." Giving her head a quick shake, Claire thought for a moment further. "Nobody," she eventually added.
"Precisely." Lex shifted her cue stick from hand to hand. "Jacobi may be on to something after all. Perhaps we should all keep a chunk of meteorite on hand."
Yeah, that would be all I need. Claire's expression soured. "I think I'd rather keep my distance for now. Those green rocks have had too many bad side effects."
"Granted, that has been a problem. But just imagine what might be accomplished if we could eliminate all the ill effects and amplify the beneficial ones."
"Now you're starting to sound like Jacobi. Isn't that what he has planned with this new Institute of his?"
"That's what he's announced. But to pull it off, he'll need to attract scientists with much better credentials than his own. Whether he can do that remains to be seen. Oh, it's your shot, by the way." Lex surveyed the table. "I'm afraid I've left things in a mess for you."
"No kidding." Claire walked around the table, stopping every few feet to check out angles. "This will be tricky." The striped balls blocked any easy shots. She scooped up the chalk and began slowly rubbing it onto the tip of her pool cue. "The problem is, there is something to the whole meteorite thing. Let's suppose, just for the sake of argument, that Jacobi isn't a fake. If he believes completely in everything else he says, that still makes him pretty flaky."
Lex nodded. "I would tend to agree with that."
Claire bent over the table. She sighted down her cue for a second, then straightened up. "What if he sets up this Institute and attracts more 'scientists' like himself? A lab full of flakes might just wind up unleashing more crazy weirdness around here."
Lex frowned. "That is a distinct possibility."
"Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of." Claire shook her head and bent back down over the table. With one smooth thrust of the cue, she sent the white ball barreling forward, smacking into two of the striped balls. They, in turn, collided with the others in a chain reaction that sent the six and seven balls spinning into opposite corners, dropping them both into the pockets.
"I don't believe this." Lex stared down at the table. Six striped balls sat scattered across the felt. The eight ball was nestled near a side pocket, with the cue ball at rest just eight inches away. "Claire, are you sure you haven't been experimenting with meteorites?"
"Believe me, Lex, I try to stay as far away from them as I can!"
"Then, how ---?" Lex waved her cue over the table.
"This?" Claire modestly tipped her head. "It's just simple geometry."
"Never my favorite branch of math. Though there's obviously something to be said for its mastery." Lex rubbed her chin and gave her friend a wry look. "Well, don't just stand there grinning! Go ahead and knock in the eight ball!"
Game over, Claire leaned back against the wall. "Best two out of three?"
"You're on!"
It was midafternoon by the time Claire Kent left Lex Luthor's mansion. Nightfall was still hours away, but she knew that the large wooded area between the Luthor estate and Hickory Lane would provide all the cover she needed to race home. She stepped into the shadow of the trees and --- once she was out of sight of any passing cars --- cut loose. She sprinted through the glen, covering miles in a matter of seconds. Claire ran so fast that she was no more than a passing blur to the fauna of the woods. To her own eyes, the birds seemed frozen in place, suspended in midair on frozen wings.
As she burst from the woods, Claire slowed to a more human pace and jogged on down Hickory Lane to the Kent farm. She left the road and turned down the drive. That was when she saw a familiar sedan parked midway between the house and the barn.
"Hey, Claire!" Petra Ross came out the back door, licking her fingers.
"Hey, Petra!" Claire jogged to a halt and stood there, pretending to catch her breath. "Good pie?"
"Yeah, your mom's is the best in the county." She stopped, puzzled eyebrows rising. "How did you know?"
"You still have a little on your chin."
Petra ran a finger over her chin and licked it blissfully. "Make that the best in the nation."
"What brings you over here? Besides the pie, I mean."
Petra swept an arm toward the car. "Le Coupe de Ross!"
"No, seriously."
"I am being serious, girlfriend. Cast your mind back to two Friday nights ago. Remember our slip-slidin', mud-divin' ambulance rescue? Remember how you said my father wouldn't kill me on account of how understanding he was?"
"Uh-hunh. And I was right." Claire poked Petra's shoulder with her index finger. "I must have been. You're way too solid to be a ghost."
