"Claire! Wait up!" The dark-skinned girl grabbed her backpack, slammed her locker shut, and ran to catch up to the fair-skinned blonde. "You okay? I didn't see you this morning."
"Yeah, I know. Missed the bus... again." Claire Kent gave her best friend a crooked grin. "So, who won this morning's bet --- you or Charlie?"
"All wagers are off until he pays me back for parking." Waving a hand in dismissal, Petra Ross fell into step beside Claire as they headed into the school cafeteria. "Seriously, are you okay? I feel bad about bugging out on you yesterday. I didn't mean to cause a blowup between you and your dad."
"Oh, that." Claire shrugged her shoulders. "Forget about it, Petra. Pa and I... vent a little every once in a while. It's over." She shrugged again.
"You're sure?"
"Yeah."
"Then we're still buds?"
"Are you kidding me?" Claire stopped, turned to her best friend, a broad smile on her face, and thrust out her hand.
Petra grinned, gave the blonde a high five, then spun around and gave her a low five. "To the end, girlfriend, to the end!"
James Wolfe sat in his car, parked just outside the Smallville Savings & Loan, wondering what he should do next, what he could do next. If he didn't close down the Compound and get out of town by week's end, he was as good as dead. The stranger had made that very clear. But Wolfe couldn't shut things down without Donald Jacobi's cooperation, and that wasn't about to happen. He was tempted to pack a bag and head for the border, but that wouldn't do him much good, either.
If he tried to run, there'd be a dozen hit men on his tail by the end of the week, and the border wouldn't slow them down one little bit. The stranger wouldn't need to expose him, Jacobi would do that himself, probably while acting aggrieved and betrayed. Wolfe could hear him now. He suspected that Jacobi could play the victim as easily as he could the scientist and humanitarian.
Jacobi's professional persona --- the attitudes he struck, the language and posture he employed --- was so practiced now that it wasn't even acting anymore. "Doctor Jacobi" was more like a separate, fully realized personality that he could assume at will. And now that Jacobi was buying into the con, the professional image was becoming his primary personality. Or was it that a sincere version of the professional personality was emerging?
Which one is the real you, Don? Even I'm not sure anymore.
He knew that his partner had been a preacher's kid, like he was. But Wolfe had rebelled early on, had not only run with a bad crowd, but become its ringleader. That had earned him a juvenile record --- sealed, as little as that now mattered --- under his old name. Jacobi, on the other hand, had never gotten into any formal trouble with the law as far as Wolfe knew. He was probably a little smart-ass... probably knew just how far to push. Wolfe remembered the early discussions they'd had about faith. Jacobi sneered at the whole idea of religion, but he'd seen firsthand how much some people needed it. They'd both learned how that need could be exploited for gain with very little risk.
Until now.
I'm in a hell of a fix. Wolfe didn't know who the stranger was --- or how far he could trust him --- but he knew what to expect from Jacobi. His partner would never be persuaded to just fold the tent and steal away. Especially now.
If there really was such a thing as a leap of faith, Jacobi obviously had experienced it. Just like a bolt out of the blue. Wolfe had seen the look in his partner's eyes. And he was stubborn enough to begin with. He remembered how he'd tried to persuade Jacobi to postpone the Smallville trip until after Atlanta and the Southern tour. Fat lot of good that did me. And that had been when Jacobi was still running a con. Now that the con man had become a true believer himself, trying to persuade him of something --- anything --- he didn't want to do... well, that was just reaching for a new level of futility.
For that matter, did he even trust Jacobi enough to risk telling him the truth?
Well, how much had he been able to trust him before? Certainly, Jacobi had kept his secret for years now. Then again, why wouldn't he? The money had been good. They'd had a good thing going, a winning team. Wolfe was the organizer, the fixer, and Jacobi was the front man, the schmoozer. Wolfe had handled the dirty work, taking care of all the details, while his partner handled the big picture. Yeah, and part of that big picture is keeping me in my place.
Wolfe looked out the window at the drugstore down the street. Were drugstores in Kansas licensed to sell liquor? He couldn't remember. He licked his lips again. He could really use a drink. No. He shook his head. That's what got me into this mess in the first place.
If only he hadn't gotten so drunk that night in Baltimore. A quart of Scotch had loosened his tongue, and he told Jacobi all about Cleveland, his new identity, everything. Ever since then, his partner had held that knowledge over him. Partner... yeah, right. We were never equal partners, certainly not after that night.
After Baltimore, they hadn't been friends, either. Not really. Wolfe now wondered if they ever had been.
Wolfe gripped the steering wheel hard. This was getting him nowhere. He had to think. There must be some way out of this. Maybe he should level with Jacobi.
What would happen if he laid all the cards out on the table? What if he told Jacobi that someone --- obviously, a very powerful someone --- wanted them out of town and was willing to put Wolfe's very life in jeopardy to make it happen? What then? Would such a bald, honest statement shock enough sense into Jacobi that he'd let them move on?
Maybe. But Wolfe didn't think so.
Jacobi might decide that he could overcome whoever it was who wanted them to leave town. Wolfe was certain that would just get them both killed. But could he convince Jacobi of that? He had his doubts.
Wolfe chewed his lip. I'm dead if I do, and dead if I don't. If he couldn't run, and he couldn't talk sense into Jacobi, what could he do? There had to be a third alternative. But what?
Somewhere down the street, a clock began to chime the hour. He got out of the car and stood beside it for a moment. Then he pulled himself together, stepped up onto the sidewalk in front of the savings and loan, and looked again toward the drugstore.
Donald Jacobi had the plans for his Institute spread out all over the farmhouse's dining table. He'd added two extra leaves to the table, extending it to a full twelve feet, and now he had all of the proposed layouts side by side. He could check the arrangement of rooms and walls on different floors just by glancing from one set of prints to another. He smiled. Everything was shaping up quite nicely.
A door opened in the back of the house, and Jacobi looked up to spy James Wolfe entering, carrying a small cardboard box in his hands.
"Ah, Jimmy, there you are. Have the weekend receipts been deposited?"
"Everything's been taken care of, Don."
"I was starting to worry. What kept you?"
"Oh, the usual Monday madness." Wolfe shifted the box, turning it so that he could hold it against him with one arm. "Traffic, errands, people wanting me to stop and talk. And we have to stay on good terms with the public. Assure them that we're going to be good neighbors, and all."
"Yes. Yes, we must." Jacobi rose from the table. "I'm so glad to hear you say that. I want to be a very good neighbor to the people of Smallville. They should be among the first to reap the benefits of the Institute --- after the members of the Foundation, of course."
"Of course."
"They've all been so good to us, Jimmy. So supportive. Within a year, perhaps two, we should be able to give them riches beyond their wildest imaginings."
"Riches?"
"Health, Jimmy --- perfect health!" Jacobi reached down, running a hand over the plans, smoothing out a wrinkle in the paper. "We will heal their infirmities, extend their lives, ensure that their children grow up strong and vital... and their children's children. I can see us creating a heaven on Earth."
Wolfe didn't say a word. The messianic quality was in his partner's voice now, as well as his eyes. He had heard something like it years before, when old Reverend Mike would fire up a crowd. But it was all part of the act with the Reverend. Wolfe saw the gleam in Jacobi's eyes and knew that this was no act. Not any longer.
"You know, Jimmy, when I was a boy, it was a dream of mine to become a physician. But I just didn't have it in me. Not the skill, and certainly not the grades." Jacobi chuckled, then grew solemn. "Now, I finally have a means to really help people, to end their suffering. My God, what a gift! Think of it, Jimmy. Just think of it!"
All Wolfe could think of were the Bible study classes his father used to teach. The old man's favorite story was that of Saul of Tarsus, of how Saul underwent a major conversion on his way to Damascus and became the apostle Paul. Old Saint Paul wound up getting martyred for his trouble, and so did a lot of his followers. It could be dangerous to hang out with true believers.
"Jimmy?"
"Yeah, what an image. I, uh, kind of got lost in it myself."
