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SMALLVILLE 39
By Kaethel <Kaethel@wanadoo.fr>
Rated: PG-13
Submitted: November 2001
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The idea for this premise had been lurking on my hard drive 
for almost as long as I started writing fanfic, but it's 
only a few months ago that I began to really work on it, 
with the determination to wrap it up this year - and 
amazingly enough, in this case, strong will worked! ;) So 
here it is, and I hope you'll like it. :)

A couple of disclaimers, first: I wanted to apologise for 
taking a few liberties with the geography of Kansas. Since 
I've never been there, I mostly went with my imagination as 
for what the scenery could look like - and my imagination 
can go pretty wild, sometimes. <bg> In that regard, I'd 
like to thank Jeff Brodgen for providing me with some 
extremely helpful information about Kansas, telling me when 
the previously mentioned imagination had gone too far <g>, 
and reassuring me that I wasn't that far off from the 
actual looks of Smallville. :)

I couldn't have completed this story without the help of 
several wonderful people, who supported me throughout the 
writing process, never let me give up even when I thought 
I'd never finish it, and provided me with always more 
encouragement. So I'd like to express my gratitude to 
Elena, who saw a very rough outline of this fanfic when we 
met last spring, and motivated me to keep working on it. 
Thanks also to all the FoLCs who answered my various 
queries on the list and on irc, whose nagging made me want 
to write faster than my usual snail-rhythm <g>, to Dia, who 
attracted my attention on some typos I'd missed, and to the 
people on the boards for their hilarious and so supportive 
comments. :) Also special thanks to Tracey's brother, Tim, 
for teaching me some of the funniest expressions ever and 
allowing me to use one of them in my story. :)

An enormous thank you to my terrific beta-readers. Tracey 
and JoMarch helped a great deal with the beginning of this 
story, and even though their crazy schedule didn't allow 
them to beta-read the whole monster, they kept encouraging 
me beyond the call of duty. LabRat and Wendy Richards 
provided me with the most helpful suggestions, helped me 
through more sticky plot problems than I could ever 
remember, brainstormed with me for countless hours when I 
was stuck, and edited the whole story, for which I'm 
grateful beyond words. You guys are the best. :)

And of course, many, *many* thanks to my Archive editor 
Tricia Walpole for catching my typos and being so 
supportive. :)

For those who may not know the names, Mario Andretti was a 
successful Formula One racing driver of the eighties. David 
Vincent was the lead character in the TV show, The 
Invaders. A man dedicated to proving that the world was 
being infiltrated by aliens.

All usual disclaimers apply: Lois, Clark, and all related 
characters are property of DC Comics and Warner Bros, and a 
few lines of dialogue belong to the script writers of 
Strange Visitor. The rest is copyrighted with the author.

Now, all I wanted to add was a little hint as for where 
this story is going, and that with the help of a simple 
equation: (Tension + Growly Clark + Angry Lois ) x Sexual 
Tension = Smoochies Potential. I'll let you discover where 
this is going. <vbg>

Feedback is, of course, very welcome. :)


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- Smallville 39 -



~ Metropolis, New Troy ~


George Thompson checked his watch for the fifth time in a 
few minutes and let out an annoyed sigh. He'd always hated 
waiting, and he thought he'd made that clear to Trask the 
last time he'd seen him. The head of Bureau 39 was under 
*his* command; technically, he was under him in the 
hierarchy, at least according to the papers back in D.C. 
Yet every time they met, Trask bossed him around as if he 
didn't care at all about whatever orders Thompson or anyone 
in Washington gave him.

The creation of Bureau 39 had looked like a good idea at 
the time. He'd supported it so enthusiastically that 
Everett, the head of the F.B.I., had placed him in charge 
of the newborn secret department. Sometimes he wondered 
what had gone through his head when he'd accepted the 
assignment - it hadn't turned out to be as easy as he'd 
expected, especially since Trask had arrived on the scene. 
But the Secretary of the Interior had insisted that his 
young protege be hired for the job, and no-one had found a 
sufficiently good reason to contradict Lloyd Tempus's will.

This Lloyd Tempus was another weird fish. No-one knew where 
he came from nor how he'd attained his high position in the 
American government. And no-one was apparently interested 
in finding out what background he had - he could be a 
criminal mastermind, for all people knew. But Tempus kept 
working on higher ambitions, his latest challenge being to 
run for the upcoming presidential election. What was 
frightening was that no politician had objected to his 
candidacy, and he'd already obtained the support of many 
well-respected political figures.

Thompson shuddered. The mere thought that this man could 
someday become president of one of the most powerful 
nations on earth scared him to the core. He'd never been 
able to make up his mind on what it was about this man that 
disturbed him the most. Was it his too-smooth exterior? Or 
perhaps the wicked gleam in his eyes when he gave out 
orders, almost as if revelling in his authority? There was 
something definitely wrong about him, although Thompson had 
never been able to put his finger on it.

And lately, Trask had been taking a little too much 
initiative and blaming it on Tempus, which just confirmed 
Thompson's opinion of the Secretary of the Interior. He 
wondered what the head of Bureau 39 wanted of him tonight. 
The clandestine nature of the meeting place was making him 
nervous, because with Trask, it generally meant trouble and 
difficult moments of stress.

Why the hell had he chosen the docks at the far end of 
Suicide Slum, of all places, to meet him? His office at the 
F.B.I. would have been just as deserted...in a less 
unsettling way. Thompson darted a quick look about him - 
not a soul lived around here. Various warehouses and 
deserted cargo ships pitted with rust were anchored in the 
quiet, dark waters of the harbour. The surroundings were 
making him nervous, and didn't fit with his classic 
business suit - he'd already received a couple of curious 
stares from the homeless people living a couple of 
bl...cartons away, and the resident prostitutes patrolling 
the streets had made him more than one offer for 
their...services.

"Next time, *I* will specify the place and time of our 
meeting," he muttered under his breath.

"You will?" a voice behind him answered, causing Thompson 
to swivel around, startled. "How sweet of you to volunteer 
to set everything up. But we won't need that any more."

"Trask! Don't sneak up on me like that! Do you know how 
dangerous it is for a man with high blood pressure?"

"Yeah," Trask snorted sarcastically, thrusting his hands 
into his pockets and taking a few steps to circle around 
Thompson, quite in the same way that a hawk would approach 
its prey before the final attack. "You certainly don't need 
that."

"And what do you mean, we won't need that any more?"

"I can promise you, Thompson, that I won't ask you to meet 
around here ever again. From now on, I'll deal directly 
with Lloyd Tempus. It'll be better for us all, and 
particularly for our duty to this country, as he's more 
devoted to our cause than you'll ever be."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Thompson demanded, anger 
and nervousness mingling in his mind as he watched Trask 
behave so off-handedly.

"Just that you're about to hand in your notice as our go-
between with the F.B.I."

"I'm about to...what?"

"You heard me, Thompson. Your career with the Federal 
Bureau of Investigation is over. Ending now."

"Trask, you're crazy! Your mission - "

"My mission is to identify alien threats to the security of 
this country," Trask cut him off coldly.

Thompson chuckled nervously. "Alien threats? Come on, 
Trask, you and I both know that none of the cases that have 
been reported to us have been proven. The little green men 
haven't invaded the world and I'm afraid they probably have 
better things to do than care about us."

"You're wrong, Thompson. They're already here, and I'm 
about to get the proof. And the invasion is only starting. 
They dispatch an advance guard at first, to test the waters 
- then if we don't offer any resistance, they send the 
others."

Thompson shrugged unenthusiastically. "So what's your plan? 
Catch the aliens and dissect them?"

"I don't want to study them. I want to kill them before 
they kill us." Trask's words only spoke of hatred, and 
Thompson knew that he wouldn't hesitate to carry out his 
threat.

"Trask, your reckless freelancing is jeopardising the 
integrity of the entire Bureau 39 operation. Remember it 
was originally created to take care of the unclassified 
files sleeping in the drawers of the F.B.I.'s office - not 
to be the God and judge of whoever you think has landed on 
earth in a flying saucer," Thompson shot back, tired of the man's obsession and 
worried about its possible consequences on the whole 
purpose of the F.B.I.'s creation.

"You don't know *anything* about Bureau 39," Trask spat out 
harshly. "You sit with those gutless paper pushers in 
Washington who are too stupid to know we're even in a war, 
let alone how to fight it!"

"That's more of your insane paranoia..."

"Open your eyes!" Trask yelled in reply. " They're coming 
after us. A few people will die in the struggle, yes, but 
we either draw the line or we capitulate. I will *never* 
submit."

Thompson sighed and shook his head. There was nothing more 
he could say to convince Trask to stop taking the operation 
so personally. He would have to see that the man turned 
over command and control of all his military assets, before 
it was too late. Taking a reasonable tone, he tried using 
conviction again. "The Smallville operation *has* to come 
to an end. It's been taking too much time and money, 
without much result," he added when Trask raised a 
challenging and totally careless eyebrow. "Besides, an 
'environmental mission'," he continued, mimicking imaginary 
quotation marks, "isn't supposed to use military means, and 
I'm surprised the inhabitants of this Kansas community 
haven't figured out something's not right yet."

"You're underestimating the weight that the words 
'government' and 'military orders' have on people, 
Thompson. Besides, the Smallville operation isn't under 
your authority any more."

"Shall I remind you, Trask, that I'm still in charge of 
Bureau 39 and that you're therefore under *my* authority?"

Trask glared at him. Thompson had visibly no clue who he 
was talking to, and he'd make sure he finally understood 
who was the boss from now on. Good thing that Tempus was 
dealing directly with him and avoiding go-betweens like 
this idiot from Washington. And from now on, Thompson would 
stop being a threat to the Bureau - it was an essential 
point, especially considering how the Smallville operation 
was turning out.

The very recent discovery of a capsule in the Kent garden 
confirmed what he'd suspected all these years - the aliens 
had been around for a while, and they were hiding among 
humans. They'd probably brainwashed some earthlings so that 
they helped them to fake integration...before they struck 
at the world with their incommensurate powers and reduced 
the largest of the world's nations to slavery.

And Thompson, just like every one of his colleagues back in 
Washington, failed to see that. The only person who 
understood the importance of the danger that the aliens' 
invasion represented was Lloyd Tempus, who fortunately had 
enough sensibility and determination to realise that the 
fight had just begun, and that individuals of Thompson's 
ilk were to be disposed of before they went over to the 
enemy.

He'd warned him that people would die in the struggle, and 
he hadn't been kidding - he was ready to sacrifice whoever 
would protect the aliens by their words or actions, and 
Thompson was fitting the bill. Tempus had been right to 
warn him about the man, and the sooner he was out of the 
picture, the safer for the mission he was in charge of.

Reaching inside his military jacket pocket, Trask withdrew 
his gun in one swift move and pulled the trigger a fraction 
of second later, a smug grin playing about his lips as 
Thompson gasped in horror and fell to the ground.

Lloyd Tempus would be satisfied.

"You have no authority," Trask said, throwing one last 
despising look at Thompson's lifeless body before strolling 
off into the night.