"Well, you were partially right. After I brought his car back with a muddy interior, Pop was not very happy. Then I explained how and why it got muddy, and he said he was proud of me." Petra popped the trunk and bent down to rummage around inside. "So, no, he didn't kill me." She pulled a large cardboard box from the trunk and handed it to Claire. "He decided to work me to death instead." Petra slammed the trunk lid shut. "Pop made me wash the car and shampoo the entire interior. And that was just last weekend."
"And this weekend?" Claire shook the box gently.
"I had to wash it --- again. And now, he wants me to wax it! That's crazy, right? Who waxes cars anymore? I mean, it's not as if it's a classic or something." Petra shook her head. "He says this'll be good for me. Teach me responsibility. Build character. All the usual parent-speak."
"Let me guess." Claire lifted a rag and a jar of Turtle Was from the box. "You were wondering if I'd give you a hand."
Petra looked at her sheepishly. "Would you? None of my brothers would lift a finger for me."
"Yeah, I'd probably better." Claire tossed her the jar and then started rolling up the sleeves of her pink shirt. "You're already enough of a character as it is."
"I knew I could count on you!" Petra pulled another rag from the box. "Which side do you want, driver's or passenger's?"
On the north side of Smallville sat an establishment called Denehey's PitStop. Outside were ten gas pumps, four of them dispensing diesel fuel, and a three-bay garage fully equipped with hydraulic lifts and boasting a mechanic on duty around the clock. Inside the large central building, just to the right of the cashier, you could find aisle after aisle of sale items --- everything from video game cartridges and American flag decals to pork rinds and antelope jerky. In the far corner, just past the self-service coffee machines and the display of cellophane-wrapped pastries (sell-thru date: anywhere from three months to three years), was a short row of fiberglass booths where a weary traveler might pause for a few moments while ingesting a prepackaged microwaved sandwich.
James Wolfe sat alone at the end booth, nursing a small plastic tube to stir the nondairy creamer into a sixteen-ounce coffee, while he once again perused a copy of that morning's Lowell Ledger. Page 1B showed one of the architectural drawings (in color, no less) of the proposed Institute for Advanced Meteorite Research, along with an article about how the Ascendance Foundation was cutting back on its lecture series to concentrate on the new building projects. Yeah, yesterday's lecture was the last one for the foreseeable future. Don is actually shutting down a proven moneymaker before its time. He took a tentative sip of the coffee, made a face, and tore open two packets of sugar. He's serious about this. He fully intends to settle down here. I give it two months, tops, before he and the Potter woman are married. He didn't see how things could possibly get any worse.
"Mr. Wolfe?"
"Eh?" Wolfe looked up from stirring the bitter coffee, to find a stranger standing alongside the booth. There was nothing flashy about the man. He was dressed simply, in dull colors, from his loafers to his cap. The mirrored sunglasses that hid his eyes were the only thing at all distinctive about him.
"You're one of the gentlemen from the Foundation, aren't you?"
"Yes. Yes, I am." Wolfe automatically slipped into his best meet-and-greet smile. "May I help you?"
"Maybe we can help each other. I understand that you've had some problems in the past."
"Problems? I don't understand ---"
"Back east. In Cleveland, I believe."
Wolfe could see his smile freeze in place in the reflection of the stranger's glasses. "I'm afraid you must have me mistaken for someone else. I've never been to Cleveland."
"Oh, I think you have, Mr. Wolfe." He leaned in closer. "Or should I say, Mr. Wilbury?"
Wolfe's eyes darted around, looking to see if anyone else was within earshot. "What do you want?"
"I just want to talk. But this isn't a very good spot. You never know who might come in." A tight smile flickered over the stranger's face. "My car's parked outside, just around the corner. Right next to yours, in fact. Why don't you meet me there in a minute or two, and we'll have us a little conversation?"
Wolfe pretended to read his paper, but his eyes never left the man. The stranger strolled over to the cashier, where he bought a copy of the Ledger and a Snickers bar, before shouldering the glass door open and exiting. Wolfe forced himself to choke down about half of the coffee before he rose and walked outside as nonchalantly as he could manage. Around the corner of the building, he found the stranger waiting in a car right next to his, just as promised. He looked around twice before opening the passenger's side door and getting in.
"Nice car you have there, Mr. 'Wolfe.' Foundation buy that for you?"