"That happens so easily, doesn't it? I have to remind myself to keep one foot in the real world. Speaking of which, did you run down that list of contractors I wanted?"
"Hmmm? Oh, yeah." Wolfe reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "Our man Eaton at the S and L recommended who three who would be able to handle the job --- all of them in the area."
"Good, good." Jacobi took the list and started poring over it with all the fervor of an archaeologist inspecting the Dead Sea Scrolls.
Wolfe scratched his chin. "You know, Don, before we put this job out to bid, I think we should have a little celebration."
"A celebration?"
"Yes, show off all the plans to our little resident colony of Foundation members. After all, there are about a dozen people in our little inner circle here who left their jobs to run our security, our day-to-day operations. They're a part of this, too, after all."
"That's a wonderful idea, Jimmy!" "Jacobi beamed. "You've finally caught the spirit of this, haven't you?"
"Well, I try." Wolfe gave him a broad smile in return.
And he actually managed to make it look sincere.
Tuesday afternoon, Lex Luthor returned from answering a call of nature to see a familiar form leaning over a magazine rack in the front of the Crow's Nest. From the surreptitious glances she kept casting around from behind the curtain of hair cascading around her face and over her shoulders, she obviously was interested in something other than this week's magazines.
Even though the form was familiar, the garb was not. It wasn't often that Lex --- or anybody else, for that matter --- saw this girl on a school day wearing a skirt, even one of denim. And even rarer in one this short, barely reaching halfway to her knees. Her shapely legs were encased in nylons, and her feet rested in platform sandals instead of the usual sneakers or work boots.
Guessing the reason for her friend's unusual mode of dress and doing her best not to smile, Lex walked up behind her. "If you're looking for Landon, I'm afraid he isn't here yet."
"Oh, hi, Lex." Claire Kent straightened up and turned around, trying her best to hide her disappointment. "What's up?"
Leading the way back to her table, Lex gestured for Claire to sit down just as her leather satchel jangled. Remaining standing, she reached in to retrieve her mobile phone and identified herself, taking a few steps away from the table.
One of the servers drifted over to the table. Holding the phone to her ear, Lex waved her other hand, ordering another espresso for herself and telling Claire to order whatever she wanted. Claire ordered a latte. The server rushed off as Lex thanked the caller and shut off the phone.
"Bad news?" Claire asked, observing the expression on Lex's face as she returned to the table.
"Eh? Oh, no. Just unsatisfying." Lex slipped the phone back into her satchel and sat down. "I've been trying to run down some information on our friends at the Foundation." She frowned. "I haven't been having much luck, but it appears that other parties might have."
"Other parties?" Claire started to cross her legs and then, remembering that she was wearing a short skirt, kept her legs together and smoothed the skirt out over them as far as it went.
"The other day, Jacobi's partner Wolfe was observed having a lengthy conversation with an unidentified individual on the outskirts of town. I've yet to get a name for that individual, but he was driving a car that had been rented in Lowell, using a credit card issued to a small firm called Bradley & Morgan. You'd never guess it from their name, but I happen to know that they specialize in private investigations."
Claire's eyebrows inched toward her bangs. "You're saying that Wolfe was meeting with a private eye? What's up with that?"
"I don't know. But I have the feeling that LuthorCorp is somehow involved."
"LuthorCorp?" Claire lowered her voice and leaned closer. "You've heard something?"
Lex merely shook her head, and there was silence while the server returned, setting down an espresso in front of Lex and a latte in front of Claire.
"It's just a gut feeling at this point," Lex continued when the server had gone. "So far, I've been unable to find any indications that my father is directly involved." She took a sip of her espresso. "Which means, of course, that he is."
Claire stopped with her latte halfway to her mouth. "Wait a minute --- there's no evidence that your father has anything to do with this, so...? Lex, that doesn't make any sense."
"It would if you knew my father like I do." Lex looked over her cup at Claire and narrowed her eyes. "Did your father ever insist that you join --- oh, say --- the Future Farmers of America?"
"What?" Claire almost spilled her latte down the front of her red T-shirt.
"That's what I thought."
"Lex, I haven't given you an answer."
"Oh, yes you have. Your father doesn't try to run your life. My father, on the other hand, tries to run everyone's life. I've lost count of the organizations, the schools he's forced me into. I loathed about eighty percent of them. The others I merely pretended to hate." Lex grinned and set down her cup. "All part of the game. At any rate, I'm sure that my father is incensed by all the publicity Jacobi's Foundation has garnered. One of the meteorite mutations did occur right at the fertilizer plant, after all. On his watch. He's still furious that the story became public and all."
"Hunh." Finally having gotten a taste of her latte, Claire slouched back and got a faraway look in her eyes.
It was perhaps thirty seconds before Lex spoke again. "You look particularly contemplative. Was it something I said?"
Claire refocused her eyes on the person across the table from her. "Sort of. Your father's name came up in connection with the meteorite weirdness a couple of weeks ago."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. Charlie is of the opinion that Lionel has been using his influence to keep a lid on some of the weirder news out of Smallville." Claire looked up. "Could he do that?"
"He's done worse, and for much less reason than he might have here. Trust me, Claire, where my father is concerned, anything is possible."
Stuart Harrison arrived at the Foundation Compound shortly after school, to find the last few of the permanent campers drifting toward the barn.
"Stuart, there you are!" Donald Jacobi came up behind him. "I'm so glad you're here. Just in time for the big celebration."
"Celebration?" Stuart turned to face the doctor, a puzzled look on his face. "What celebration?"
"Come on in and see." Smiling widely, Jacobi gestured with an arm, indicating that the young man should precede him inside.
Inside the barn, meteorites had been arranged in a great circle, casting a soft green light over the interior. A dozen workers were milling around just beyond the circle, where a folding table had been set up beside the Foundation's RV. The staffers stood there, munching cheese and crackers and fresh fruit, and sipping from large plastic cups, while James Wolfe dispensed punch from a large bowl.
"Donald! And Stuart. Well --- here you go." Wolfe shoved cups into their hands. "Everyone needs a little something to toast the next great step."
As he took a cup, Stuart noticed that Wolfe was wearing clear plastic gloves, like the ones the cafeteria workers wore at his school. Wolfe saw Stuart's puzzled look and laughed. "The local Health Department's cracking down. Their newest regulations say I have to wear these if I serve more than six unrelated people."
"Even for a private party? That sounds pretty strict." Stuart swirled the dark purple liquid around in his cup. We never had to do anything like that for our football team parties.
Wolfe laughed again. "Bureaucracy! What can you do?" Shrugging, he pointed to the cup in Stuart's hand. "Don't worry, it's nonalcoholic. Not too sweet, is it?
Stuart took a tentative sip. "No. Tastes pretty good."
"All right, then." Wolfe clanged the ladle against the side of the punch bowl. "If I could have your attention please! Dr. Jacobi has a very important announcement. Don...?" He motioned his partner toward a small riser alongside the table.
After whispering something to Nell Potter --- and getting a smile in return --- Jacobi stepped up to great cheers from the little gathering. He raised his cup in acknowledgement. "Members of the Foundation... my friends... I thank you. Before we get started, I think we all owe a show of thanks to the man who arranged this little gathering... the man whose great skills are indispensable to us. So let's all drink a toast to our own James Wolfe! Jimmy, hop up here and take a bow."
Wolfe stepped up onto the riser and modestly waved a cup of his own.
Jacobi took a sip of punch and gestured to the meteorites that ringed the group. "Around us, we can see part of the bounty of our past week's work. And this is only the beginning. Thanks to your support and that of thousands of contributors, we will soon be breaking ground for the Institute of Advanced Meteorite Research!"
Wolfe lifted his cup high into the air. "Here's to the Institute!"
"To the Institute!" The members echoed Wolfe's salute and drained their cups.
Jacobi smacked his lips as he lowered his cup. "By now, you have heard me speak about our cosmic legacy many times. Most of you bore witness to the healing of our new young member Stuart Harrison!"