********************


Barely a few feet away, hidden in the shadows, behind a 
stack of crates of various sizes, a young, dark-haired 
woman was reduced to a heap of trembling limbs as the shot 
resonated over and over in her head. Whatever they said, 
witnessing murders would never be an activity she'd get 
used to. She'd have to build herself a thicker skin if she 
wanted to succeed as a reporter, but she sincerely hoped 
that assassinations wouldn't be an everyday occurrence.

She hadn't seen it coming, despite her awareness that the 
case she was on might be a lot more dangerous than she'd 
first suspected. When Trask and Thompson had started to 
argue, she'd scribbled frantic notes on her pad and held 
her breath in excitement, knowing that the past few weeks 
of research were finally coming to a concrete result. She 
now had enough information to be sure that the 
investigation she'd embarked upon wouldn't end up in a cul-
de-sac.

Finally, after all this time looking for *the* big break 
that would start her journalism career, she was on her way 
to breaking a major story that could earn her her first 
award and launch her profession with a chance that was 
rarely given to mere students like her. With a bit of luck, 
it might net her a job with one of the biggest newspapers 
in the country, maybe even the Daily Planet. She would just 
have to be careful and bring her future editor not only a 
scoop, but above all, a well written report rendering the 
truth about Jason Trask and his Machiavellian plans and 
backing it up with facts.

One of the things she'd been learning for the past month 
she'd spent in journalism school was that you couldn't rely 
on your editor to run your story if it couldn't stand 
against the demands of attorneys. It had looked like a 
trivial detail at first, but given an example of what a 
lawsuit could engender, she understood the need for 
precaution. Especially when attacking such powerful and 
influential men as military and government agents.

If she was skilful enough, she could prove the link with 
Lloyd Tempus and expose the man as one more crooked 
politician. Either the guy was nuts, or he was trying to 
muddle things up for anyone who was attempting to figure 
him out. It seemed so farfetched for a man in Tempus's 
position to stoop to a U.F.O. obsession, but if Trask was 
telling the truth, then the Secretary was involved in this 
much more deeply than even Thompson had imagined.

She'd felt the thrilling tingle of an upcoming scoop for 
the past few weeks, ever since she'd interviewed that 
former member of Bureau 39. She'd been visiting the Daily 
Planet premises with her journalism class when her first 
real scoop had literally landed in her lap, breaking the 
boredom of her afternoon. And here she was tonight, clad in 
dark, form-fitting clothes, and her shoulder-length hair 
safely tucked under a black baseball cap, having just 
obtained the last piece of information that she needed 
before throwing herself into this story. Eventually, after 
all the time she'd spent gathering little hints here and 
there, spying on conversations and trailing after hunches 
that didn't pan out, she was getting a real, serious lead.

She was well aware that many obstacles would loom up in her 
path, starting with the half guilt trip she'd made after 
her visit at the Planet. Her friend Linda hadn't helped 
much that time, lecturing her that what she was doing was 
like stealing a story from a Planet reporter - whoever this 
lead had been destined for - and that it wasn't fair. She'd 
argued that Burton Newcomb had willingly given her the 
information - all right, he'd probably thought she was a 
reporter for the paper, and she hadn't set him straight. 
She remembered *exactly* what had happened and how, and she 
wasn't about to give up her scoop for some pesky detail 
like the fact she wasn't a qualified reporter...*yet*.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


~ Daily Planet, three weeks earlier ~


"And right over here, we've got the editor's office. Perry 
White has kindly agreed to meet us today, despite a full 
schedule and the demanding deadlines required at a 
newspaper as influential as the Daily Planet," the 
professor explained for the benefit of his rapt audience...

Rapt, except for one student, who was following loosely 
behind her classmates and looking bored.

Lois Lane hated conventional visits - it seemed like the 
usual atmosphere reigning in the Planet's premises was 
somewhat altered by the group's arrival, and she knew from 
experience that none of it was natural. The reporters in 
the newsroom were calmly sitting at their desks, and 
although most of them were apparently concentrating on 
their computers or notepads, the discreet glances thrown in 
the direction of the group of future journalists having 
their first brush with the career they were taking up 
weren't lost on Lois.

Ha! As if an editor-in-chief would let his employees yawn 
their heads off if just for a few seconds! Under normal 
circumstances, he'd probably be standing at the entrance of 
his office, surveying the Bullpen with an eagle eye and 
barking at anyone who dared take an unnecessary break. 
Heck, the trip to the coffee machine and back might even be 
timed. All right, so maybe Mr White wasn't as much of a 
slave driver as she imagined, but it certainly took a lot 
of work and determination from the entire Planet team to 
always be on top and beat the other newspapers in town.

The Planet had the best reporters around - Myerson, Ferns, 
and more recently, the hot team composed of Billy Norcross 
and Serena Judd. Professor Zulawski had waffled on about 
them as their group had passed by the desks of those famous 
journalists. Okay, so they'd obtained a smashing interview 
with President Presley last year, and they'd also uncovered 
the biggest drug ring since the one exposed by Perry White 
himself some fifteen years earlier. But apart from that, 
she supposed they were pretty normal people.

She wished she could have met them today, though. She was 
curious about who they were exactly, and her teacher's 
praise wasn't telling her anything concrete about them - 
apart from the fact that they were the best around and 
wouldn't ever be beaten by any of the newcomers in the 
journalism business.

Wait till *she* came along, she'd thought resentfully as Mr 
Zulawski had moved on to the next *wonderful* feature he 
wanted to show them around here. Lois had barely been able 
to hold back a snort of disdain.

She let the group follow the steps of her groupie of a 
teacher while she progressively slowed her walk in hope of 
sneaking out of Zulwaski's sight. It didn't take her more 
than a minute to find a pillar to hide behind, and she 
heard the gallop of her fellow students lessen as they 
disappeared into the conference room, where Mr White would 
presumably give them a fascinating speech about the values 
required in a reporter.

Left on her own, Lois started to wander around the 
newsroom, observing that the activity was settling back 
into its daily routine now that the journalism students 
were out of earshot. White had probably given them a 
meaningful glare, for the reporters were milling about the 
Bullpen, exchanging impressively big folders and typing 
frantically on their keyboards. And more importantly, they 
seemed completely oblivious to her presence, which allowed 
her to go snooping around.

She stayed in her semi-hiding place for a few more minutes, 
enjoying the sight of a newsroom where the journalists were 
*really* at work and not putting on a show for the benefit 
of their hopeful successors. A guy about her age was 
distributing doughnuts, a severe looking woman was frowning 
as she took notes on the phone, a fat and bald old man was 
thoughtfully caressing his beard as he conversed with 
the...bimbo sitting in front of him - a source, possibly?

Lois sighed happily. This was what she'd always hoped a 
newsroom would be like, with mute TV screens in the 
background broadcasting various bulletins and the odour of 
fresh coffee filling her nostrils. Doughnut Guy passed 
close by and she was tempted to reach for one of the 
pastries, but she held back for fear of being discovered 
and thrown out of the newspaper premises - or worse, being 
forced to rejoin her group.

She carefully made her way back to the area situated to one 
side of the Bullpen, opposite the conference room, and 
navigated between the cubicles sitting close to the ramp 
leading to the elevators. Her eyes fell on the mythical 
name of Serena Judd, and she felt herself attracted to the 
famous reporter's working place, to the point where she sat 
in the woman's chair and let her mind wander to her wildest 
dreams.

She could have a legitimate seat here a few years from now. 
She'd work as hard as she could to achieve this goal, in 
any case, and maybe someday she'd get the chance to be as 
skilful as the woman whose desk she was sitting at. She 
chuckled as she imagined what it would be like to be 
bellowed at by Perry White when she was too late for the 
evening edition...and also how proud she'd feel when she'd 
bring him her first major scoop. Would he express some 
gratitude before he sent her back to work, reminding her 
that reporters were only as good as their next story?

Whatever the answer was, she knew she'd love it, and she'd 
give anything right now to get to such a position earlier 
than expected.

"Ms Judd?" A male voice snapped her out of her reverie and 
she looked up into the terrified eyes of a man whose 
trembling fingers were nervously fiddling together.

"Uh..."

"Ms Judd," the man spoke up again without giving her time 
to reply. "My name's Burton Newcomb," he continued, 
extending his hand out to her in an automatic but 
distracted greeting, "and I used to work for a secret 
section of the F.B.I. I've now resigned from my position 
because the man who's been thrust to the head of Bureau 39 
is too much of a madman to lead the organisation to 
anything but a tragic end, but I want you to investigate 
this and bring them down before they can harm people. 
There's too much at stake in this case, too many top people 
involved, and no-one I can trust this with. You're my last 
hope, Ms Judd."

"Huh?" was all that Lois could think of as a reply. Either 
this guy was a complete nutcase, or...or she could just be 
living that one important minute of her life where the 
scoop of the century was falling into her lap.

/Into *Serena Judd*'s lap,/ the voice of her conscience 
rectified.

Serena's desk, Lois's lap, she mentally replied, 
effectively shutting off the annoying thought. Therein lay 
the big difference.

"Tell me you're going take care of this," Newcomb pleaded 
in a whisper, and Lois found herself nodding, accepting a 
story about which she had no idea what was involved, nor 
whether it wasn't a bit out of her league.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


~ Suicide Slum, present time ~


/A *bit* out of her league./

Lois remembered her exact thought as she crouched deeper 
into the darkness provided by the moonless night and 
struggled to regain control of her fear, which wasn't easy 
when the cadaver of George Thompson was lying a few feet 
away and the man's murderer might still be around.

A murderer who might well be the same as the one who'd 
killed Burton Newcomb the previous week, therefore 
effectively silencing Lois's main source before he could 
reveal more to her.

The fact that Newcomb had taken her for Serena Judd had 
seemed like a divine benediction at the time, but right now 
she dearly wished she hadn't been sitting at the senior 
reporter's desk to hear what the older man had to say. He'd 
been right when he'd clarified that some top people were 
involved, and his recommendation not to trust anyone proved 
itself justified as well.

One look at Trask had sent a flash of a memory through her 
head, and she'd immediately recognised the man whom she'd 
seen involved in a deep conversation with the police chief 
a week earlier, while she'd been giving her statements for 
the murder of Newcomb. How could she confide in men who 
were in league with a murderer? Policeman or not, Inspector 
Richard Preston had looked very friendly around Trask, and 
that gave Lois a valid reason not to trust him with 
anything. She was definitely on her own.

And now Thompson had inadvertently revealed to her prying 
ears that the Secretary of the Interior was involved, too. 
Good grief, but Lloyd Tempus had looked like an honest man 
to her - well, as honest as politicians could get, anyway. 
Learning that he was turning out to be worse than his 
fellow members of the government was leaving her completely 
stunned, especially when she'd been tempted to give him her 
vote for the next presidential run.

She listened intently, trying to determine if Trask was 
still around. She assumed that an assassin rarely stayed 
around the scene of his crime, but one could never be too 
careful. When she was finally sure that the area was safe - 
or as safe as Suicide Slum could get - she released the 
breath she'd been holding and retrieved her backpack, 
struggling with the zipper for a few seconds before 
snatching her wallet from an inside pocket.