"It was a gift. A recent donation from one of our members."
"Must be nice."
"Look, what do you want? Who are you?"
"Who I am doesn't really matter. It's who you are. You've used a lot of different names in the past." The stranger thumbed through a file folder. "Winslow, Winslade, Wilbury. That last one was the name you were using when you pulled that job in Cleveland, the one where everything went so badly. One of those wrong-place-at-the-wrong-time things, wasn't it? Something about the guy you were fleecing being on the outs with the mob. There was gunplay, a dead body or two. And you wound up in the middle, spilling your guts to save your sorry ass. I've got to hand it to the Feds, though, they really came through for you. Witness Protection Program gave you a new identity; plastic surgery gave you a new face. And after a while, you fell in with Jacobi and started the Foundation racket. Very slick."
"How did you get your hands on that file?"
"Collecting information is my job, Jimmy. People hire me to find out things. Now, take your buddy Jacobi --- he's practically a public figure. Cagey fella, but I was able to find out all about him right down to his high-school and college grades." The stranger shook his head. "Not very good, were they? You were the tougher one to pin down. I kept getting dead ends. And that made me suspicious." He tapped the side of his head with the file folder. "The Feds did a good job on you, Jimmy. But they couldn't change your fingerprints, could they?"
"You're not working for the mob, or I'd already be dead. What do you want? Money?"
"Money? No, your pockets aren't deep enough, Jimmy. See, your Foundation has set up shop in a most unfortunate location. Certain parties don't want you there. They would like you all to go somewhere else, preferably far away."
"We can't do that. My partner has already made plans ---"
"Then you'll just have to make him change those plans."
"You don't know Don Jacobi. When he sets his mind to something ---"
"Who are you more afraid of, your partner or the mob?" The stranger waved the file folder at him. "It would be a real shame if this information got to the wrong people. Now, if you close down this shop and get out of town, no one will ever have to know. But if you don't...? Well, having your story plastered all over the papers will be the least of your worries, now won't it?"
"You ---" Wolfe pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and daubed at his brow. "You can't do this to me. Please ---?"
"It's not my decision to make now. It's yours. You have until the end of the week." The stranger's lip curled into a sneer. "I suggest you get busy."
Wolfe backed out of the stranger's car and swung the door shut. He leaned back against his own car, heart pounding, as he watched the vehicle pull away. He fumbled in his pocket for the keys, and when he finally managed to pull them free, he dropped them. He scooped them up off the pavement, his hand trembling slightly as he slipped the key into the door lock. He desperately wanted a drink, but knew the liquor store was already closed for the night.
James Wolfe would have been even more nervous if he'd noticed that one of the truck stop's mechanics had been watching him from the shadows of the garage area.
As Wolfe's car pulled away, the mechanic stepped to the back of the garage and fed coins to an old pay phone. He punched in a special number he'd committed to memory.
The phone was answered on the third ring. "Yes?"
"It's Arnie down at the PitStop. You wanted I should call if I ever saw anything suspicious."
At the other end of the line, a young dark-haired woman listened intently. "I see. And you got the license number of the other car? Good work, Arnie ---- give it to me." She wrote it down. "Uh-huh. And Wolfe just left? Yes, Arnie, this is very interesting. If you see or hear any more, be sure to let me know. I'll be in touch."
Lex Luthor hung up and sat back in her chair. From the sequence of numbers Arnie had given her, she knew that the plates had been issued to a car from Lowell County. She knew that didn't prove anything --- after all, thousands of plates were issued in Lowell County every year. But she couldn't shake the feeling that the man who had met with Wolfe was somehow connected with Lionel Luthor. She doubted that her father was directly calling the shots (the old man sought plausible deniability in all things), but it was quite possible that some underling, or a series of underlings, was involved. The question was, who?
She retrieved the phone and hit a number near the bottom of her speed-dialer. One ring got her a pickup.
"Inquisitor. Nixon."
"Hello, Roger. Can you talk?"
"Yeah, just give me a sec ---" The sound of a door closing carried over the phone, and background noise all but disappeared. "All clear, Ms. Luthor. If this is about Jacobi, I haven't much more than I gave you last time."
"Every little bit helps, Roger, but this first item ought to be a little simpler. I have a license plate I want you to run down for me."