Another cheer went up. And those standing close beside the Harrison boy reached over to shake his hand or just to touch him. Stuart felt uncomfortable. The way they act, you would think I was the Second Coming or something. Nonetheless, he smiled politely and lifted his cup in Jacobi's direction.
"Thanks to Stuart, and thanks to you, this Foundation is about to embark on a great new adventure. For years, I have spoken of DNA as a great cosmic ladder. Well. that ladder is about to get an extension, isn't it?" The crowd laughed weakly at the doctor's little joke. Jacobi blinked, feeling a bit light-headed, but continued on. "I have every confidence that these meteorites, these gifts from outer space, will do so much more than just enable us to cure disease. They'll make us all better. Stronger! Smarter! They'll give us the push we need to advance up that evolutionary ladder... to the next great cosmic level... making us true citizens of the galaxy... bringing us... one step closer... to the angels ---"
Jacobi looked out at the crowd. They were strangely quiet. Many were swaying from side to side. Their features seemed to be twisting, distorting. No, Jacobi realized that his vision was blurring. He peered down into his cup stupidly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nell drop her cup, crumple to her knees, and then topple over onto her side. As he dropped his own cup and took a step toward her, his left knee gave out and he slid sideways down onto the riser.
Stuart tried to take a step forward to help Jacobi, but his feet felt bolted to the floor. All around him, people started toppling over. He looked up to see Wolfe still standing on the riser. It was only then that Stuart really noticed Wolfe's cup; it was still nearly full, and the liquid in it seemed somewhat lighter in color.
Before Stuart's eyes, the scene grayed out. Then everything went blank.
Wolfe dumped his cup into the punch bowl and stepped down from the riser. "Sorry about this, boys and girls, but I just couldn't think of any other way out." He crossed the floor, stepping around the fallen bodies, and secured the two front barn doors, bolting them shut from the inside. His privacy ensured, he returned to the circle. He grabbed hold of the nearest unconscious form by the shoulders and dragged it inside the meteorite circle.
Wolfe was drenched with sweat by the time he stepped back to look at his handiwork. Twelve Foundation members lay unconscious, radiating out from the center of the circle. A foot or so from each person's head was a meteorite. In the middle of the circle, Stuart Harrison was laid out with his arms outstretched in a cruciform position.
"I really wish you hadn't shown up tonight, Stuart. I didn't want to make you part of this, but it was too late in the game to change plans." Wolfe shrugged. Oh, well. This should make it look even more like a cult ritual. He checked his watch. Fifteen minutes. Not bad, but I have to pick up the pace.
Wolfe rounded the end of the riser where Jacobi still lay sprawled. "Donny, Donny, Donny. This is all your fault, you know, If you hadn't kept buying me drinks that night back in Baltimore, you never would have found out about Cleveland." He pulled a cardboard box out from under the table and removed an empty bottle that had once held an over-the-counter sleeping aid. He placed it in Jacobi's hand and gently squeezed the fingers shut around it. He repeated the process with the ladle from the punch bowl. "Let's get a good set of prints here, just in case." He replaced the ladle and carefully slipped the bottle into Jacobi's jacket pocket. "You never know what might be recovered."
Wolfe crossed over to the RV and opened the door, backing away as steps automatically slid out from the vehicle. He returned to Jacobi, yanking his partner up into a seated position and grabbing him roughly around the waist. Wolfe gave a mighty heave and straightened up, throwing Jacobi over his back. Shouldering the man's dead weight, he lumbered back to the RV. Wolfe took one step up, and almost lost his balance. He grabbed hold of the doorframe, steadied himself, and then carried his burden inside. He staggered up the aisle to the front of the RV and fell forward, dumping the unconscious Jacobi across the center console. He crouched there on the floor for a second, gasping for breath.
"Either you've put on a few pounds, or I'm in worse shape than I thought." Straddling the console, Wolfe shoved Jacobi into the driver's seat, pushing his legs into position under the steering wheel.
Nell Potter was a little easier. He carried her in and shoved her into the passenger seat. "There, now!" He ran the back of his hand over his face. His hands, inside the plastic gloves, were as sweaty as his brow, but that couldn't be helped. He wasn't about to chance leaving any fresh prints behind. He checked his watch again.
Twenty minutes. Okay. My safeguards are already planted and ready to be armed. Just one last little step in here. Wolfe went to the back of the RV and retrieved a metal case. He set it on Nell Potter's lap, snapped open the lid, and pulled out Jacobi's original meteorite. He placed the glowing green rock on his partner's lap and pushed him forward over it.
"There we go. Can't have you becoming one with the angels without your piece of the rock." Wolfe perched on the console, watching Jacobi's chest slowly rise and fall. "I wish it didn't have to end this way, Don, I truly do. But you backed me into a corner, and the safest way out was right over you. I know we had some good times together, but I have a destiny of my own to fulfill." He hit a button on the dashboard, and one of the windows of the RV's cab rolled down an inch with a soft electric whir. "When the cops finally check your files, they'll find quite a history. All sorts of documents related to suicide rituals and cults. They're all in there, along with a copy of a memo from me, questioning your stability --- and your reply, banishing me from the Compound. Of course, by the time that's found, James Wolfe will be long gone, just like he never existed." He gazed out the window at the Foundation members spread out on the floor. "A shame about those poor fools. At least they'll achieve their 'cosmic destiny' peacefully in their sleep. I could have slipped poison into that punch, instead of a sedative, but I just couldn't bring myself to kill them." He turned back to Jacobi. "You're going to be the one responsible for that, Don."
Wolfe grasped Jacobi's hand around the key and inserted it into the ignition. The RV's engine roared to life, and began pumping out carbon monoxide.
Claire Kent was walking home along Route 5 when she came to the turn-off for Old Carter Road. She'd been giving a wide berth to the Foundation's property ever since Jacobi's volunteers started collecting meteorites, but after talking with Lex Luthor, she was starting to have second thoughts.
Charlie would say, "You're finally starting to have second thoughts." Claire suddenly realized the she was probably the only one in town who was close friends with both Charlie Sullivan and Lex Luthor. If both of them smelled smoke, there probably was a fire.
And if Lionel Luthor really is taking a greater interest in the Foundation, then maybe I should, too. We all should. Of course, if Jacobi was a fraud, it might be just as well if Lionel shut him down. Except... except that Stuart Harrison really had been cured. Claire doubted that Jacobi actually had anything to do with that --- but maybe the meteorite did. Right now, no one knew for certain. But if Lionel Luthor buried the Foundation, maybe no one would ever know.
Claire remembered what Charlie had been saying for the past week, about both the miracle cure and the Foundation. His hunches have always been pretty good --- sometimes better than he realizes. She stared off down the road. If she scoped out the Compound without taking Charlie along, he'd never let her hear the end of it. But I don't want to risk having him see what the space rocks can do to me.
She thought of how upset Landon Lang had been over all the time his aunt had been spending at the Compound, the money she'd been turning over to Jacobi. If I could prove that the Foundation is crooked ---! Claire smiled. Back in the fall, during the football season, she used to daydream that she was a cheerleader, rooting on the Smallville High football team and winning his heart. Getting the goods on Jacobi wouldn't turn her into a cheerleader, but it just might make Landon sit up and take notice.
And if I did find something concrete, I could always tell Charlie that I felt the tug of my "reporter's instincts." That was close enough to the truth. If she smiled innocently and used the same phrase he had used to describe her, he wouldn't stay mad for long.
The question was, what could she hope to find?
She wasn't even sure what to look for. And there was still the matter of the meteorites. She recalled how sick she'd felt the night of the lecture --- like death warmed over. And that was from just one of the space rocks. Who knows how many the Foundation has collected by now?
Claire kicked a rock by the side of the road, sending it flying out into the middle of a field. It all seemed hopeless. It seemed pointless, as well. Was the Foundation really her problem? No, it wasn't. She stomped on down the road. I have enough unanswered questions in my life as it is! She was several paces farther along Route 5 before she stopped abruptly, almost tripping over her own feet. "Just block it out." That was Britney Fordman's answer to this whole mess.