She peered through the darkness and palmed the few bills 
there, a despondent sigh on her lips. She'd have to dig 
into her college account, and the prospect didn't 
particularly appeal to her. On the other hand, her father 
had told her it was a personal reserve to help her pursue 
her studies, and if her intuition was right, this 
investigation *was* part of the process. She'd certainly 
learn a lot by doing this, and it would be an excellent 
experience for her resume.

There was a grinding sound behind her and she froze, 
crouching in the darkness and inwardly muttering at the 
hammering sound of her heartbeat that surely wouldn't go 
unnoticed, were someone getting closer to her. She got the 
shaking of her limbs under control and slowly turned 
around, as silently as she could, jerking when the 
startling, grating whisper reached her ears again. A low 
meowing followed and a grey, tousled cat jumped off a 
crate, creating the same noise that had frightened her 
earlier before trotting away, oblivious to her sigh of 
relief. Lois scolded herself; her investigation didn't look 
hopeful if a poor, harmless cat was enough to frighten her. 
Being stressed with a murder was one thing, but she 
couldn't let a stupid feline stress her out.

Being in such a neighbourhood at night wasn't exactly doing 
the best for her tranquillity, though. The seedy, narrow 
streets of Suicide Slum attracted darkness as much as 
criminality, and she didn't want to be found by any of the 
resident dealers and junkies who stayed hidden during the 
day and invaded the streets after sunset. So far, the only 
passers-by she'd seen, apart from Trask and Thompson, were 
homeless people in search of something to eat, drug addicts 
in search of their next fix, and prostitutes in search of 
clients, so it didn't mean she had to panic.

Right?

All she needed to do was hug the walls and stay hidden as 
much as she could until she reached the old station on 
Lincoln Avenue.  From there, she could catch one of the 
suburban trains back to her apartment. It was simple 
enough, wasn't it?

Yes. Sure. Simple. Uh-huh. Didn't mean that she had to like 
it. She shuddered, resisting her fear, and after a quick 
but careful check of her clothes to make sure that she was 
still fading into the decor like a chameleon, she got to 
her feet and started towards her goal.



********************


It was with a sigh of relief that Lois plopped herself into 
the slashed leather seat at the end of the railway wagon, 
taking off her cap and letting her dark hair fall onto her 
shoulders. The tiredness of the day was making itself felt, 
and the stress she'd suffered while staking out the depths 
of Suicide Slum for a good part of the night was starting 
to catch up with her.

Her heart was still beating strongly against her chest, 
reminding her of the major risks she'd taken by going to 
that same place after what had happened barely a week 
earlier. Some experiences were hard to forget, especially 
when your life had been already endangered a very short 
time ago, and in circumstances that were way too similar.

She could still hear the ragged breathing of her pursuer as 
she'd run through the darkened, seedy streets of downtown 
Metropolis, darting through alleys in hope of shaking him 
off. The adrenaline of the moment had given her the 
necessary stamina to pull through, but it had been close, 
and if she hadn't found a tiny, shadowed corner to hide in, 
she certainly wouldn't still be here to remember the 
moment.

The attack had come unexpectedly, her aggressor coming out 
of nowhere, tearing her out of the shock of discovering the 
lifeless body of Burton Newcomb. The older man had been her 
most reliable source since their first impromptu encounter 
in the Daily Planet's premises, and he'd been of invaluable 
help, providing her with small clues he found while 
snooping around F.B.I. offices where he still had access. 
By being less than careful with his investigations, he'd 
brought down his own ruination on himself. He'd spent so 
much energy trying to make up for mistakes he felt 
responsible for, intent on telling her everything he knew 
to try and uncover the madness that had taken over the 
government's creation.

Even though she hadn't had the time to really know him, 
she'd come to appreciate his qualities and rely on him, 
even if struggling to figure out the truth among the 
snippets of information he dropped into her lap was 
sometimes too much of a frustration. She'd been lucky to 
cross paths with him, and she wouldn't have reached this 
point in her investigation without him. Even dead, he'd 
managed to be helpful - good thing he'd left his personal 
notes at his office, warning her of tonight's rendezvous 
between Thompson and Trask.

 It had been such a shock to find him lying face down in a 
pool of blood in the deserted alley. He'd called her only 
two hours before, asking her to meet him there because he'd 
found out something of the utmost importance about Bureau 
39. He'd sounded slightly more excited than his usual calm 
attitude, and promised her that the information was very 
much worth it. But he'd never had the occasion to tell her.

She must have arrived right after his murder because his 
attacker hadn't yet had time to dispose of the corpse when 
she reached their usual meeting place. Being closely 
followed and running away through the dark night had made 
her aware of the danger lurking if she probed too deeply 
into this investigation. Burton Newcomb had paid the hard 
price for knowing too much, and she didn't want to end up 
like he had.

The first hours after she'd escaped the murderer had been a 
nightmare filled with cops and questions coming from all 
sides, and then she'd been sent home to face alone the 
consequences of what she'd almost witnessed, and what she'd 
miraculously escaped. Not that her statement would help 
any, considering she hadn't been able to give much of a 
description of her pursuer. Mere information like he'd been 
of average build and the clothes he'd been wearing was far 
from being enough when it came to identifying any suspect 
the police might arrest.

And anyway, she had no doubt that the murder was closely 
linked to her current investigation. At first, she'd tried 
to keep a cool head about the events of that night, and let 
the police take care of everything. Her interview with 
Inspector Preston, after she'd found Newcomb's body and 
escaped what she was convinced was a life-threatening 
situation, had somewhat reassured her that the police would 
try their hardest to bring down the murderer of her source.

But seeing Trask's face tonight had made a memory 
resurface. The resemblance was unmistakable - too much to 
be a simple coincidence. She's seen that man before, and 
she remembered where: at the police station, and deeply 
involved in what looked like a very friendly conversation 
with Inspector Preston.

She shuddered. How could she trust the police chief when he 
entertained an apparently close relationship with a 
murderer?

Maybe it was Trask himself who'd taken care of the problem 
that might have been posed by whatever her source knew. The 
fact that she'd sat a few feet away from a criminal like 
Jason Trask in an environment that was supposedly dedicated 
to honesty and justice made her shudder, and she renewed 
her decision not to go to the police tonight.

Whatever she might risk if she didn't immediately testify 
for the murder of a government agent like Thompson, it 
wasn't worth the much bigger menace of giving out what she 
knew within earshot of Inspector Preston, who could simply 
report it to his friend Trask and make sure Lois Lane was 
disposed of.

However, it wouldn't prevent her from investigating. She'd 
promised herself that she'd get to the bottom of this and 
bring Newcomb's murderer to justice if it was the last 
thing she did. And the best way to start was to use the 
helpful information that her source had provided her with, 
together with the revelations she'd just had tonight.

The soft motion of the train rocked her into a drowsy 
state, and she leaned against the window, watching the 
large suburb blocks quickly passing by. Rows of identical 
walls loomed over the railways, darkened by too much rain 
and pollution, dotted with dirty windows through which 
naked bulbs provided a faint glow, which was absorbed by 
old, torn wallpaper. Students, single mothers or lonely old 
people lived there, some drowning their loneliness in 
alcohol and drugs, others looking out into the street, in 
search for an escape from their boredom.

The southern districts of Metropolis contrasted very much 
with the rest of the city. Lois was born in the north, in 
one of those privileged suburbs where attorneys, doctors 
and arrogant actors rubbed shoulders, keeping to 
themselves. Only two days ago, she'd stayed at her father's 
villa up there on the hills surrounding Riverside - a large 
house lost in a forest of pine trees, where mingled aromas 
of undergrowth and resin made you forget that you were only 
a few miles away from one of the biggest American cities.

Sam Lane's house certainly seemed far away from her 
apartment building. After her parents' divorce, she and 
Lucy had mostly stayed with Ellen Lane, even though the 
roles of mother and daughters had soon been inverted. Lois 
now knew more than she'd ever wanted to about the 
devastating effects of alcohol. She couldn't remember how 
many times she'd had to drag her drunken mother to the 
bedroom and listen over and over to the same story of how 
her father had abandoned her, leaving her miserable and 
lonely.

The social services had threatened Mrs. Lane with the 
possibility that her children could be taken away from her 
unless she agreed to undergo treatment for alcoholism. The 
cure had lasted a few months during which Lucy and Lois had 
stayed at their father's house and been basically on their 
own the whole time.

Lucy had reacted rather badly to the situation; she'd 
rebelled against any authority, refusing to let any adult 
demand anything from her, because as she said, no-one had 
ever given her anything. Soon enough, she'd left school and 
looked for a job, whether it was as a waitress in a bar, or 
as a saleswoman in some fashionable clothes shop. That was 
how a casting director had noticed her, and after a few 
tries, she'd landed herself a contract with the producer of 
a new show on local TV.

Now she was Alicia Dikers, rebellious teenager, for about 
fifteen million potential viewers. She had her own place 
near the studios where the series was shot five days a 
week, and Lois barely saw her any more. Lack of time, her 
sister said. But Lois supposed that Lucy wasn't unhappy to 
have cut almost all ties with her childhood, and even at 
seventeen, she'd become very independent for a girl of her 
age.

Lois, on the other hand, had continued her studies, always 
driving herself onward to realising her aim of becoming a 
reporter someday. She didn't exactly know why the 
profession had appealed so much to her for so long, but it 
was nothing short of a vocation in her case. Despite her 
father's scepticism and her mother's lack of interest, 
she'd kept on working in the hope of reaching her dream, 
and she'd now entered the Metropolis School of Journalism. 
Not that Sam Lane exactly approved her choice - he kept 
reminding her, every time she saw him, that she would be 
better off studying something more 'appropriate for a 
woman', like he always said.

Lois shook her head as she heard her father's irksome words 
in her mind. She'd given up on fighting with him on the 
topic - it was useless when he was so stubborn, anyway. And 
what mattered was that he hadn't forced her to follow his 
'friendly advice', and kept paying for college, whatever 
she did, as long as she brought a diploma back home at some 
point. He didn't really care about the rest of it, and 
despite her bitterness towards her father, Lois had to 
admit she was mostly happy with the situation.

She was stirred back to the present by a group of 
boisterous students sitting a couple of carriages away. 
They'd boarded the train at the previous station, and were 
now messing around in a lively uproar...which was making a 
terrible racket as far as she was concerned!

She growled inwardly, eyeing the four guys warily; somehow, 
she knew that she was in trouble even before they nudged 
one of them, shoving him towards her. She rolled her eyes 
as the peroxide blonde approached her, chewing his gum in a 
way she thought of as particularly vulgar, though she 
suspected he himself viewed it as cool.

She ignored him, staring out the window until he plopped 
himself beside her, propping his feet on the leather seat 
opposite and putting a possessive arm around her. She 
shrugged out of the unwelcome intimate gesture, glaring at 
the object of her annoyance, who responded with the most 
stupid expression she'd ever seen.

"Hey! Whatcha doin' all alone?" He grinned broadly at her, 
probably expecting her to be scared or flattered.

Whatever he was waiting for didn't come, however, because 
after gratifying him with a raised eyebrow, Lois grabbed 
her backpack and got up, striding over the stretched out 
legs of the annoyance and intent on reaching the other end 
of the carriage. She hoped the jerk would leave his little 
game at that. Waste of time! The guy's buddies only 
snickered as she passed by them. The neglected student 
didn't seem to take her rejection too well, and he followed 
her to her new seat despite the harsh stare she threw at 
him.