Nixon took the number. "You're right, that's definitely a Lowell plate. Shouldn't take too long to trace --- half an hour, an hour at the most."
"Good. Now getting back to the Foundation, what have you been able to find?"
"Not much on Jacobi, though I'm supposed to be getting a copy of his college transcript tomorrow. And Wolfe --- man, that guy is another matter!"
"In what way?"
"Wolfe's like a ghost. I can't find anything on him at all. It's as if the man didn't exist before he started working with Jacobi."
"That's impossible, Roger. Everyone leaves a paper trail of some sort."
"Hey, I'm just telling you what I found --- or didn't, in this case."
Lex mulled that over. "Keep digging, Roger. I get the feeling that Mr. Wolfe's past just might provide us with the missing piece of this puzzle."
Jonathan Kent strolled from the living room into the kitchen, trying unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn. "I was having this wonderful dream about pie." He gazed at the still mostly full pan on the table and broke into a grin. "But I see that it wasn't a dream at all. Strawberry rhubarb?"
"Uh-huh." Martha gave him a peck on the cheek. "And you would've gotten the first piece, if you hadn't fallen asleep watching your movie."
"Well, someone certainly made a dent in the baked goods." Jonathan kissed her full on the lips. "Mmmm... wasn't you. I take it our wandering girl has returned from her hike?"
"Yes, but she hasn't gotten to the pie yet. Petra Ross beat you both to it this time."
"You mean I'm facing competition from two growing teenagers?" Jonathan opened a drawer and reached for a fork. "I'd better get to work while there's still some left!"
"At ease, soldier!" She plucked the fork from his hand and pushed the drawer closed. "Backup pies one and two are in the oven right now." Right on cue, a timer on the counter gave a ding. "And it sounds like they're done. While they're cooling, why don't you go see how the girls are doing out back?"
"Might as well." Jonathan sat down to pull on his shoes. "What are those two little troublemakers up to this afternoon?"
"I believe 'Tom' came over to get 'Huck' to help whitewash a fence." Martha opened the oven door and started transferring the pies to a cooling rack.
"Ah, that old trick." Jonathan finished cinching his laces. And just what sort of 'fence' are we talking about?"
"I'm not sure of the make, but I think it has an automatic transmission."
"Gotcha."
Jonathan took one last lingering sniff of the cooling pies, and headed out the back door. As he rounded the corner of the house, he saw the girls buffing Dale Ross's car to a brilliant shine. Petra seemed to be razzing Claire about something.
"Must be nice knowing someone with her own pool table. Probably lets you waltz right in and play whenever you feel like it, huh? Or use the hot tub, or maybe the sauna?"
"It's no big deal," Claire Kent said, buffing a fender so hard she almost put a dent into it. "I'm sorry I even brought it up."
"If you really want to be sorry, just mention your new buddy around my father. Ever seen a black man turn red?" Petra Ross wiped a bit of wax from the base of the car's radio antenna. "Believe me, that is something you do not want to witness up close!"
"What, just because of that business deal ---?"
"Business deal?" Petra blew a raspberry. "A screw job is more like it. Lex's old man bought controlling interest in the creamed corn plant that Pop and Uncle Bill worked so hard to establish. Then, he sold off all the assets and set up a fertilizer plant on the site. A fertilizer plant. I tell you, Pop has no use for anyone named Luthor."
"I can relate, Petra. My dad feels pretty much the same way."
Jonathan Kent decided he'd been eavesdropping long enough. "I feel the same way about what?" He knew darned well what the answer was, but he wanted to hear it directly.
"Oh, uh --- hi, Mr. Kent." Petra started gathering up the buffing rags. "We were just talking about fathers in general. My father... you ---"
Jonathan cocked his head. "... Lex's father?"
"Pa, we weren't comparing you to ---!"
Jonathan held up a hand. "I overheard a little of what you were talking about. And I do sympathize with your father, Petra. Most people who've dealt with Lionel Luthor have fared even worse. Every land deal he's been involved with around here has been crooked."
"Every one?"
"Every one I know of, Claire. Remember how I told you about the Bells, the Guys? How they lost their land?"
"Your dad's right, Claire. The Luthors always play with crooked cards."