It certainly wasn't Lex Luthor's. What had Lex said before the lecture? "Everything that happens in and around Smallville is my concern."
Claire frowned. It's my concern, too. If you can't help people in your own hometown, what good are you?
She weighed her options. There's plenty of cover around the perimeter of the Compound, and it'll be dark soon. If I get in a tight spot, I can just back out fast.
"Right." Claire squared her shoulders and turned back down Old Carter Road. It's time I checked things out for myself.
When she was about a hundred yards from the Compound, she spotted a car pulling out of the main drive. The driver looked her way just a second before turning and cruising off in the other direction, away from Smallville. In the deepening twilight, the man never even noticed the girl standing off along the shoulder of the road. But Claire Kent saw him. From Charlie Sullivan's description, she knew it had to be James Wolfe.
Claire approached the Compound warily, keeping an eye out for the Foundation's volunteer security force. She had a dozen excuses ready, should she be challenged. But no challenge came. The grounds appeared deserted. That's odd. There's no lecture scheduled for tonight, but you'd think there'd be some signs of life. I know Stuart said he'd be coming out here after school. Everyone must be inside.
There was a deathly stillness to the grounds, as Claire made her way up the drive. Maybe I should just march up to the door and ask to speak with Stuart. Instead, she cautiously stepped into the shadow of the farmhouse. Its curtains were mostly drawn, and no lights shone through the windows. The only light on the grounds came from a series of newly installed security lamps set on poles around the Compound. This is definitely lurching into Twilight Zone territory. She stared intently at the farmhouse, and its walls became transparent to her eyes. She saw a maze of pipes and wiring, the translucent silhouettes of timbers and furniture, but no signs of human habitation. Where is everybody?
As she crossed back over the drive, Claire heard a low mechanical hum coming from the barn, and stopped to listen. Sounds like an engine of some kind. Maybe a generator? She concentrated again. The walls of the barn seemed to melt away under her stare, and she nearly jumped back from what she saw. There, stretched out in the middle of the barn floor, were more than a dozen human skeletons. A number of big rocks appeared to be spaced at regular intervals around the skeletons. The centers of those rocks glowed with a light that made her eyes water. Just past this circle sat a massive vehicle, something like a truck. And she realized that the engine was running, the source of the mechanical hum.
She blinked twice, and the vision faded.
"HEY!" Claire ran forward, shouting. "Can anybody in there hear me?" She pounded on the metal-reinforced barn doors. It was only then that she noticed the bits of old rags, sticking out here and there along the bottom of the doors, and the faint odor of car exhaust seeping out through the cracks. "Oh, my God!"
Claire took a step back and launched herself shoulder first at the big barn doors. A long four-by-four timber, hung across the doors, cracked under her first attack. It splintered under her second attack, and the doors swung wide. A fog of exhaust rolled out through the open doors, thick with the noxious smell of petroleum. She knew it was also thick with colorless, odorless carbon monoxide. Am I too late? She backed up again, filling her lungs with clean air, and dashed into the barn.
Claire got to within a few feet of the meteorite circle before her legs buckled under her. She tottered briefly on her heels, then fell to her hands and knees, a wave of nausea threatening to empty her stomach. She looked ahead through the pale green glow, and thought she saw a sign of movement. She shook her head. Was she just imagining it? No! She looked again and saw a chest rising and falling. The man on the floor ahead of her was still breathing.
Claire kept her mouth clamped shut, holding in her breath and choking back the nausea. She forced herself forward and reached for the nearest meteorite. It burned in her grasp. The pain radiated from her hands, running up her arms and into her chest. She could feel every nerve along the way, as if each one were being scraped raw. With a desperate effort, she flung the rock away from her.
The meteorite flew like a cannonball through the wooden side wall of the barn. Light from an exterior lamp shone through the hole in the wall. The added light fell near the circle's center, illuminating the outstretched form, and she recognized the face of Stuart Harrison. STUART! Claire lurched to her feet, and her heel caught on something. She tripped and almost fell again, but managed to steady herself. What did I hit? She reached down and her hand brushed across a piece of the timber she had split while forcing her way in.
Claire grabbed hold of the timber and stood it on end. It was a little taller than she was, somewhat over six feet from end to splintered end. Not quite a ten-foot-pole, but it'll have to do! Using the timber as a crude crutch, she staggered forward. As she approached the meteorite circle, she set her feet wide and swung the timber as if she was playing field hockey. It connected with a meteorite and sent it tumbling away across the barn floor. She smiled grimly through gritted teeth and launched herself around the circle, batting away meteorites as she went. As the glowing rocks shot off into the far corners of the barn, she could feel her strength returning. But her chest was still burning. As weakened as she'd been, she knew the air in her lungs wouldn't last her much longer. Got to shut off that engine!
Claire tossed the timber aside and ran to the front of the vehicle. There, through the windshield, she saw Donald Jacobi slumped over the steering wheel. His face was lit with a soft green light. And in the light she could see Nell Potter sitting in the passenger seat, head back and eyes closed, almost as if she was sleeping. Claire spun around, doubled over, grabbed the front bumper to steady herself, and violently threw up. Springs creaked as the vehicle shook along with her.
Choking and gasping for breath, Claire steeled herself and turned back to the vehicle, making her way to the driver's door. It was locked. She raised a fist, ready to smash the window, then stopped herself.
Still weakened by the prolonged meteorite exposure, Claire risked cutting her hand on the glass if she smashed the window. But that wasn't what had stopped her. She knew --- or at least was confident --- that she would heal quickly. But the same did not hold for the couple inside. The glass could cut their faces to ribbons, and maybe even kill them if they didn't get proper medical care in a hurry.
Lowering her hand and unclenching her fist, Claire pulled the hair back from her face and took another look at the door through watery eyes. The gap was a little wider at the front of the door, where allowances had to be made for the door to swing. A gap more than wide enough for her to work her fingernails in. Once her fingernails were in, she tried to follow with more of her fingers.
For someone who under ordinary circumstance could easily lift one end of the truck off the ground with just one hand, it should have been an easy task to simply open one door on that same truck. Had she not been so weakened by the meteorites, it would have been. However, despite her weakened condition, she persevered, giving her head a toss to get the hair out of her face every time it fell forward. And finally, the metal began to bend under her fingers, more and more of her strength returning with each passing second.
After what seemed like an eternity but was actually only about half a minute, Claire had opened up the gap wide enough so that she could get a good grip on the whole door. Now, putting her entire body into the effort, she was able to peel back the whole door, the steel panel and reinforcing beams alike bending before her muscles. There was a squeal of tortured metal as the hinges finally lost the unequal fight against the muscles of a girl from the stars. With the hinges gone, it was now a relatively simple matter to pull the door off completely. Sweeing her arm wide, she dropped the door to the ground behind her.
Without the metal of the door between her and the meteorite, the weakness and its accompanying nausea immediately returned. Her legs failed again and Claire fell forward into the cab, clipping her chin on the steering wheel and causing a single short blast from the vehicle's horn. Jacobi fell back against the seat, and she slid down into his lap, directly on top of the meteorite. Her head spun like the rotors on a helicopter trying to take off. Her lungs burned as if on fire. She fought to get into the passenger seat, crawling over the center console toward Nell, feeling the vibration of the engine below. Got to keep going. Can't stop now! Veins popped out on her forehead, green-black, the blood in them feeling as if it was boiling.
Finally getting her legs under her, Claire sat up in the passenger seat, practically in Nell's lap. She yanked the meteorite from Jacobi's lap, but her momentum threw her off balance. She tumbled backward into the passenger door, slamming her head against the window hard enough to crack the glass. The meteorite fell heavily across her chest. Her lungs burned again.
The meteorite weighed just a few pounds, but to Claire it felt like half a ton. In desperation, she gripped the sides of the rock and heaved. Slowly, it began to rise... one inch, then two. The muscles in her arms felt as though they might tear loose from the bones. Her pulse pounded in her ears. Her vision grew dim.