She knew the type. Showing off in front of their friends - 
and what better way to show off than playing big macho-man 
with a girl? - but not much courage once they found 
themselves in a critical situation. She generally preferred 
to ignore them; she knew that they tired pretty quickly 
when their victim didn't respond to their provocations or 
didn't look afraid of them.

"What ya tryin' to do here?" he drawled, standing beside 
her and looking down at her in a very superior manner.

She simply glared, urging him without words to drop it, but 
he visibly wouldn't take no for an answer - in such a case, 
putting him in the picture might be helpful to him, she 
supposed.

He reached a hand to touch her chin, forcing her to look at 
him. "Don't play hard to get, babe! Ain't that every 
woman's fantasy to - ow!"

The macho-wannabe clutched at his groin, wounded in his 
flesh and pride, and a little self-satisfied grin spread on 
Lois's face as she savoured her victory.

"Don't *ever* call me babe," she snarled, silently thanking 
the judicious use of her knee.

She shook her head, amazed by the blond guy's quick defeat. 
She didn't regret the self-defence classes that she'd taken 
in her last year of high school - they were turning out to 
be useful, after all.

Throwing a quick glance outside informed her that her 
station was coming next. Gathering her stuff, she ignored 
the young man's faint whines and his friends' laughter and 
provocative whistles. She made a quick exit, throwing a 
smirk over her shoulder, and jumped off the train when it 
stopped in a deafening screech of brakes.



********************


Lois let herself into her darkened apartment, sighing in 
frustration when the lamp sitting on the coffee table near 
the couch was switched on and her roommate's interrogative 
gaze settled on her.

"Where've you been all night?"

Kicking off her shoes and dropping her backpack and cap 
onto a nearby chair, Lois padded barefoot through the 
living room, ignoring Linda's question. She knew that her 
friend would want to know what had held her up for so long 
when she'd said she just had something to do before going 
home. She checked her watch - okay, so 1am was probably a 
tad later than Linda had expected her to be, but was that 
reason enough for her to be demanding explanations from 
her?

Sometimes, she had a motherly attitude that aggravated Lois 
to no end. Like when she stared at her without saying a 
word, waiting for her to speak up first, just like she was 
right now.

"Lois, you didn't answer my question," Linda whined after a 
while.

"No, I didn't. Look, Linda, maybe this will be news to you, 
but I happen to have a life."

Sitting up straight, Linda patted the sofa, urging Lois to 
sit by her side. Lois complied with a sigh, knowing she 
wouldn't get away with silence this time.

"Come on, spill it!" Linda said excitedly. "What's his 
name?"

"Excuse me?"

"His name! Your secret boyfriend!"

"My sec...oh! My secret boyfriend! Of course..." Sometimes 
Linda's nosiness was a very big help. Especially now. 
"Well...he's..."

"Yes?" Linda prompted, her eyes twinkling with eagerness.

"Spike!" she exclaimed, sudden inspiration striking.

"Sp...Spike?" Linda enquired with a raised eyebrow.

"Spike," Lois confirmed with a decisive nod of her head.

"Spike who?"

"What do you mean, Spike who?"

"What do you mean, what do I mean, Spike who? 
Spike...*something*! Like Linda King or Lois Lane! That guy 
must have a last name, right?"

"Oh! Uh...Spike. Just Spike. I think it's a nickname, 
actually."

"Bet it is."

"Linda!"

"Never mind. Anyway, is that why you're...um...'dressed to 
kill'?" She drew imaginary quotation marks in the air, 
showing her disapproval of Lois's choice of clothes. "I'm 
sorry, honey, but last time I checked In Style Magazine, 
black jeans and sweater along with trainers weren't exactly 
*sexy*."

Lois rolled her eyes and slumped deeper into the sofa's 
cushions. "*Spike* likes me that way."

"Guess I could expect pretty much anything from a guy named 
Spike," Linda remarked scornfully. "But didn't you have 
your eye on Paul?"

"Ah yeah...Paul." Lois softened at the mention of the 
university paper's editor, whom she'd had a crush on for 
the past few weeks. Not that the older student looked 
remotely interested, but she hadn't stopped hoping that 
someday he'd see more than a freshman in her.

"Unless you decided to give up?"

"Dunno," Lois replied honestly. "And I can't spend the rest 
of my life waiting for him, anyway. I have - "

"Better things to do," Linda completed the well-known 
refrain. "I know. Lois, you can't spend your time working; 
someday, you'll understand that you need to go home to 
someone. And not some guy named Spike, if you get my 
drift."

"Maybe *you* do, Linda. Doesn't mean it's the same for me." 
She got up and disappeared into the bedroom, hoping that 
her friend would leave her alone and not press her with 
more questions, although knowing Linda, she knew it was 
hopeless.

And sure enough, she'd barely retrieved her large leather 
bag before Linda had joined her.

"What are you doing?"

Lois stated the obvious. "Packing," she said as she put a 
pile of t-shirts into her luggage.

Linda looked completely taken aback, and she walked through 
the room, sitting on Lois's bed and looking up at her 
pleadingly. "Hey, I'm sorry, Lois. I didn't mean to upset 
you."

"Upset me? You didn't upset me."

"If I hadn't, you wouldn't be packing," Linda remarked 
softly.

"Oh! No, it has nothing to do with our conversation!" Lois 
hurried to reassure her, scolding herself for her 
thoughtlessness.

"If that's the case, then why are you packing?"

Of course, it meant that her friend's nosy character was 
back with a vengeance. "Just taking a few days off," she 
said airily.

"It's not about me, is it?"

"No, Linda, I promise it has nothing to do with you."

"Okay." The blond girl remained silent for a moment, 
watching Lois carefully fold several pairs of jeans and 
arrange them into her bag. "Is it about Spike?" she asked 
suddenly, drawing an exasperated sigh from Lois.

"Yeah," Lois said after a small hesitation. She supposed it 
was better to let Linda believe she would be off on a hot 
weekend with some guy, rather than have her on her back, 
telling her that what she was doing was reckless.

"Planning a romantic weekend in a faraway place?"

"Yes."

"Isn't it a bit..." Linda trailed off, as if unsure of 
Lois's reaction if she finished her thought.

"A bit what?"

"Well, the first thing that jumps to mind would be 
'insane', but since you're a friend and I don't want to 
hurt your feelings, I'll go for 'premature'."
 
"God, Linda, I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself!"

"All right!" Linda raised her hands in surrender and got 
up. "But don't tell me I didn't warn you," she said before 
leaving Lois to her packing.



********************


Lois shook her head after Linda's retreating form; they'd 
been sharing an apartment since Lois had left her mother's 
house a few months before entering journalism school, and 
sometimes it was difficult for the young woman to cope with 
her friend's natural curiosity. Linda always needed to know 
every single detail about everyone else's life; she was a 
real gossip, one that couldn't be stopped even by 
irrelevant details such as respect towards her friends' 
privacy.

Being close to Linda sometimes took a lot out of Lois, 
who'd always carefully guarded her private life. Her 
roommate often used that special bond that existed between 
best friends in order to convince Lois to pour her heart 
out to her, and sometimes, Lois didn't have much choice but 
comply. She generally regretted her confidences as soon as 
she'd made them - it had never made her feel comfortable to 
know that someone else knew about her secrets, as little as 
they usually were. There was this fear, anchored deep 
within her, that any information could be used against her. 
That any secret was dangerous if it fell into another's 
hands. Even a friend's.

Lois had always been a secretive person - back when she was 
a kid, she would listen to her sister's confidences, but 
she'd never reciprocated. She kept her emotions to herself, 
enveloping the pain of a not so happy childhood into a 
cocoon; it allowed her to ignore their existence, even if 
it was just an illusion from which she sometimes had to 
wake. She was a loner - being left alone for a few moments 
were the most precious of treasures for her, and she 
sometimes missed an independence that she'd never really 
had.

Fortunately, despite her annoying nosiness, Linda was 
mostly okay to live with. True, their respective 
scholarships had only provided enough money to rent a two 
roomed apartment, which meant they had to share the 
bedroom; therefore, any intimate relationship was 
complicated, and even more so since Linda had the 
distasteful habit of bringing her - rather numerous - 
conquests back home.

Lois had known when she'd agreed to live with her friend 
that her promiscuity would soon become a problem. Several 
times already she'd returned home to find a note on the 
coffee table asking her to sleep on the sofa because the 
bedroom was...occupied. Linda had, of course, apologised 
and offered compensation in the shape of a box of 
chocolates or some other sweet delicacy. But it didn't 
change the situation any.

Lois didn't feel she had the right to complain, though. Her 
father had suggested that she come and live with him in his 
villa - it was further away from campus, but he'd even 
hinted that he'd buy her a car. She'd declined the offer, 
aware of what living with Sam Lane implied: she'd have to 
become his little servant so that the mad scientist could 
spend the entire day locked up in his lab and only emerge 
when dinner was ready.

That was how he'd always behaved with his wife; that was 
what Lois and Lucy had always been used to seeing, as kids. 
Sam Lane had no sense of family; he had no idea what kind 
of responsibilities went with marriage and children. And 
living with him would only make Lois relive what she'd been 
escaping since she'd reached eighteen.

She preferred to accept the disadvantages of sharing a 
place with another student, knowing it was much more 
bearable. Not to mention she'd been rather lucky that one 
of her old high school friends wanted to be her roommate - 
at least, she'd had the assurance right from the start that 
Linda and she got along well, and the cohabitation wasn't 
too difficult.

Returning her attention to the task at hand, Lois finished 
packing and zipped her travel bag closed. She sat on the 
edge of the bed and reached for the phone, fiddling with 
the cord as she waited for the airline to give her the 
details of the earliest flight to Wichita. She didn't know 
how often planes flew into Kansas and she was almost afraid 
to find out. Another thing she wasn't eager to learn about 
was how much she would have to dig into her college account 
for the trip.

Booking her flight was easier than she'd imagined, and a 
few minutes later, she was able to relax a little and plan 
a few hours sleep. She snuck her head into the living room, 
throwing an interrogative glance at Linda; her friend was 
sprawled on the sofa, a bowl of popcorn on her lap as she 
watched a series of commercials with a fascinated 
expression.

"Pretenders concert in five minutes," Linda explained 
without even bothering to turn her head towards Lois. 
"When's Spike picking you up?"

"Huh? Oh! He's not. We decided to meet at his place. 
Tomorrow morning. Early."

"Darn, does that mean I won't get to meet him?"

Lois rolled her eyes and turned away, closing the bedroom 
door behind her and ignoring Linda's exasperating giggles. 
She was too tired to bear her friend's teasing, and she 
needed to rest a bit if she wanted to make the most of her 
trip to Kansas. She checked her large purse, making sure 
that her notepad was safely tucked inside it. It was only 
after the excitement of getting ready for the trip had 
calmed down that she realised the sheer madness of her 
project. She didn't have a lot of elements yet, and there 
was a risk that none of her leads would pan out, making the 
entire adventure useless. A waste of time and money.