"That's exactly right, Petra. And something else --- maybe the thing I like least about the Luthors is the way they try to buy everything."
"Come on, Pa, that isn't true."
"Oh, no?" Jonathan pointed directly at his daughter. "Remember that new truck Lex tried to give you?"
"Truck?" Petra gaped at Claire. "When did she give you a truck?"
"After Claire pulled her out of the river."
Petra was stunned. "You never told me about any truck."
"There didn't seem to be much point." Claire started scuffing at the grass with the toe of her shoe. "Pa made me return it."
Petra whipped her head around to stare at her best friend's father. "You made her give it back?"
"That's right." Jonathan crossed his arms across his chest. "I didn't like where the money to buy it had come from."
"You can't blame Lex for that, Pa. And she's put her money to work making things better for people. She's helped the Harrisons, the school ---!"
"Oh, I'll concede that Lex seems to have done some good around here. She's not Lionel Luthor --- not yet. I know, I know." Jonathan waved off his daughter's objections. "I shouldn't blame Lex for what her father's done And I try not to. It's not her fault, the way she was brought up --- but she's still a Luthor. I wouldn't expect anyone to grow up as part of that family and be even halfway honest. It's a classic case of ---"
" 'Nurture over nature'!" Petra blurted it out almost before she realized it. "I'm sorry, Mr. Kent. I didn't mean to interrupt. Ms. Wesley --- my bio teacher --- was talking about that just last week."
"Sounds like she knows what she's talking about. I remember an old saying my father used to quote: 'Just as the twig is bent, the tree is inclined.' "
"Pa, that 'old saying' was from Alexander Pope, and he was writing about education."
"Well, Pope knew the score, too." Jonathan nodded thoughtfully. "But there are all kinds of education, Claire. And the kind that rubs off on children from being around their family is one of the most basic. Lex may have been raised in the lap of luxury, but did her father ever bounce her on his knee? I don't know, but I'd guess not. That girl is one of the coldest people I've ever met."
Claire threw up her hands. "Well, now you're not being fair at all. How much time have you really spent around Lex? You hardly know her. So she's a little laid-back."
" 'Laid-back'? She has ice water in her veins."
"Pa!"
"Remember the day you pulled her from the river? How she acted afterwards? She was the one who'd been driving like a maniac, who'd nearly gotten herself killed --- but from the way she strutted around, you'd have thought she was in charge of the rescue. I'll never forget that smug look on her face when she introduced herself. I half expected her to hand me her business card next."
"Yeah." Petra snickered. "Probably from a waterproof platinum case."
Jonathan snorted. "No doubt."
"All right, that's enough! That's just a gross exaggeration. And you weren't even there, Petra." Claire was getting annoyed. "We were all pretty shaken up that day. And Lex doesn't always keep her cool."
"Oh, yeah?" Petra was a little annoyed herself. "Name one time that she lost it."
Claire thought back to the time Lex... but her father would probably still dismiss Lex's reactions. She could hear him now, calling it "the exception that proves the rule."
"It's happened, all right?" she said instead. "Plenty of times."
"Whoa!" Petra was surprised by how steamed Claire was becoming. "It's okay, girlfriend. I believe you."
"I'm tired of people writing Lex off, before the fact."
"Take it easy, lil' darlin'!" Jonathan wasn't happy, being challenged this way in front of Petra. "I was just saying ---"
"I know what you were saying, Pa. I hear it all the time. You've never given Lex half a chance."
"Well... uh... I gotta be going." Petra gathered up her supplies and eased back toward the car. She'd witnessed enough arguments between her older brothers and her own father. She didn't want to be in the middle if these two were at it. "See you around, Claire. Mr. Kent."
"Yeah." Jonathan gave her a nod in place of a wave. "Give your dad my best, Petra."
There was an awkward silence between the Kents as Petra pulled away.
Jonathan took a deep breath and broke it. "Claire, I know you think of Lex as a friend, but ---"
"Pa, I'm just tired of hearing you talk about her as if she were already a lost cause. You're letting your opinions of her father color how you look at her, and you always have."
"All right," Jonathan admitted. "I suppose I have. I wish I didn't feel that way, but there it is." He leaned back against a fence post and rubbed his eyebrows, just above the bridge of his nose. "The name Luthor has been part of too many raw deals in this county. The Ross corn plant swindle is just one example."