And then, roaring like a wounded bear, Claire flung the meteorite up and off of her. The rock sailed up over Jacobi's head, through the open driver's door, and out into the barn beyond.
Claire clawed her way back over the console. She felt a little stronger, but her vision was blurring and her lungs still ached. She needed fresh air, fast. She grabbed hold of the shift lever, throwing it into drive, then kicked Jacobi's leg aside and slammed her foot down onto the gas pedal. The truck rocketed forward, slamming into the back wall of the barn. The windshield cracked, turning opaque in front of her as the vehicle broke through, out onto the Compound grounds.
Claire shut down the engine and pulled hard on the emergency brake, bringing the truck to a skidding halt. She sat there, sucking in the cool, clean air. As soon as her head was clear, she quickly checked Nell and then Jacobi for a pulse.
"Okay, you're going to live." Pulling the keys out of the ignition, Claire climbed over Jacobi and out of the truck, standing up and leaving him slumped back in his seat. I'm not sure you deserve to, but that's for a judge to worry about. Again filling her lungs with clean air, she was starting to feel like her old self again. She tossed the keys under the truck and started back toward the barn. Now that it's open at both ends, this breeze ought to clear the air in there pretty quickly. And the meteorites should be dispersed enough to let me see how much first aid the others need. It's going to be okay.
That was when the wooden structure caught fire.
Several miles away, James Wolfe glanced at the clock on the dashboard. The road was clear, but he'd forced himself to keep his speed a few miles under the limit. Now he reflexively started to give it a little more gas. Almost immediately, he eased off on the accelerator and cut back to his original speed. He didn't want to get pulled over, and there was no longer any need to hurry. His little "safeguards" --- two small firebombs he'd planted up in the rafters of the barn --- ought to be going off right about now. He'd used a remote control switch to arm their timers before he'd pulled out of the Compound's drive.
Back at the Foundation Compound, Claire Kent knew nothing of that. She just heard the gentle whump of the bombs going off and looked on in horror as fire shot through the upper reaches of the wooden structure. She dashed back into the building, flinging two unconscious people across her shoulders and speeding out of the burning building with them. She set them down as gently as she could and raced back into the barn for two more. But by her third trip into the barn, she found herself slowing a bit. With her fourth, she was breathing heavily.
Midway through her fifth rescue run, Claire found herself straining under her load. It's the meteorites, she realized. There are so many of them, I get a little more exposure each time I go back in there. But I can't stop now!
Flaming debris was starting to rain down from the rafters as she headed in a sixth time, and she struggled to keep the limp victims from sliding off her shoulders. C'mon, Claire, you can do it! Just one more trip!
Her feet felt like blocks of lead as she lurched across the concrete slabs of the barn floor. The last body lay sprawled just a few yards away, but as she stumbled toward the prone form, it was all she could do to stay upright.
Come on! Just... one... more...!
Claire grabbed the man, but couldn't raise him. It was as if he weighed fifty tons. What... what's wrong? She pulled at the man's jacket, trying desperately to budge him. And as she pulled, the jacket's side pocket ripped open and a fist-sized chunk of glowing green rock rolled out. She tried to kick it away, but her strength was fading fast. The rock rolled just a few feet. She again grabbed the man, this time by an arm, and slowly began to drag him from the growing inferno. Inch by painful inch, she pulled that last man. With each succeeding step away from the green rock, it became a little easier. Ten feet from the open doors, she finally felt strong enough to pick up her burden. As she stooped to pick up the man, there came an awful cracking sound from overhead.
A burning beam fell straight toward them.
Halfway across the county, James Wolfe flipped on his high beams as he headed south down a back-country road. He turned on the radio just in time to hear that the Dave Clark Five were feeling glad all over. Opening his window a crack, he sucked in a lungful of the sweet country air, held it for a beat, then expelled it in a slow even breath.
"Hoo-wee! Lordy, I wasn't sure I could really go through with it, but I did. Can't believe I'm finally free."
Wolfe glanced over at the satchel on the seat next to him and gave it an affectionate pat. It held the past weekend's cash receipts and all the money that he'd been able to skim from the Institute's building fund in the past twenty-four hours. Not that it hasn't been fun, Don. But after all you put me through this past month, I'm gonna have a helluva lot more fun out on my own! He knew it wouldn't be easy to get all that cash out of the country. He would have to salt the money away in a series of small accounts, then transfer it a little at a time. That would keep from raising any alarms. But he would have plenty of time to worry about that tomorrow.
Right now, he didn't have a care in the world.
Claire Kent thrust her hands up into the air, catching the huge wooden beam as it fell. The momentum of the falling beam forced her down to one knee, but she was determined not to yield any further. Flames licked around her hands as she forced herself to her feet. For an instant, she held the beam high over her head. She lowered the weight a fraction and gathered her strength, and then hurled the beam as hard as she could across the burning structure. It smashed through a wall, as she scooped the last man up, slung him over a shoulder, and ran out of the barn.
Out on the soft cool grass, far away from the raging pyre that had once been the Davis family barn, Claire dashed from body to body, checking for vital signs. All were alive and breathing on their own, but she couldn't rouse any of them. It wasn't until she bent over Stuart Harrison that she started to get a response.
"Stuart? Can you hear me?" She dropped to her knees beside him.
"Uhhh? Yeah ---" Stuart stared, his eyes unfocused.
"Stay with me, Stuart! What happened?" Slipping an arm under his shoulders, she cradled his head in her lap.
"Drugged ---"
"Somebody drugged you? Who? Was it Jacobi?"
"No... not Doc... drugged him... too ---"
"Then who did it? Who drugged you?"
"Wolfe ---"
"Wolfe? Jacobi's partner?" Claire remembered the glimpse she'd caught of the man in the car, leaving the Compound. "You're sure?"
"He handed out... the punch." Stuart looked puzzled, as if he were trying to recall something that had happened a long time ago. His eyes fluttered closed. "I didn'... drink as much... as th' others. Saw Wolfe... still standing ---" With that, he fell back asleep.
Laying him back down on the ground, Claire rose to her feet, her shadow stretching out across the grounds as the fire blazed on behind her. Wolfe, hunh? She knew that Old Carter Road continued west for another twenty miles before it teed into the Cimarron Pike. She checked her watch. Just about no traffic out that way. By now he could be halfway to Oklahoma.
Sirens wailed in the distance, and Claire turned to see a long row of flashing red lights approaching from the east. She looked back down at the unconscious figures. Not much more I can do for you here. But if I hit the road now...
Doing what she should have done long before this, she kicked off her high-heeled sandals and tossed them into the fire. Then, barefoot, Claire Kent raced west across the Compound, blurring away into the night.
When the radio signal began breaking up, James Wolfe reached over and tuned down the dial. He breezed past two country stations and a gospel choir, lingering briefly over a distant ballgame before giving up and switching to the FM band. There he found Michael Nesmith singing about flying down to Rio.
"Rio! Rio by the Sea-o!" Wolfe let out a long nervous laugh. Yeah, that sounds good, fella, but I think I'll look for a spot that's a little less traveled... someplace where nobody will notice me. It had been a while since he'd seen the ocean. He could get a boat in Corpus Christi and head down the Gulf Coast or out into the Caribbean. Yeah, maybe find myself a little island where --- "Huh?"
Not a hundred feet ahead, a figure seemed to appear from out of nowhere.
A girl stepped out into the middle of the right lane, holding up one hand. "STOP!" Her shout was loud enough to be heard even over the blare of the car's radio.
"Damn-fool way to thumb for a ride!" Wolfe cut the wheel sharply, veering into the left lane. "Good way to get yourself killed!" He angrily hit the gas and blew past at close to seventy miles per hour. "Crazy young punk!" He looked back over his shoulder.
The road behind him was already empty. It wasn't that the girl couldn't be seen in the darkness. It was more like she had just disappeared.
Wolfe shook his head. Just a trick of the night. At the speed he was now traveling, he'd caught no more than a glimpse of the figure. But it seemed to him that he'd seen that girl before. Where was it ---?
Then the girl stepped out of the darkness again.