The thought made her grimace, and she quickly pushed it to 
the back of her mind; she needed to remain optimistic about 
it, and not let any lack of confidence spoil her chances. 
After all, she wasn't jumping into this unprepared: she'd 
already led similar investigations, although on a less 
grand scale, for her high school's newspaper. But proving 
Josh Amaury's guilt in the corruption of the inter-campus 
football championship wasn't cast in the same mould as 
attacking a powerful man planning to run for president of 
the United States, and a secret agency which happened to be 
a department of the F.B.I.

She sighed, checking her alarm clock for the umpteenth time 
before switching off the bedside lamp. She would have all 
the time she wanted to think about how crazy this was 
during the three-hour flight to Wichita. Once it was too 
late to go back, she could wonder if it was a good idea, 
but now was not the time to ask herself a hundred questions 
that would just compromise any result she might have.

As the first whistles and screams of the concert reached 
her ears through the bedroom door, Lois drifted into a 
restless sleep populated with gun shots and journalism 
awards.



********************


~ Smallville, Kansas ~


"So, which one? I know the dark blue has a really low-cut 
cleavage, but I kinda like the spaghetti straps...but well, 
the black looks nice, too. What do you think, Clark?" Lana 
Lang held the two outfits in front of her, staring at her 
image in the shop's mirror and cocking her head in extreme 
concentration.

Clark Kent sat on a nearby bench, observing his girlfriend 
revel in the purchase of a dress and wondering what on 
earth he was doing here. He'd agreed to accompany Lana in 
her search for the perfect clothing to wear to Maddie's 
party a couple of weeks from now, but he hadn't expected 
her to spend so much time hesitating over what was just a 
minor detail as far as he was concerned. But he'd promised 
Lana he'd help her, and knowing that she was happy just 
because he was accompanying her on her hunt made it more 
bearable for him to stay immobile on the uncomfortable 
wooden chair supplied by one of the saleswomen.

The few ceiling fans whispering over his head were only 
blowing more hot air through the crowded shop, and little 
pearls of sweat had appeared on Lana's pale neck. September 
was incredibly warm this year, and winter seemed a long 
time coming. Clark had already heard some of the old 
farmers complain about the dryness of the weather and how 
it was compromising next year's harvest.

Of course, some farmers had other things to worry about. 
Since the arrival of the government people, the Irigs' 
estate was threatened by something much more dangerous than 
lack of rain, and last time that Clark had visited Wayne, 
he'd learned the shocking news of the Environment Agency's 
ploughing over the Kent fields. To find illegal pesticides, 
they said. As they'd argued, Irig had been exploiting that 
land for almost eight years, so they were naturally part of 
the investigation, since they'd never really been in a 
fallow state.

Bile had risen in Clark's throat as he'd imagined the 
possible effect of such a search on what were, in fact, the 
only remaining ruins of his childhood. It was probably for 
the best that Wayne had held him back from running to the 
old fields and putting himself between the powerful 
machines and his parents' estate, but it still hurt to know 
that the last of his memories were at risk of being 
destroyed. And even if the farmhouse had belonged to him 
since his eighteenth birthday, there was nothing he could 
do against the government's orders. His opinion simply 
didn't matter, and whether he was happy or not with the 
situation didn't have any influence on the outcome.

Even Lana's father's attempts at negotiating had failed. 
The operation included all of Franklin County's fields, 
which were meticulously 'cleaned', one by one, without 
anyone really knowing what had triggered such enthusiasm in 
the state of Kansas for environmental problems. The workers 
hired for the task came from a government agency, and no-
one in Smallville really had any idea about the results of 
the analysis of the geological samples taken from the 
neighbourhood.

Every single day, Clark hoped that they would leave and 
declare their investigation over, but their mission seemed 
to drag on, and fear always gripped at his heart whenever 
he passed by the old farmhouse on his way to Wayne's place. 
It wasn't until he recognised the familiar wooden beams 
supporting the stone construction that had seen generations 
of Kent farmers that he let himself breathe in relief.

"Clark? Yoohoo, Clark!"

Lana's annoyed voice broke through his thoughts, bringing 
him back to the unpleasantly clogged atmosphere of the 
shop. He raised an interrogative face towards her, looking 
bewildered as she presented him with the two dresses that 
she'd been alternatively holding in front of her to 
contemplate her silhouette for the past ten minutes.

"You didn't tell me which one you preferred," she whined.

"Oh! Oh...I'm sorry, Lana, I was...miles away."

"So I see. So, which one?"

"Black," he offered tentatively. "I think?"

"Yeah..." Lana replied pensively, turning back to the 
mirror. "Yeah, the black is kind of sexy...in a classic 
kind of way. But I think I'm gonna go for the blue."

Clark rolled his eyes, wondering why on earth she'd asked 
for his opinion if she'd already made her choice.

"It fits better with my hair colour," she explained when 
she saw his startled reaction. "Don't you think?"

"Sure! Can we go now?"

Lana laughed at his eagerness, a crystal sound that made 
him relax a little, filling his heart with tenderness for 
her, and she patted his jaw before dropping a soft peck on 
his lips. "Sorry, I know I promised we wouldn't spend the 
entire morning in stores. So give me just the time to pay 
for this and we can go have that picnic you promised me in 
the park. Okay?"

She smiled sweetly at him before trotting away to the 
checkout counter, and he found himself looking forward to 
their lunch together. It had been a long time since he and 
Lana had spent some time together, *alone*, and it was 
probably as much his fault as hers. There was always 
something - or someone - getting in the way, and it was why 
he'd let his girlfriend persuade him to go shopping with 
her this morning.

It was part of bonding, she'd explained when he'd looked 
doubtful at her offer. Sure. Spending an hour and a half in 
a store, with dozens of people around them, and old rock 
standards playing in the background, was close to his idea 
of a romantic time with Lana. Not! But the picnic in the 
park would make up for it, he hoped.

There was something strange about his relationship with 
Lana Lang, though. He'd never been quite able to put his 
finger on it, but there was some kind of inexplicable 
awkwardness that settled between them whenever they were 
alone in a - supposedly - romantic setting. As if they were 
afraid of each other. Or strangers to each other. They'd 
been friends for as long as they'd known how to talk; heck, 
they'd practically grown up together. The Langs, along with 
the Irigs, had helped Clark a great deal when he'd had to 
go from one foster home to another, after his parents' 
tragic death. They'd given him all the support he needed, 
and Frank Lang had encouraged him greatly to apply for a 
scholarship to the university.

And all along, Lana had been there, helping him as much as 
she could, being the shoulder he could cry on whenever the 
weight of a rather lonely childhood was too much for him to 
bear, or when he'd started becoming aware of his 
differences. She'd become his confidant, and he knew he 
could trust her completely. And yet...

Yet, as years passed, he found himself increasingly unable 
to share his deepest emotions with her. Oh, he still 
considered her his best friend - probably the best he could 
ever have dreamt of. But their evolving relationship was 
scaring him and holding him back. How he could think that 
they were going too fast when they'd known each other for 
almost as long as they were born still puzzled him, but it 
was a state of things that he couldn't change. But the 
transition from *just* friends to dating had been 
incredibly smooth between them; their first teenage 
emotions had been experienced with each other, and it had 
been so natural for him, one evening, to take Lana's hand 
in his on their way home.

They'd often walked hand in hand back when they were kids, 
without it having any kind of special significance - unless 
you counted Lana's decisiveness regarding their future when 
they were four: they would marry and have five children, 
two dogs and three cats, and Clark supposed he had agreed 
to her early plans.

But that time, feeling Lana's fingers lace with his had 
held something both thrilling and scary for them. They 
hadn't spoken a word during their walk, nor had shared a 
look, and the silence surrounding them had uncomfortably 
stretched, the beating of their hearts getting faster as 
they'd reached the old wooden gate at the entrance of the 
Langs' family house.

Lana had taken charge, then - Clark knew that if it had 
just depended on him, his first reaction would have been to 
run away. But the blond storm that had been part of his 
entire life hadn't given him much of a choice, and she'd 
kissed him impetuously, leaving him disorientated and dizzy 
when she'd run to the door, throwing a mischievous giggle 
over her shoulder.

And Clark had realised that being fourteen was far from 
easy.

That night, he'd gone back to the foster home with the 
clear feeling that something had changed in his life, 
although unable to determine if it was for the best or the 
worst. The unexpected kiss had thrown him off balance, 
disturbing his entire world and projecting him into 
unfamiliar surroundings. What he'd known with his childhood 
friend was gone; the rapport of closeness and trust present 
between them for so long had shifted, and Lana was becoming 
something else in his eyes: suddenly, she wasn't the 
intrepid kid who climbed trees and played hide and seek 
with him on an almost daily basis, but she was turning into 
a bundle of fresh scents and warm curves.

A girl.

As in the opposite of what *he* was.

She was awaking his senses, calling to primal instincts 
that he didn't know he possessed, and she was 
intriguing...mysterious...scary.

Five years had passed since that spring evening, and Clark 
still couldn't decide if letting Lana kiss him had been a 
good idea. He was happy with her, *that* he couldn't deny. 
She gave him everything he could ever dream of, and he 
enjoyed the stability of their relationship. But there were 
moments when he couldn't help but think that something was 
missing, that whatever happiness he was living now was only 
a lulling impression that would erode as time passed by.

Surprisingly enough, not much had changed since the first 
few months they'd spent together as a couple. They'd 
continued to spend time together, with the only difference 
being some - almost chaste - kisses shared every now and 
then. They still went to the movies, took part in the 
harvesting during summer, and hung out to the local country 
cafe pretty much every Saturday night with a group of 
friends.

Once, during their last year of high school, Lana had 
suggested that they move in together upon entering the 
university. She'd argued that it was a milestone in their 
life, and maybe the sign for them to go further in their 
relationship. Clark, though, had been scared by the idea. 
He didn't know what had triggered such a strong reaction 
from him towards what was, after all, a sensible 
suggestion, but he'd shut himself off Lana, not even 
bothering to explain what had upset him. A major fight had 
ensued, and they'd spent a few weeks thoroughly ignoring 
each other, to the point of going to the prom with other 
dates.

Things had calmed down as summer had come, and they'd 
talked, clearing the air between them and deciding to start 
on a new basis. Lana had never mentioned her idea again, 
and Clark had been grateful to her for not pressuring him 
into something he wasn't ready for. But deep down, he was 
thoroughly confused by his own feelings on the topic. There 
was no logical reason holding him back from fully enjoying 
his relationship with Lana, yet he couldn't bring himself 
to imagine sharing an apartment - let alone a bed - with 
her.

It wasn't that he didn't find her attractive - boy, he'd 
have to be gay not to physically want her! And he liked 
her. A lot. But maybe that was it; even after five years 
spent at her side, as her boyfriend, he still had no idea 
if he was in love or not. Very early on, he'd had very firm 
views on love and what it should imply, but never in his 
life had he experienced that strong feeling of connection 
that he was longing for. He'd tried to resign himself to 
the idea that such a sensation didn't exist, but it had 
never prevented him from carrying on hoping that someday, 
somehow, he would know for sure that he was making the 
right choice. And as long as uncertainty remained in his 
heart, he couldn't throw himself into something that might 
hurt a woman he deeply cared for.