"Pa, listen to yourself. You're talking about Lionel Luthor again. Lex had nothing to do with that."
"Yes, and she might prove me wrong. But I'm not banking on it. Lex is a Luthor, Claire. She has a lot of family history to overcome."
"And you're not going to go out of your way to cut her any slack, is that it?"
Jonathan's face was turning red. "She's grown up accustomed to power. And the bottom line is --- power corrupts."
"It doesn't have to. Or do you think I'm in danger of becoming corrupt?"
"I never said that. I'd never suggest such a thing."
"Then don't go about speaking in absolutes." Claire's face was reddening now as well. "You're pretty fond of quoting Pope. Well, here's another one for you: 'The fate of all extremes is such. / Men may be read, as well as books, too much. / To observations which ourselves we make, / We grow more partial for th' observer's sake.' Think about that, Pa."
"Lil' darlin' ---?" Jonathan blinked and found himself alone in the yard. A trail of settling dust was the only indication of the direction Claire had taken. He shook his head and followed the trail to the house, muttering to himself. "What're they teaching kids these days? I didn't read any Pope until my senior year. When did she get so smart?"
"Jonathan ---?" His wife looked up as he entered.
"Where's Claire?"
"I don't know. She stormed through here like a tornado, said not to hold dinner for her, and left. What is going on?"
"We... had a bit of a discussion."
"Jonathan, what did you say to her?"
"I merely suggested that Lex Luthor might not be the most trustworthy member of society."
Martha Kent sighed. Here we go again. She knew her husband's opinion of their daughter's newest friend all too well. She understood his misgivings --- she had a few about Lex herself --- but she also worried over how unbending her husband could be. "You know, you could be wrong about Lex."
"I could be. But I don't think so." Jonathan paced halfway around the kitchen, then turned and paced back. "You mark my words, Martha, time will prove me right about that kid."
"Okay, let's assume you're right. You haven't convinced Claire, have you?" She put her hands on her hips. "You keep up this way, and you'll just wind up alienating our daughter. That won't do either of you any good."
Jonathan stopped pacing and ran a hand through his hair. "You're right... as usual. I just don't want to see her get hurt."
"Neither do I, but we can't pick her friends for her. Claire's a big girl now. We have to trust her to do the right thing."
"I know. It's just that... I keep remembering all the stupid things I did when I was her age. I'd like to spare her some of that."
Martha smiled and hugged him. "I remember some of those things. They weren't all so stupid. And Claire has an advantage you didn't have."
"And what would that be?"
"A more open and understanding father."
Jonathan grimaced. "I don't know that Claire would agree right this moment. I'm not even sure I would."
"Well, there's always room for improvement." She planted a little kiss on his cheek. "But you're not afraid to admit when you're wrong. Maybe you should just be a little more willing to admit it to Claire... and a little more accepting of her friends."
He kissed her back. "I'll try."
"That's all I ever ask." She smiled up at him. "So... looks like it's just going to be the two of us for dinner. When would you like to eat?"
"I don't know. I'm not very hungry right now."
"Neither am I. But then, I've been nibbling at the pie fixings all afternoon. We should have some vegetables to tide us over ---" Martha stared at the counter, one eyebrow rising. "That's odd."
"What's odd, hon?" Jonathan glanced around the kitchen without seeing anything out of the ordinary.
"The pies I set out to cool. One of them is missing."
Claire Kent trudged along a back-country road at not too much more than a human pace, trying to walk off her dark mood. She knew that if she stayed at home, she would just get angrier, and maybe say something to her father that she'd really regret later.
Claire was angry on Lex Luthor's behalf, but she was also genuinely troubled over what her father and Petra Ross had said. She had never known her father to lie to her. Keep things from her, yes, like the spaceship in the storm cellar and truth about her origin. But he'd done it for her benefit, as he'd seen it. And Petra was always straight with her. They both tended to exaggerate, but usually for the sake of a joke, not about the serious stuff. And they were both very serious about Lex.
And they had never both been wrong about something at the same time.
But they had to be wrong about this. I know Lex better than they do. She's nothing like her father. At least, nothing like the man her father was supposed to be. Claire realized that she knew Lionel Luthor mainly by reputation, and by a few veiled references that Lex had dropped. Maybe it was time she learned more.