This time, she stood directly in the middle of the road, barely fifty feet ahead of the speeding car. Wolfe flashed his lights, but the girl didn't move. Again, she thrust her hand up.
"I said STOP! The game is OVER!"
Wolfe hit the brakes and the sedan began to fishtail, tires squealing. As he held tight to the wheel, fighting to keep control, his left front fender hit the girl, sending her flying backward off the road and into a field. The right front wheel skidded off the road, ramming into a concrete culvert abutment. The car came to an abrupt halt, its airbags inflating and shoving Wolfe back hard against the seat.
The con man clutched his chest, gasping to regain the breath that had been knocked out of him. He tore at the rapidly deflating air bag as he tried to clear his head. "Damn kid... must have had a twin." Wolfe threw the car into reverse and gave it a little gas. It inched back from the abutment. He put it into drive and tested the wheel --- everything was still working. He could still get away. And he really had to move now, before someone came along and found that kid's body.
But then, "that kid" emerged from the field. Alive and well. Stalking right toward the car.
Wolfe looked around in a panic. His headlights revealed a narrow old gravel road off to his right. He jerked hard on the wheel and stomped down on the accelerator. The sedan shot down the side road. Its wheels caught gravel, spitting it back out onto the main road.
But all the gravel hit was bare asphalt. The girl was already gone.
"This is crazy!" Sweat poured down Wolfe's brow. "It can't be happening! Who is she? What is she?" Then he remembered. She was one of the four who helped carry away the Harrison kid.
The girl stepped out into the middle of the gravel road, just a few dozen feet ahead.
"YOU CAN'T ESCAPE!"
"It's a trick! Has to be!" Wolfe gritted his teeth, his panic turning to fury. "You wanna play chicken, punk? Okay!" He put his foot to the floor and sent the car rocketing straight for the girl.
"You idiot! NO!" A split second from impact, the girl leaped straight up, twelve feet into the air, jumping over the car as it passed under her.
Wolfe stared back in shock. He never saw that the road ended just ahead in a T-junction. The car shot off the road. Its front wheels bounced off the edge of a ditch, and it went airborne for nearly twenty feet. The flying car was finally stopped by an ancient cottonwood tree.
Wolfe had never buckled his seat belt.
With the car's air bags already deflated, Wolfe was flung through the windshield, its safety glass exploding outward in a shower of pebbles. He landed hard, headfirst, in the field beyond the tree. The satchel landed beside him, just a few feet away. Behind him, the car gave one last mechanical shudder and erupted into flames. Fire shot up the tree, turning it into a torch that could be seen for miles.
Covering the distance in a couple of long bounds, the girl reached the body in seconds. Her X-ray vision confirmed what she already suspected. It was too late to save James Wolfe.
"Why ---?" She stood there, shaking her head. Once again, she heard the wail of a siren approaching from the distance.
Claire Kent took a step back into the field and disappeared into the night.
This is K-T-O-W! The Voice of News for Lowell County!
It's six-oh-seven. I'm Paul Treadwell, and these are the stories we're covering this Wednesday morning.
Fifteen members of the Ascendance Foundation escaped serious injury yesterday evening, when a barn on the Foundation's Carter Road Compound caught fire. Among those who escaped the fire was Dr. Donald Jacobi, a founder of the organization. There were no known fatalities.
Rescue workers on the scene reported that the fifteen survivors appeared dazed and confused following their ordeal. They were treated for smoke inhalation and transferred to the Lowell County Medical Center, where all were admitted suffering from carbon monoxide poisoning.
Five members were listed in critical condition and later transferred to Wichita General. The names of those rescued have not yet been released.
None of the rescued were able to remember how they had escaped from the burning barn. According to local authorities, preliminary medical evidence showed that the Foundation members had all been drugged with a common sedative.
Three companies of firefighters were called to the scene where they battled overnight to contain the blaze. Fire Chief William Kone called the barn a total loss.
Sources within the Lowell County Sheriff's Office called the fire suspicious. The cause of the fire remains under investigation.
In a related story, State Police responded to a report of a car fire yesterday evening in the southwest corner of the county. There, they discovered the body of Foundation cofounder James Wolfe in a field just a few yards from the burning wreckage of a late-model sedan. The vehicle was believed to be registered in the name of another Foundation member. State Police Sergeant Jack Rodriguez reported that Wolfe had apparently been driving at a high rate of speed and missed a turn on the old Springtown Pike.
State Police believe there may be a connection between the two fires. An investigation is under way...
Jonathan Kent got up, walked across the kitchen to the counter, and turned off the radio. He and Martha looked on as Claire sat at the table, mashing the cornflakes in her bowl with a spoon.
"If you keep that up, lil' darlin', you'll soon have nothing but mush."
"I'm not especially hungry anyway." Claire put down the spoon and pushed the bowl away.
Martha put her hands on her daughter's shoulders. "Sweetie, we know you're upset ---"
"I didn't want it to end that way, Ma. I wanted to stop him." Claire rested her elbows on the table and clasped her hands together. "I didn't want him dead."
Jonathan sat down across from Claire. "We know, lil' darlin'. But you saved fifteen lives last night. Including Landon's aunt. And Stuart. Think about that."
"I have, but... if only I could have reacted a little faster ---"
"Claire, that maniac hit you with his car! And then he tried to run you down again. He drugged those people and left them to die --- they would have died, if you hadn't risked your life to save them."
"Claire, what have we always told you?" Martha scooted her chair next to Claire's. "You can't save everybody. Even with all of your powers, you can't do the impossible."
"I know, but ---"
"Lil' darlin, we all want things to come out together perfectly in the end, but sometimes --- despite our best efforts --- they just don't." Jonathan looked Claire in the eye, the way he always did when he wanted to make a point. "Sometimes, other people write their own endings."
"I guess you're right, Pa. But I still don't like it."
"No one ever does."
"It's just... it was all so random. I wouldn't have gone out to the Compound in the first place, if I hadn't run into Lex. If she hadn't been there at the Crow's Nest... all those people would have died."
"Good things happen can without reason, lil' darlin', just like the bad."
"Yeah, I suppose ---"
"Besides, how random was this, really?" Martha caught her daughter's eye. "You stop by the Crow's Nest all the time anyway. And Lex has a stake in the place, so she's often there as well." She glanced over at Jonathan. "To her credit, Lex has never been an absentee landlord."
"That's... right." Jonathan nodded. "Your talking to Lex wasn't totally random."
"And once you got to the Compound, things weren't random at all." Martha took her daughter's hand. "You acted just as I would've expected you to. Even against such terrible odds, saving all those people. We're so very, very proud of you."
"That we are, lil' darlin'." Jonathan hesitated. This next bit was tough for him to say. "And if a talk with Lex was what led you to rescuing those people, then... I'm glad that she's your friend. I hope she never gives you reason to regret that friendship."
"Pa ---"
"I don't want to see you hurt, Claire. Lex is fighting two decades of being a Luthor, and those are some pretty long odds. I just want you to be careful."
"I'll do my best."
"You do that, lil' darlin'."
"Yes. That's all we ever ask, sweetie."
Claire smiled at her parents. "Ya know, I've been thinking a lot about the day you found me." A wistful look crossed her face. "I know it never could have happened... but I sometimes wish that you could have adopted Lex, too."
Martha looked at Jonathan, a tear in her eye.
Jonathan lowered his eyes and stared at his hands. "Sometimes, Claire, so do I."
In a helicopter high over Metropolis, Lionel Luthor scanned his newspaper with an air of supreme satisfaction.
"Interesting reading in the late edition of the Daily Planet, Damien."
"Is there, sir?"
"Yes. The Kansas State Police have been able to connect James Wolfe to that fire the other day out in Lowell County. Evidently, it was started by a firebomb, and enough pieces of a timer survived for the fire investigators to link it to a receipt with his name on it." Lionel pointed out a particular paragraph. "And an unnamed federal source has confirmed that Wolfe had a passing acquaintance with such incendiary devices in his youth. He apparently had a very shady past."