********************


~ Metropolis, New Troy ~


There were times in your life when things went just the way 
you wanted, and those moments were to savour as best as you 
could, Tempus mused as he settled into his large leather 
armchair and reached for his glass of good burgundy. He'd 
only just returned from a political meeting in D.C., which 
had gathered three thousand people who'd drunk in his words 
and would have sworn to vote for him if he'd asked them to. 
The idea had actually a certain appeal - he could ask his 
closest associates to swear an oath of faith and loyalty to 
his person. But he didn't need *that* to make them bend 
under the least of his will, as he'd proven over the past 
few days.

Still, it was nice to be back home, in good old Metropolis, 
where he controlled pretty much everything he wanted to. 
Even if he could only stay here for a very short time and 
would have to go supervise the Smallville operation on 
site. But for now, he could relax for a few hours in the 
city which he'd decided to make his home. Making the 
government accept that the Secretary of the Interior didn't 
spend most of his time in D.C. hadn't been too hard, and 
even when he was away Mayor Randolph was there to ensure 
that everything went smoothly. Over the years, Tempus had 
managed to place his men in Metropolis's strategic places, 
such as City Hall or the city's police, ensuring that he 
could keep an eye on everything happening in his city.

And lately, his plans were succeeding marvellously, giving 
him even more confidence for the future. He'd taken enough 
precautions this time so that nothing could get in his way, 
starting with a trip back to the previous century and the 
disposal of a not so dead sci-fi writer who'd had the 
annoying habit of torpedoing his plans every chance he got. 
But H.G. Wells wouldn't be a problem in this dimension - 
little Herb hadn't made it to his teen years, which ensured 
that he hadn't had time to invent his prehistoric time 
machine.

Life was really smooth in this dimension, especially when 
no Superman was around to play havoc on any form of 
villainy. So far, there was no sign of the red-caped 
crusader; the poor thing was having way too much of a hard 
time in his personal life to think about making boots and 
tights fashionable. The morals-dripping-blue-spandex-clad 
boy he'd had the unlucky occasion to run into in the other 
dimension was just a kid who was more preoccupied with 
farming chores than saving the world, and it was perfect as 
far as Tempus was concerned.

But it didn't mean that he should rest on his laurels, 
though and if he wanted his entire life to be blissful, 
disposing of any possible obstacle *before* they loomed up 
in his path was essential. The long hours of Utopian 
history that he'd bore through as a child were finally 
proving themselves worthy of his time. 'Know thy enemy' was 
becoming his motto, and he was even extending it to a much 
safer '*Control* thy enemy'.

Amazingly enough, Bureau 39 had been left out of the 
classes back in Utopia. The founder of the so-called 
idealistic world had probably preferred to leave unknown 
the existence of a governmental organisation whose goal was 
to neutralise a superhero whose ideals were clashing with 
some people's dream of power. Who knew, it could have given 
some interesting ideas to Utopians like Tempus...

He'd browsed through many history books back when he'd been 
a prisoner of that nightmarish world that people called 
Utopia, and never had this governmental secret agency been 
mentioned. It was only when he'd retrieved old newspaper 
clippings from the mid 1990s that he'd heard of its 
existence; Lane and Kent had probably been careful to hide 
it for fear of seeing it resurface.

Tempus held back a disgusted grimace; they really had no 
idea what consequences the sickening do-gooder's actions 
had had on the world. And Wells had had the gall to tell 
them that Utopia was a wonderful, ideal society! Now that 
Tempus had discovered the 20th century, though, he didn't 
want to go back to the boring future in which he was born. 
The 1980s US was everything he could wish for: guns, 
violence, corrupted politicians, and mud-wrestling.

Who could dream of a better world?

It all depended on one thing, though: as long as Kent 
didn't decide to use those stupid powers of his for the 
greater good or whatever sick name they called it, Tempus's 
hobbies were safe. But like he'd learned the last time he'd 
dealt with H.G. Wells and his idols, Lois Lane was as much 
of a key to the superhero society as Clark Kent.

Tempus had thought that kidnapping Clark as a baby would 
make his plan infallible, yet Lois had managed to prevent 
him from killing her future husband. He had to admit that 
he'd been fairly impressed by her skills at fighting, 
though - she'd probably be a champion in those wrestling 
competitions he enjoyed so much. Maybe one day he'd get 
around to arranging that. Lois had such nice, long and 
silky legs - covered in mud, she would be one of the 
hottest babes of the clubs where he hung out...

But back to the point, his knowledge of her character made 
him aware of the danger that Lois Lane represented, and 
that he would have to get rid of both Lois *and* Clark if 
he wanted to preserve the power he'd acquired in this 
dimension.

His business company was the realisation he was the most 
proud of. He made millions out of speculation based on what 
he knew of the future, and entirely controlled the world's 
economy. And every place in the world wore the mark of his 
influence, thanks to the brand he'd created, and whose name 
was always a sweet caress to his ear: Utopia.

Tempus sighed happily as he thought about the name of the 
corporation he'd founded a couple of years earlier, back 
when he'd only begun his meteoric ascension into 
Metropolitan high society. He'd found it highly ironic to 
use something he'd dreaded all his life as a designation 
for his own creation here in this universe. A creation the 
secret goal of which was to control the world and destroy 
Superman. It might look like a petty means of revenge to 
the onlooker - had such a person existed - but to him, it 
was making up for the years of vexation he'd had to bear 
back in the future.

Fortunately, he was on his way to make sure that none of it 
ever happened, and it was with a welcoming smile that he 
greeted the arrival of the individual who'd been helping 
him in his quest and with whom he'd have to plan the final 
developments of a long thought-out operation. A dark-haired 
man sheathed in military clothing entered the room, his 
ranger shoes clicking against the elegant marble flooring.

"Jason Trask, I presume?"

The man answered with a decisive nod of his head and 
saluted Tempus, which awarded him a raised eyebrow and a 
gesture for him to take place in front of him.

So, this was the man with whom he'd been having dealings 
with for the past few weeks. Their contacts had only been 
brief phone conversations so far, for security as well as 
practicality, Trask spending most of his time on the 
mission he'd been assigned in Smallville and Tempus taking 
care of the federal authorisation here in Metropolis and in 
the US capital.

Funny how Tempus had imagined Trask to be much more 
impressive than that - the man didn't look much more 
threatening than an ant, as it was. Nodding his head 
nonchalantly, he cleared his throat and proceeded to 
question the head of Bureau 39 on the results of the search 
for 'meteorites' he'd ordered him to undertake.

"The teams have combed most of Franklin County, and more 
particularly the northern area of Smallville," Trask 
explained. "And we've found that green rock in several 
places. Our geological expert is analysing them, and the 
report I received from Bureau 39's special agency seems to 
confirm its alien origins, and its high radioactivity. 
However, we've come across a strange fact."

"You did?"

"Yes. The radiation produced by this meteorite seems 
totally harmless to humans. None of the workers on site has 
suffered from their contact with it so far, and our 
analysis seems to lean toward the possibility that this 
rock is totally non-toxic."

"Oh, but I have the strong conviction that the mineral in 
question might help us in the eventuality of an alien 
threat. Remember, Trask, it being safe for humans doesn't 
mean the physical reaction would be the same in the case of 
an extraterrestrial."

Trask nodded his head, looking only half-convinced, but 
Tempus knew what he was talking about, and right now, the 
main thing was that the military kept following his plan 
without asking too many questions or offering annoying 
suggestions.

"What about that pencil pusher in Washington?" Tempus 
asked, abruptly changing the topic of a matter he 
considered closed for now.

"Thompson? Liquidated."

"Excellent!"

"But I have bigger news!" Trask said excitedly.

"Oh?" Tempus faked surprise as Trask animatedly told him 
about his most recent discovery, which confirmed the 
presence of extraterrestrials in the Smallville area. It 
was nothing new to the rebellious Utopian, but the 
military's enthusiasm was rewarding, as well as 
encouraging, regarding his faith in Tempus. It was so easy 
to fool those behind the times people that Tempus's 
activities were almost becoming boring to him.

"So your intuition didn't fail when you advised me to order 
the teams to check out the old Kent farmhouse," Trask 
finished with a smile matching that of a child who'd just 
unwrapped his dream present under the Christmas tree. If 
that was all it took to make the man happy, it was fairly 
easy, then.

"Of course my intuition didn't fail!" Tempus exclaimed, 
frowning warningly. "It never does!"

"Makes you wonder what the Kents had to hide, though," 
Trask added, perplexed.

His deduction skills mildly impressed Tempus, who already 
knew everything there was to know about the Kent family - 
more than he needed, actually. The fact that the old 
Jonathan Kent had decided to hide his son's spaceship six 
feet under because he'd had the visit of F.B.I. agents held 
absolutely no secret for him. But he supposed that what was 
history to him was a major scoop for the 20th century head 
of Bureau 39.

"Have you investigated their family?" Tempus enquired 
innocently, already knowing the answer.

"Yes. The parents had a lethal car accident in 1976. They 
had an only child, who was raised alternatively in foster 
homes and by neighbours. As for the parents' estate, it has 
been exploited by another farmer since the Kents' death, 
but the farmhouse has been abandoned since then."

Tempus chuckled inwardly. The differences he could create 
in this dimension compared with the other one were amazing. 
Travelling back through time gave him a major advantage, 
and he enjoyed observing the ripples of the least of his 
actions. It had been almost too easy to hire the services 
of an unscrupulous truck driver who, when paid enough of a 
fee and given a guarantee not to be charged with second-
degree murder, had agreed to provoke the lethal accident.

Sabotaging the brakes and steering of Jonathan Kent's car 
had been an added bonus to make sure that the nauseatingly 
positive influence of Superman's parents was eliminated. It 
had ensured that the orphan superhero was raised in shyness 
and insecurities. This Clark Kent would never get the 
stupid idea of putting on a pair of tights...at least as 
long as Lois Lane wasn't around to suggest he bring a 
change of clothes to work.

"I do wonder what the symbol on the craft means, though," 
Trask mused aloud, bringing Tempus back to the dimension he 
now lived in. "It looks like some sort of weird-shaped S."

"It does?"

"Yes. Don't know what it stands for, though."

"I'm not sure that it matters much, Trask. What we need to 
ensure right now is that the aliens are found and 
neutralised. And thanks to your...*super* discoveries, we 
might just achieve that. You're going back to Kansas, and 
I'm coming along," he announced, ignoring the gasp of 
surprise and obvious disapproval that followed his 
statement. "The jet should be ready in an hour. Don't 
forget your mission will have a crucial importance for 
future generations of humans, Trask," he finished with a 
knowing grin.



********************


~ Smallville, Kansas ~


The Kansas sun was hotter than Lois would have imagined, 
and she squirmed uncomfortably as she got out of the bus 
that had deposited her on what was supposedly Smallville's 
main plaza, where a glaring heat was spreading its torpor 
over the little town, paralysing it into sleep.

The old bus drove off with a deafening roar of rusty metal 
and a dizzying smell of diesel that probably held the power 
to pollute half of Metropolis, leaving Lois standing on the 
deserted sidewalk facing rows of ancient houses whose 
blinds had been closed to protect their inhabitants from 
the almost unbearable heat. And there was no tree under 
which she could have found a piece of shadow, no autumn 
breeze to lift the weight of the unexpectedly high 
temperature.