Claire returned to the gated mansion on Beresford Lane and buzzed for admittance.
Lex Luthor looked up as her friend entered the main hall. "Claire? I didn't expect to see you back here so soon." She noticed that Claire was carrying a small package and seemed somewhat agitated. "What, you want another game already? Didn't you beat me enough for one day?"
"No, it's not that. It's..." Claire hesitated. "Well, I needed to get away from the house. I don't want to wear out my welcome, but I was wondering if I could just hang out here for a while?"
"Of course. You can tell me all about it over dinner. I'll have Monique set an extra place."
"Thanks. I brought dessert." Claire started opening her package. "This is to make up for earlier. Ma always said we should never go visiting empty-handed."
"Claire, that wasn't necessary ---" Lex peered into the package. "Is this by any chance homemade?"
"Strawberry rhubarb. My mom's specialty."
Lex took the package and put an arm around her friend. "In that case, I think we should have dessert first."
"All right --- out with it." The brunette leaned forward and stared across the table at the blonde. "You and your family have kept this secret long enough."
"Secret?" The blonde stared back at the brunette, momentarily confused. "What secret?"
"Don't play innocent with me, Claire."
Claire Kent saw an intense look in Lex Luthor's eyes, and began to feel some concern. Setting down the fork on her empty plate, she sat up straight and crossed her arms defensively across her chest. It had bothered Lex that she couldn't remember more about her rescue from the river. The young millionaire had even hired a team of mechanics to inspect the wreckage of the Porsche, but they hadn't been able to tell her how the roof had gotten peeled back. Once, Lex had bluntly challenged Claire over it. Lately, though, she seemed to have gotten over that obsession. Is she starting to suspect again...?
"I have to know, Claire." Lex casually scraped her own fork through the last of the crumbs on her plate. "If your mother can bake pies like this, how is it that you Kents don't each weigh around four hundred pounds? What, do you all have some extra fat-burning gene the rest of humanity doesn't know about?"
"Ah, that!" Relieved, Claire leaned back and spread her arms wide. "It just comes from clean living and hard work, Lex. You don't see many fat farmers. And sometimes I think Pa really wanted a son; there're days he works me like one." And then there are days I really have to work.
"Ah ha! I knew there had to be a catch," the brunette grinned. "Perhaps I should get rid of my free weights and just help you bale hay. Some hard, honest work might do me good." She contentedly licked the crumbs off her fork and laughed sardonically. "Even better, it would annoy the hell out of my father."
"Yeah, it probably would." Chuckling, Claire tried to picture the young millionaire doing farm work, working with her perfectly manicured hands, putting her back into it. Working with her muscles instead of with her brain. Baling hay, as Lex had suggested. Or mucking a stable.
Claire failed spectacularly, her imagination completely unequal to the task. And as for Lionel Luthor, Lex's father... Sobering, she dropper her hands to her lap and leaned forward. "Lex... about your father ---"
"Yes? What about him?" Lex set down her fork and looked across the table at Claire.
"Seems to me I've been hearing about Lionel Luthor most of my life ---"
"And very little of it good, I would guess."
"He conducted a lot of land and business deals in this area, and none of them worked out very well for the people around here. "The Bells, the Guys, the Rosses --- none of them have been very happy with the way things turned out. But your father --- he didn't set out to screw them, did he? I can't believe that anyone could be so... so ---"
"Calculating?" Lex looked totally unperturbed. "You don't know my father. I wouldn't be at all surprised if it's true. In fact, much of it I'm sure is true. And the rest...? Let's just say that I think it's very likely. Lionel Luthor is one of the coldest SOBs you're ever likely to encounter --- in this country, at least --- and proud of it."
"How does that make you feel?" Claire bit her tongue, instantly regretting the question. It reminded her of those reporters who badgered the relatives of murder victims --- or murderers. So, Mrs. Jones, how did you feel when the police discovered the bodies your son had hidden in the deep freeze?
"Feel? Nothing, really." Lex's voice was calm, even, and totally detached. She might as well have been discussing a cloudy day. "I learned a long time ago that where my father was concerned, feeling are irrelevant. No, worse than irrelevant. Feelings are dangerous around my father. They just get in the way." One corner of her mouth arched into a frosty little smile. "So now I just... study my father. To learn what not to do."