"Imagine that." Damien Marco glanced out the window, seemingly unconcerned.
"In fact, there have been a number of new revelations about this Ascendance Foundation. Between all the money and papers discovered on the late Mr. Wolfe, and the information that was retrieved from the Foundation's computers, the state Attorney General's Office has found reason to initiate criminal proceedings against the good Doctor Jacobi. He's going to be a very busy boy once he gets out of Wichita General. They're calling him a fraud."
"You can't trust anyone anymore." Damien brought his hands together and cracked his knuckles. "What are they saying about that kid he was supposed to have saved?"
"Young Stuart Harrison? His family physician is quoted here --- quite extensively --- about that 'cure.' He's calling it a case of spontaneous regression. Highly unusual, but not unheard of. And the Harrison family appears to be accepting that now. Not surprising, in light of the fact that their son was one of the survivors of the fire." Lionel folded the paper and slapped it across his knee. "At any rate, it would appear that the land I sought will soon be back on the market. A job well done, eh?"
Damien looked at his employer, his expression perfectly bland. "I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. L. I didn't do anything."
"Of course you didn't, Damien." Lionel smiled. "None of us did."
"Earth to Claire. Come in, Claire."
"I can hear you, Petra." Claire Kent closed her locker and leaned her forehead against the cool metal.
"I might be more willing to believe that if you stop trying to stare a hole in that wall," Petra Ross said. "Girlfriend, you have been out of it most of this week."
"I've had a lot on my mind." She started to turn around and stopped halfway.
"Well, don't bother to tell me about it. "I've only known you most of your life." Petra followed Claire's gaze, as Landon Lang and Britney Fordman came around the corner. "Oh."
To Claire's eye, Landon looked a little unsettled, but nowhere near as distressed as he'd been last week. Britney, on the other hand, looked as happy as Claire had ever seen her.
"Petra! Claire! How goes it?"
"It goes, Britney." Petra tried to keep it light, but she could tell what Claire was thinking. They've patched things up. Again.
"Say, Britney..." Petra moved to buttonhole the cheerleader. "I really liked that new routine you guys did at the basketball game last week."
"Really? You don't think it was too over the top?"
While her friend steered Britney off into a discussion of dance moves, Claire took the opportunity to have a few words with Landon. She lowered her voice. "So... how are things going on the home front? I mean, with Nell and all ---?"
"Much improved. Aunt Nell's feeling fine. She's getting most of her money back and is busy pretending she never knew anyone named Donald Jacobi." Landon smiled shyly. "I'm finally starting to see the sense in Britney's advice to just block it out. I want to thank you for helping me see the bigger picture, Claire."
"Oh... well ---" She smiled weakly. "That's what I'm good for, I guess."
"Hey, guys!"
They all turned to see Stuart Harrison hailing them from down the corridor.
"Stu! You back so soon?" Landon clapped him on the back. "I thought your doctor wanted you to take it easy."
"He does. And I am." Stuart grinned back. "But Doc Manning said I could stop by to pick up my books and a few assignments. Gotta keep those grades up, y'know."
"Aw, you can do it! You beat the Big C, you can beat anything." Landon could afford to be expansive. He was back together with Britney, and he no longer worried about Stuart as a rival. His aunt wasn't going to be marrying Donald Jacobi. He poked his buddy in the ribs. "Hey, you still thinking of becoming a New Age preacher?"
"Please!" Stuart rolled his eyes and shook his head. "I'm not sure what I believe anymore. Sure has been a long, strange trip. But at least now I'm not dying any faster than the rest of you guys."
"Give it a rest, Landon." Petra surprised herself, challenging the quarterback. "Like you would have behaved any differently if you'd been the one to get the miracle cure."
"Yeah, Lang." Stuart poked him back. "You would probably have taken over and started running the show. I know how you hate to let anyone else play quarterback."
Petra drew herself up. "Hut one, hut two! Hallelujah, brother!"
Stuart hooted, and even Landon had to chuckle.
Claire glanced over at Britney, noticing that she had become very quiet, very distant. "Britney? Are you all right?"
"Is something wrong, babe?" Landon immediately turned to her, instantly solicitous. "I know, we probably shouldn't have been joking about this stuff."
Britney looked up at him. "Oh --- why not?"
"Huh?" That was clearly one response Landon hadn't expected. "You're not bothered?"
"No, I was just... distracted. There's been all of this craziness in our lives lately, and most of it's been way beyond our control. We either have to laugh or cry, and there's been too much crying. At times like this, I think we all need a good laugh."
"That's a great way to look at it, Brit." Stuart turned to Landon. "You are one lucky son of a gun, you know that?"
Yeah. Claire slumped back against the row of lockers. Tell me about it.
"Say, Claire --- I owe you another thanks." Stuart reached out and took Claire's hand, pulling her away from the wall. "You were there for me, when I really needed it."
"I was?" Claire swallowed uneasily.
"During the fire at the Compound... or maybe after it. I'm not sure, I was kind of out of it. I kept trying to make sense of things. And I imagined I heard your voice, asking me what was happening. I think that must have gotten me through it somehow."
"Ah." Inwardly, Claire breathed a sigh of relief. "Well... you're welcome."
"Stu ---?" There was hint of hesitation in Landon's voice, as if he was reluctant to bring something up. "Are there going to be any more problems... with your medical bills? I mean, with all the suits being brought against Jacobi ---"
"No, nothing to worry about there. Those bills were all settled a week ago. Of course, the folks still have to find a new insurance policy, but they're not the only ones in that boat. And at least we're all in good health now." He tapped his head. "Knock on wood."
"Oh. Good. I'm glad."
"You sure?" Stuart looked at him. "You don't sound too glad."
"No, I am. Really. It's good that you're not in need of a benefit. It's just... Oh, this is going to sound just awful! There was so little we could do to help, and planning that concert was the one thing that was under our control --- and even that got yanked away from us."
Britney slapped her hands together. "So yank it back!"
"What?"
"The benefit concert was a good idea. Hold it anyway. There must be someone around here who could use the help." Britney faltered for a moment, then forged ahead. "Stuart, you mentioned the problems with finding good health insurance. Maybe the concert could raise money to start some kind of local fund. We could get it registered as a nonprofit, the whole nine yards."
"Yes!" Landon threw his arms around Britney. "What a good idea!"
Stuart placed his hand on her shoulder. "Brit, you're a genius!"
Petra nodded with grudging respect. "Way to go, Britney."
"Yeah," Claire smiled halfheartedly.
Stuart shook his head. "Why didn't I think of that?"
"Hey, you would have" --- Landon patted his friend on the head --- "if you only had a brain!"
Stuart and Landon traded a few mock punches, then the group started breaking up. Stuart went off to check in with his teachers. Landon walked off --- arm in arm --- with Britney, making plans anew. And Claire slumped against the wall, looking even more out of it.
Petra leaned back alongside her friend. "Just offhand, I'd guess that you're bummed that you didn't make the great concert suggestion first."
"What a brilliant deduction, Nancy Drew." Claire hoisted a book bag over her shoulder and started down the hall.
Petra hustled to keep up. "Even worse, you're thinking if you hadn't been bummed over Landon and Britney to begin with, maybe you would've come up with the idea first."
"Hunh. And some people say that I'm perceptive."
"Hey, being the youngest of a multi-kid family, I've seen it all before." Petra tried not to look too smug. "The breakups, the broken hearts, the rivalries, the feeling that no one in the history of the world could have been so stupid ---"
"I hear that."
"Claire, I've seen the strategies that work, the ones that fail, and the ones that will turn around and bite you on the butt."
Claire stopped and turned to her friend. "So what do you prescribe, Doctor Ross?"
"Cut down on the brooding, girlfriend. Don't cut it out completely --- the 'dark, brooding soul' could be a good look for you. A lot of guys go for that in a big way." Petra grinned. "Just cut it back to where it doesn't trip you up anymore. You're twice the thinker Britney is --- at minimum. I know that, Charlie knows that, you know that. But if you stay wrapped up in your thoughts, who else is ever gonna know? Not Landon, that's for sure."