Nothing.

"Great..." Lois muttered through gritted teeth as she took 
hold of her heavy suitcase and dragged it towards what 
looked vaguely like a thoroughfare. Well, it was wide 
enough to be bustling with vehicles, anyway...whether that 
was useful at all was another matter entirely. Sure, there 
were cars, but they were all parked, and there was no sign 
of a living soul as far as she could see. The few shops 
lining the street were closed for lunch, and the fact that 
her stomach was growling loudly didn't do anything to 
change the situation.

She sighed, wondering how on earth she'd landed here, and 
cursing the leads that had brought her to this Mid Western 
ghost town. How could there be something to investigate, 
here? What could attract someone like Jason Trask to such a 
boring place?

Smallville was even worse than she'd imagined. It was where 
the reputation of peace and quiet generally attributed to 
the country really took on a literal meaning.

A place where all civilisation disappeared, where the world 
ended.

The gate to Hell.

She closed her eyes, wishing she'd never taken the plane to 
Wichita and had simply stayed in Metropolis. The day had 
seemed to start well, though: she'd managed to sneak out of 
the apartment before she'd had to face more of Linda's 
embarrassing questions, and found a cab to the airport in 
mere minutes. She hadn't even had to put up with some other 
traveller sitting next to her in the plane - though it 
wasn't surprising, when you thought about the destination.

At least Wichita had looked like a pleasant city. Well, 
what she'd seen of it through the bus's dirty windows, 
anyway. But it had seemed more lively than...than *this*. 
Smallville should be renamed 'Deadville', she decided in a 
spirit of revenge as she set off in the direction of what 
looked like a *hive* of activity.

Yeah.

Sure.

As if three cats fighting for a piece of abandoned meat 
could be thus qualified. She snorted, passing by the 
oblivious pets and pushing sticky strands of hair off her 
forehead.

She felt so dirty and sweaty, and there was no sign of a 
hotel anywhere around. It was only now that she realised 
she could have checked before leaving Metropolis, but her 
departure had been so precipitous that she hadn't thought 
about such a trivial detail. She'd figured that any city 
had such an establishment, anyway.

Right.

As if Smallville was 'any city'.

Or a city at all, for that matter.

She strolled through a labyrinth of streets, the occasional 
tweaking of a bird piercing the heavy silence around her. 
Beads of perspiration were rolling down her neck and back, 
leaving her with a ticklish sensation and a shudder. It was 
only after a few minutes of idle searching that she finally 
heard a few voices on her right, and she discovered the 
wide-open door to what vaguely looked like a bar.

A couple of old men in faded blue-jeans and denim shirts 
whose collars were open over tufts of black chest hair were 
sitting on high barstools, sipping beers and talking 
conversationally, while a middle-aged woman was busying 
herself behind a wooden counter polished by the years, 
serving drinks and receiving large tips. At the far end of 
the single room, an electrical fan was propped on a shelf, 
its lazy, circular movements and slow whooshing sound 
punctuating the soft humming of the refrigerators hidden in 
the cellar, and the faint resonance of an old Emmylou 
Harris song.

The men's chat stopped abruptly as Lois entered the room, 
and she found herself transported back into a bad western. 
The only detail missing from the scene was the faint 
creaking of the ranch-doors and an Ennio Morricone 
soundtrack. She growled inwardly, making her way through 
the clutter of tables and chairs and ignoring the 
embarrassment of being stared at as if she came from 
another planet.

She sat in a far booth, grimacing at the pain in the 
muscles of her arm as she finally put down her luggage. Her 
palm was sweaty and her fingers were swollen and red. And 
she was exhausted.

The woman approached her, and Lois pasted a tired smile on 
her face as she greeted her and asked her to place her 
order.

"New in town?" she asked as she placed a plate of scrambled 
eggs and a glass of water in front of Lois, a few moments 
later.

"Does it show that much?"

The woman laughed at Lois's worried tone before giving her 
a reassuring glance. "It's just that it's the first time 
I've seen you here, and the bar doesn't get many new faces, 
that's all. Not to mention that my average customers don't 
carry such a bulky luggage with them."

"Oh. I guess that explains the...um...welcoming committee?"

"Don't mind the guys. They're here every single day, even 
on weekends, so each visitor is a distraction to them."

"I see." She bent to the side to catch sight of the four 
men who'd now returned to their conversation, but were 
throwing curious glances towards her every now and then.

"I'm Maisie," the blond woman introduced herself, extending 
a friendly hand towards Lois.

"I'm Lo...Julia. Julia Lewis."

She didn't know why she'd given a fake name, nor why she'd 
chosen her grandmother's, of all possibilities. Maybe the 
strange sensation of being in unfamiliar surroundings and 
examined as if she'd grown a second head hadn't helped in 
making her trust Maisie and her bar. But suddenly, the idea 
of not revealing her true identity gave her a sense of 
security. Maybe the seriousness of what she was 
investigating had something to do with it.

It could also be an essential protection for any sources 
she might find here. Being close to Lois Lane was dangerous 
at the moment, and could get them in even more jeopardy if 
she discovered in Smallville even more than she'd bargained 
for.

Besides, Julia Lewis probably had more chance of staying 
alive for the length of her investigation, whereas Lois 
Lane might just end up like Burton Newcomb. She didn't even 
have the reassurance of knowing that Newcomb's murderer 
hadn't seen her face during the pursuit through Suicide 
Slum's narrow streets. Her caution had been rewarded so 
far, but she'd stayed on her guard and didn't plan to stop 
watching her back until she was sure that whoever had 
anything to do with Newcomb's assassination was put behind 
bars.

It was strange how her life had changed so much in the 
space of a few weeks, throwing her into a world populated 
with nightmares and bad guys, when all she'd had to worry 
about until then had been whether she had enough ink in her 
pen to enable her to take notes in her political science 
class. There was no real difference in her when she woke up 
in the morning, nor when she turned in for the night, she 
supposed, but something in her mind had switched, as if 
she'd suddenly become aware of what it meant to stay alive.

The first day after Newcomb's murder, she'd lain low, 
avoiding the least trip outside her apartment for fear that 
her pursuer was lurking in the shadows, waiting for her to 
let down her guard. Fortunately, this stage hadn't lasted, 
and she'd soon realised that paranoia wouldn't lead her 
anywhere. Besides, since the police had been confident 
enough to let her go home without a bodyguard, it certainly 
meant there was no risk.

Or it had meant that until she'd found out the previous 
night that whoever she talked to could be in league with 
people like Jason Trask - even the chief of the Metropolis 
police, who seemed to keep too close a contact with the 
head of Bureau 39 for Lois's peace of mind.

She supposed that remaining careful and avoiding snooping 
into dirty business would be better to keep her safe...but 
had such a trivial matter ever stopped her before?

Maisie cleared her throat, bringing Lois back to the 
present with a small jolt, and the young woman realised 
that she'd probably been silent for a few minutes.

"Everything all right, Miss?" the bar's owner enquired, her 
face showing only concern and a genuine will to help.

"Yes! Sure. Sorry, I was just thinking."

"Tired by a long trip, huh?" Maisie suggested 
sympathetically. "Where are you from?"

Small town nosiness, Lois snorted inwardly. She should have 
known that it was unavoidable. "Metropolis. New Troy," she 
clarified immediately.

"Oh, I know where Metropolis is," Maisie laughed. "My ex-
husband moved to New Troy a few years back. Not that I've 
seen him come back here since then, but hey, he could be 
dead and I wouldn't know, considering how often he gives me 
news. Let alone show himself back in the neighbourhood! 
Which is a shame, considering how beautiful it is, around 
here. And not polluted like New Troy certainly is!" Maisie 
added with a hint of pride in her voice.

"I've heard that the area was being dug up for 
environmental reasons, though," Lois said, taking advantage 
of the countrywoman's forwardness to subtly shift the topic 
to what held her interest.

Maisie's friendly smile faltered, replaced by a grimace 
denoting her disapproval of the government operation. "Bet 
you it's just a political manoeuvre, though. Not that I 
know much about this business, but the suits in Topeka sent 
those scientists with a special warrant coming from way 
higher, they said. At least, that's what Wayne told me."

"Wayne?"

"Wayne Irig. He's one of the farmers whose land is being 
turned over. Actually, it looks like he's in those men's 
sights, if I go by the way they've been treating him."

"Oh?"

"A shame. A *real* shame, when you think they claim to be 
federal agents. Especially when you know that never in his 
life would Wayne use the pesticides they accuse him of 
spreading over his fields! He and Elisa have always been 
strong defendants of organically grown produce. They've 
been selling their fruit and honey for years, now, and 
they're famous the whole county over for the quality of 
their products!"

"I see," Lois said thoughtfully, filing Maisie's pieces of 
information to the back of her mind for eventual future 
use. "And where could I meet Mr Irig?"

"Oh, his farm is easy to spot. It's about a mile outside 
Smallville, in the direction of Wichita. You follow the 
river until you reach a narrow dirt track on the left, and 
once you've passed by the old Kent house, it's the next 
farm right after the turn."

"Thanks." Lois smiled warmly in gratitude. "I might give 
him a visit. I'm...interested in typical farm products," 
she lied, improvising an excuse and using Maisie's 
information for fear that the older woman queried her 
motives.

"Then I'm sure you'll find what you're looking for, Julia. 
May I call you Julia?"

"Sure!"

"It's just that you're young enough to be my daughter," 
Maisie clarified with a wink. "Anyway, I should go back to 
serving drinks, I suppose."

"Wait! You don't happen to know of a hotel where I could 
stay, do you?" Lois enquired before the woman could return 
to her counter.

"Here in Smallville?"

Maisie looked taken aback by the request, as if Lois had 
just voiced the stupidest idea she'd ever heard - probably 
because it was extremely rare that someone stayed here 
willingly.

"There's a motel in the west of the city. Once you've taken 
the bridge over the river, you'll get there pretty quickly. 
It's on the right side of the road, nestled at the foot of 
the hills. Very easy to find, you can't miss it!"



********************


In fact for a motel, the Paradisio was a longish single-
floor house at the far end of a dusty esplanade burnt by 
the sun. The proximity of the forest-covered hills wasn't 
providing any shadow to shelter the building, whose white 
walls were reverberating a blinding luminosity. Most of the 
rooms looked unoccupied, if you went by the tightly closed 
blinds hiding the windows. The door to the reception area 
was hidden by a beaded curtain, which clinked together when 
Lois pushed it out of her way and peered inside.

The sight of an empty reception desk greeted her, and she 
pressed her index finger on what looked like a buzzer while 
hoping that whoever was in charge of the motel hadn't left 
for the day, too bored with the lack of customers. A swift 
look around informed her that a young man was slouched in a 
rattan couch, and she cleared her throat in hope of 
attracting his attention.

The man opened a wary eye and stared at her for a long 
minute, probably wondering who dared bother him during his 
afternoon nap. He finally seemed to regain enough awareness 
to realise that he was supposed to be behind the counter 
and show his new customer to her room, because he stumbled 
to his feet and dragged himself to Lois with a tired sigh.