But you've already learned how to be cold. You can cut yourself off from your feelings as easily as you'd flip a switch. Lex had obviously learned this in self-defense --- but that didn't make it any less creepy. More, if anything. What else has she learned from her father? And what must Lionel's father have been like ---? Claire veered away from those thoughts --- they were too close to Jonathan's arguments against the Luthors.
"It must be a pain, when people automatically assume that you're just like your father."
"The 'Chip-off-the-Old-Block' Syndrome? I get that a lot. Actually, it can be useful for doing business. There are a number of people who will go to great lengths to avoid crossing me." Lex chuckled darkly. "It's funny, in a way. Especially when I think of all the times when my father has insisted that I'm not tough enough." She shrugged. "It doesn't really bother me, Claire. By now, I've heard it all."
Claire found herself simply staring at Lex.
"There's no need to look so appalled, Claire. If I wanted to, I could just take my trust fund and join the Peace Corps. But that wouldn't make me enough of a disappointment to my father. The fact is, I enjoy the little war of wills I have going with him. I'm taking him on at his own game now. And some day, I'm going to win. On my own terms, of course."
That wasn't as reassuring as Claire would have liked, but she seized on the last bit. "On your own terms. That's what I'm talking about. Everyone assumes that you're just like your father. Even my father does! It drives me crazy."
"I appreciate that, Claire, but there's no need for you to be so concerned. I'm not."
"But when Pa goes on a rant ---!"
"Your father is cautious for a reason. You obviously mean a lot to him. He's a good man, Claire, even if he does wish that I lived on a different continent. I have a lot of respect for him."
"You do?"
"Oh, yes."
"I don't understand. Why ---?"
"Look around you, Claire. Take a good look at this place. What do you think I wonder whenever I meet someone? Anyone?"
Claire gazed at the rich wood wainscotting and the thick oak beams, looked over the many paintings and tapestries that adorned the walls. Lionel had spared no expense on a house that he himself never even planned to live in. Claire tried to imagine the amount of money tied up in these walls. She thought about some of the exotic folks who passed through the halls. Most of them were predatory business types, and that included Lex's boyfriends. Sometimes, especially Lex's boyfriends.
"You wonder what they're after. What they want from you." Besides the obvious.
"Exactly. You don't have to sound so sad about it --- it's just human nature." Lex gestured at the remains of the dessert. "Everyone wants a piece of the pie. Everyone --- except you and your folks! None of you has shown any interest in my money. Or my influence. Or anything else. You proved that beyond a shadow of a doubt. Your father wouldn't even let you keep the truck I gave you. It was bizarre! I had to learn more about you Kents."
Claire began to laugh. "You mean, if my dad had let me keep that truck ---?"
"You might never have seen me again." Lex pretended to make a notation in an imaginary ledger: " 'Debt paid. Now back to business.' But no, your father had to be as stubborn as a mule and make you return my gift. So now you're stuck with me!"
Claire was still laughing as she shook her head.
"You wanted to keep it, didn't you?"
"Oh, yeah. It was pretty sweet."
"Still, you respected your father's point of view, and gave the truck back." Lex shook her head, clearly bemused. "I'm not used to dealing with people who have principles, much less those who actually live up to them. I tell you the truth, Claire --- to me, you were like beings from another planet."
"Lex, my folks are not unique." She thought about that for a moment. Who else in the world has a spaceship hidden away in the storm cellar? "Well, okay, maybe they are. But there must be plenty of other good people out there."
"Not in my experience. Your parents are a national treasure, to be nurtured and protected. Look where I live, Claire." Lex gestured to the walls around them. "I'm used to it by now, but even I admit it looks like it should be the set of an old Hammer film. Your home is a haven in comparison --- literally a haven."
"A national treasure, hunh?" Claire grinned. "I can't wait to tell Pa, just to see the expression on his face."
"Don't bother. Considering the source, he'd probably never believe it." Pushing back her chair, Lex got up from the table. She then bent over it, leaning toward her guest, and lowered her voice half a tone. "You have a good family, Claire Kent. Go home to them."