"Petra" --- Claire looked her friend over --- "that is brilliant."
"See? You're already thinking better!"
Claire and Petra entered the Torch office, only to find Charlie Sullivan pounding the desk alongside his computer keyboard.
"Ohhh! I don't believe this!"
"What's wrong?" asked Petra. "Computer crash again?"
"Much worse." Charlie looked up from the monitor. "I just got some new e-mail from the Ascendance Foundation."
"What?" Claire was astonished.
"Evidently, our Doctor Jacobi still has a few believers. A couple of the unshakably faithful have taken over maintenance of the computer BBS, and they want everyone on the list to know that it's just been updated. This is crazy! They're saying that the charges against Jacobi are all part of a government conspiracy to discredit him."
Claire looked over his shoulder at the monitor. "Incredible. How did they manage to tie all of that to the Kennedy assassination?"
"Believe me, you don't want to know." Charlie threw up his hands in exasperation. "I don't want to know!"
Petra gave Charlie's chair a half swivel, turning him away from the screen. "Hey, so there are some nut-jobs out there who still think that Jacobi's eventually gonna show 'em how to join the space people. So what? Some people think that Elvis is still alive."
"Yes, but the Elvis people don't have a vested interest in me. From now on, the Foundation is going to attract nothing but the lunatic fringe. And my name is attached to them. It's bad enough that all the major papers beat me to the punch with their Foundation exposés. But this!" He smacked the side of the monitor. "This is like being chained at the ankle to the town idiot. It'll be twice as hard to get anyone to take me or the Torch seriously. They'll just think I'm one more weirdo."
Claire bent over the computer. "There's no way for you to take your name off their BBS?"
Charlie shook his head. "Not without hacking into it. And ethical questions aside, I'm not quite enough of a cyberwizard to hack in and erase a link without getting caught. I'm going to be pegged as one more weirdo."
"Where did I put that proclamation? Ah, yes!" Petra plucked a sheet of paper from the recycling bin and pretended to read from it. "On this momentous occasion, it gives me great pleasure to officially induct one Scoop Sullivan into the Federal Weirdo Protection Program."
" 'Scoop'?" He snatched the paper away from her, wadded it into a ball, and tossed it at Pettra, hitting her square in the chest.
"Uungh! He got me!" Petra clutched the paper ball and collapsed back into a chair --- which promptly tipped over and dumped her onto the floor.
Claire took Charlie's hand and raised it over his head. "The winner, and still champion!"
He smiled with considerable satisfaction. "Hey, if I've told her once, I've told her a thousand times --- don't make light of the media."
"Okay, okay." Petra pushed herself up on one elbow and held out the other hand. "Somebody want to give me a hand?"
Claire and Charlie immediately began applauding.
"Comedians!" Petra started laughing. "I'm surrounded by comedians!"
"Hey! Cut that out, you." Charlie drew his forefinger across his throat. "That's my line."
That night, Jonathan and Martha Kent found their daughter sitting on the back steps, staring up at the stars.
"Is this a private party, lil' darlin', or can anyone join?"
"Be my guest. There's plenty of room." Claire Kent slid to the middle of the step as her mother and father sat down on either side of her. "I was just thinking about the meteorites, and wondering what weirdness they'll cause next."
"Don't be morbid, sweetie." Martha reached over and brushed an unruly lock of golden hair out of her daughter's eyes. "Things turned out fairly well this time."
"They sure turned out well for Stuart. And who knows, maybe someday doctors will find controllable uses for the space rocks. It wouldn't hurt if a little more good came out of that meteor shower." Claire scooped up a handful of pebbles from the ground and started shaking them in her hand. "I just wish I knew why those space rocks make me so sick. And why the effect is so immediate. Most folks don't seem to have any reaction to them at all. And for the few who have suffered freaky reactions, the changes took from days to years to occur." She tossed the pebbles back down. "And as far as I know, no one else has ever suffered crippling pain like I do. Okay, they're Earth people and I'm not. But that's just a fact --- it doesn't explain anything."
"Good point. Your reaction to the meteorites is certainly the most extreme. It's almost like an allergic reaction." Jonathan leaned forward on his knees. "You know, most folks can eat peanuts by the pound without suffering anything more than a bellyache. But a few people will go into shock and collapse after eating a single peanut. Maybe those space rocks are your poison peanuts."
Martha pulled her sweater around her as the breeze picked up. "Whatever the reason for Claire's reaction, maybe we can someday find something that will block the effects."
"I already have." Claire gave a single dry laugh. "But it's not always practical to carry a sheet of lead around."
"No, not like that, sweetie. I was thinking along the lines of immunizing or desensitizing you to the radiation. I've read of people --- deathly allergic to bee stings --- who were slowly desensitized to the venom." Martha made a mental note to do a search for that article. And I remember a college classmate who was using radioactive iodine in her research project. Before staring an experiment, she would saturate her system with nonradioactive iodine. That way, even if she did get exposed to the 'hot' stuff, her body wouldn't absorb any of it. Maybe we could find a treatment like that for you."
"Maybe." Claire sounded doubtful. "One thing's for sure, the meteorites aren't going to go away by themselves. There are too many of them scattered across the county."
"And there's no use dwelling on that, lil' darlin'. It'll just get your stomach in a bind." Jonathan threw an arm around his daughter's shoulders. "Since we can't eliminate the problem, we'll just deal with it as it comes."
"Yeah." Claire smiled. "And maybe someday I'll find some scientist who can help me handle it."
"Yeah, a real scientist. Not another quack like Jacobi."
"Well, there is one other good thing that came out of this." Martha joined her arm to her husband's in hugging their daughter. "A lot of those darned green rocks were gathered up from around the countryside. And according to the Ledger, some environmental cleanup company is carting them away for study. Far, far away, I hope!"
Around midnight, Dr. Steven Hamilton looked up from his computer terminal, roused from his studies by the rumble of an approaching engine. Suspicious, he grabbed an old baseball bat from a corner of the barn and cautiously eased the door open. There, in the middle of his drive, lit by the light of the moon, sat a panel truck.
"Who are you? What do you want?" Hamilton took a step away from the barn, brandishing the bat like a samurai sword. "You're on private property. No trespassing is allowed."
"Dr. Hamilton?" A gruff figure, outfitted in coveralls and a hard hat, climbed out of the truck cab, clipboard in hand. "Got a shipment here for you."
"Shipment? I haven't ordered anything. Certainly nothing that would be delivered this time of night. You just keep your distance."
"Take it easy, Doctor." As the figure drew closer, the voice assumed a more familiar tone. "I think you'll change your mind when you see what I'm delivering."
"Ms. Luthor?" Hamilton lowered the bat, shielding his eyes from the glare of the truck's headlights. "Is that you?"
"Yes. C'est moi!" Grinning, Lex Luthor removed her hard hat and shook loose her raven tresses.
"Very funny." Hamilton stuffed the bat under one arm and took the clipboard. "I'm used to seeing you drive up in something a little sportier. What's the big idea of masquerading?"
"Just doing my best to keep this delivery our little secret."
Hamilton turned the clipboard toward the truck's headlights, to read the shipping manifest. Across the top of the page was an unfamiliar logo. "Associated Disposal and Transport Services?" he read out loud.
"A little dummy corporation I set up for just this kind of situation, Doctor. Of course, I hired temp crews to handle the loading and initial hauling. I picked up the truck at a rental depot for the last leg of our cargo's journey."
Hamilton skipped over the rest of the manifest. "This just says 'Research Materials'." He stopped. "You don't mean ---"
Lex threw open the back of the truck and pried the lid from one of the crates that filled the cargo bay. "I told you that I would handle the Foundation, Doctor. Their loss is your gain." She plopped the hard hat back on her head. "This should provide you enough raw material for you to continue your work, don't you think?"
Dr. Steven Hamilton didn't say a word, he just stared at the rocks packed into the big wooden crate. The center of each and every one of them sparkled with an eerie green glow.