He looked her up and down and she squirmed. She'd never 
enjoyed being undressed by a man's gaze, but this one was 
making her particularly uncomfortable. She assumed that he 
wasn't *that* much older than she was - he might be in his 
mid-twenties...his thirties at most. But the attention he 
seemed to pay to every detail of her body as he leaned 
against the counter, added to the appreciative twinkle in 
his eyes, was making her want to cover herself and scamper 
away.

Taking a grip on her discomfort, she scowled at him with a 
discouraging glare of her own. "Excuse me, sir, but I came 
here to check in, not to be checked out," she threw at him, 
holding back a satisfied smile when he snapped out of 
whatever fantasy he'd been lost in and lowered his eyes, 
suddenly finding another object of fascination in the data 
displayed on the register opened in front of him.

She gave him her fake name, feeling lucky that he didn't 
dare ask for an ID, and she silently thanked Linda for the 
lesson on how to intimidate a guy, which her friend had 
displayed for her benefit a few months back. It did seem to 
work, and after having paid her deposit, she was handed the 
keys to her room.

The bedroom she'd rented was sparsely furnished, and she 
made a face when a quick survey determined that the motel 
had found its supply at Costmart, probably the Blue Light 
Special. The chipboard of the tiny dresser sitting by the 
single bed was glaring at the brightly coloured comforter, 
lending credibility to bad taste. It was with a slight 
pinch of worry that she entered the bathroom adjacent to 
her room, and she sighed in relief. It was small and rather 
spartan, but clean.

However, the rustic charm which so many people talked about 
back in cities of the size of Metropolis was the big 
absentee. The bare walls weren't even decorated with 
typical paintings of the local scenery - although, to be 
fair, and considering the taste of whoever had designed 
this motel, she was glad not to find herself face to face 
with an elk's head or anything of the kind.

The good side was that a modern air conditioner was buzzing 
in a corner of the room, bringing some refreshing air to 
the cloggy afternoon.

Luckily, she hadn't been asked how many days she planned on 
staying. She sincerely hoped that any lead she might find 
here would pan out within the weekend so that she could fly 
back to Metropolis as soon as possible, but no-one could 
tell if that was achievable.

At least, she had something to begin with. Maisie had been 
incredibly helpful, and the information she'd shared would 
be very useful for Lois to start her investigation. She now 
knew that at least part of the Smallville population didn't 
approve of the recent environmental operation, nor exactly 
knew what it was all about - at least, she hadn't met 
anyone who didn't mind the government intervention so far. 
Despite the official dimension of the procedure, Maisie had 
seemed to express some doubts about its legitimacy, and 
Wayne Irig might just confirm the barmaid's opinion on the 
matter.

Settling in her room fortunately didn't take too much time. 
She took a refreshing shower before changing into a pair of 
light slacks and a camisole top, clothing that was more 
appropriate to the amazing September heat. After having 
carefully locked her door, she set off on the road leading 
to the few farms scattered around Smallville.



********************


Sheltered in a secluded cabin in the hills overhanging 
Smallville, Tempus drummed his fingers on the hard wood of 
his improvised desk. He frowned disapprovingly. The day had 
begun wonderfully, but his mood was progressively reversing 
paths as he realised the stupidity of the men he'd hired to 
look after his various business while he was away, whether 
it was for political reasons or for...special missions.

He shouldn't have trusted Randolph and the special 
detectives he'd hired to make sure Lois Lane wasn't 
sticking her nose into anything nasty. He'd been wary of 
her for a while, but certain that fate wouldn't help her 
case this time. After Trask had taken care of that snitch, 
Burton Newcomb, Inspector Preston had reassured him that 
the police investigation would be quickly closed, and that 
Ms Lane's statements couldn't possibly link Newcomb's 
murder back to him.

He'd still been careful enough to organise a close 
surveillance of Lois Lane, but he couldn't believe he'd 
trusted if just for a second this moron of a of man to take 
care of her case. His surprise and disappointment had been 
great when he'd learnt a few minutes earlier, thanks to a 
phone call placed to the Mayor Randolph's personal office, 
that Lois Lane had literally vanished from Metropolis. Of 
course she'd waited until he wasn't around to slip out of 
his reach, and now she was God knew where doing God knew 
what with God knew who.

Tempus could only hope that it didn't involve Kansas, an 
investigation, and a budding superhero.

Sure, right after she'd found Newcomb's body, Lois had 
looked too frightened to try anything funny, but right now, 
Tempus almost wished he'd let Trask have his way and 
dispose of the girl. On the other hand, keeping Lois Lane 
around was fun. She was very distracting and provided good 
entertainment. It was highly amusing for him to watch her 
grow up and fight with her own demons, and it also allowed 
him to control her evolution, were she ever to decide she 
needed a super guy. However, she was now proving to be as 
much of a pain as her alternate universe counterpart, and 
he would have to see that she didn't cause too much trouble 
to his diabolic plans.

Randolph had been lucky to have escaped a death sentence 
after the way he'd failed, and Tempus wouldn't tolerate 
another letdown from someone who was technically inferior 
to him. And he had the power to break the man, if his plans 
were compromised again by Randolph's lack of intelligence.

Meanwhile, he had to fix the damage caused by his 
henchman's high display of stupidity. It had been difficult 
for him to admit he'd been wrong, but he'd quickly put it 
behind him and formulated a second plan, which involved a 
closer surveillance of the pesky woman.

No-one had any idea where Lois Lane had spent the previous 
evening - Randolph's incompetent detective had thought it 
was clever to grab a bite while the sneaky girl he was 
supposed to *continually* observe was attending one of her 
classes in the late afternoon. It should have been obvious 
to him that with her usual luck, she'd quietly slip out 
while no-one was there to follow her. No-one had seen her 
again since. The new detective that Randolph had assigned 
to the front of Lois's building had confirmed that the 
apartment she shared with her inane roommate seemed empty, 
although Ms Lane was still nowhere to be found.

Tempus had then ordered Randolph to check all airports and 
train stations, barely containing his fury, and - 

The phone interrupted his dark musings, and he picked it 
up, grunting an irritated "Hello?" into the receiver and 
tensing as he heard the first hints of nervousness in 
Randolph's voice.

He could sense the Mayor's caution as Randolph dropped the 
news of Lois's departure on a flight for Wichita, and 
despite the fury he ought to be feeling towards the man 
who'd let the annoying girl slip out of his sight, it 
pleased Tempus to be feared by his employees. It almost 
made him feel like the famous Lex Luthor, whom he'd always 
admired since he'd found his biography in his history 
books.

Luthor was a genius of a business man, and in his mind, 
Tempus placed him right after the great Jesse James. The 
twentieth century's biggest villain had missed the 
advantages offered by a technology that Tempus could have 
provided to him, but the idea of a kryptonite cage sure was 
ingenious, for example.

However, contrary to Luthor, Tempus wouldn't fail. His plan 
was infallible, and even when an obstacle like Lois Lane's 
mysterious disappearance threatened his cause, a 
replacement scheme was immediately triggered.

Okay, so Ms Lane had decided to give them the slip while 
they weren't looking, and the destination of the flight 
she'd booked and taken this morning left him with little 
doubt as to her aim. Wichita was, after all, the airport 
situated closest to Smallville, and unless Lois had 
discovered a sudden and unexpected taste for the country 
life, he doubted her trip had a relaxing goal.

All he needed to know now was where she'd decided to stay, 
and he was sure it wouldn't take much time for him to 
figure out where the devious woman was hiding. Taking care 
of her then wouldn't be much more difficult either, and he 
trusted Trask to find something innovative and amusing. If 
Lois couldn't help but stick her nose into what was none of 
her business, then she should at least make an effort to be 
useful to his plans.



********************


"Thanks for agreeing to do this for me, Clark," Wayne Irig 
said warmly as he guided the young man to the barn.

Clark had promised to help him repair the damage caused by 
the last storm, and he let out a surprised whistle as Wayne 
gestured towards the roof and the western wall, from which 
several planks had been ripped off. The wind hadn't been 
clement, and even if it had withstood bad weather until 
now, the old construction had seriously suffered this time.

Clark stood at the entrance of the barn, surveying the 
interior with a critical eagle eye, looking out for any 
critical fissures endangering the building's stability. 
Fortunately, apart from the obvious holes left by the mini-
tornado that had swept down the county a few weeks earlier, 
the basic structure seemed intact.

"I guess that nailing down a few planks will prevent any 
rain soaking the hay once I bring it under cover. What do 
you think?"

Clark nodded silently and reached up a hand to fondly 
stroke the edge of the plank bordering the door. The wood 
was cracked by too many years of downpour and sun, and the 
rails squealed when the door slid to the side, letting a 
flow of light dissipate the darkness surrounding the room.

His father and Wayne had built that barn together, some 
twenty years ago. Before he'd arrived in his parents' life. 
And it was one of the rare things linking him to who 
Jonathan Kent had been. Touching the raw material that his 
Dad had used to erect the sheds around the Kent and Irig 
estates was helping him not to forget the life of hard 
labour of a man he hadn't had enough time to get to know.

Wayne frequently talked about Clark's father, who had been 
like a brother to him. Their friendship had lasted thirty 
long years, during which they'd shared joys and sad events, 
kids' secrets and adults' concerns. Clark still remembered 
the many times during the first few years of his childhood, 
when both families gathered to celebrate anything that was 
worth a dinner outside, lit by the old forged iron lamp 
hanging over the Kent farmhouse porch. Whether it was the 
end of the harvest or a birthday didn't matter - all they 
cared about was being together.

After the accident, Wayne and Elisa had taken charge of the 
Kent land, preventing the farm from being destroyed or sold 
until Clark reached his maturity and was able to take any 
decision he might want to regarding his folks' house. 
They'd also been like surrogate parents to him, and as he'd 
grown up, Clark had realised that the friendship that had 
united his father and this man was one of the rare kinds in 
life. One where death didn't manage to break the 
indestructible care and respect that had existed between 
the two men.

And whenever Clark looked into Wayne Irig's eyes, he saw 
the gentleness and love of his father reflected in the soft 
grey. It was something he had to tightly hang onto, because 
it was one of the rare things he had left. That, and a few 
scattered memories lying around both families' lands, where 
he'd spent the too short years of his childhood.

As if feeling the nostalgia of his thoughts, Wayne reached 
out to touch the young man's shoulder in a comforting 
gesture. "I'll go get the tools in the shed, be right 
back," he said softly, leaving Clark to the memories 
attached to the building, which resurfaced every single 
time he was around, but even more strongly this autumn 
afternoon.

His departure barely registered at the borders of Clark's 
mind as he took a few steps inside, remembering. This barn 
had witnessed one of his first intimate moments with Lana, 
as her boyfriend. It had happened a few days after their 
first kiss, and he hadn't foreseen the young girl's 
intentions as she'd dragged him towards the darkened and 
deserted place. The afternoon had been hot and moist, and 
being together in the shed, lying on fresh bales of hay and 
letting the warm breeze wash over them had seemed natural 
to Clark.

That, of course, hadn't been Lana's real plan.

He should have known that she wouldn't be content with just 
relaxing there, in the shadows of the Irig barn, but she'd 
still taken him by surprise, letting their playful kisses 
escalate into more than he was ready for. Before he knew 
it, his new girlfriend was tugging at his t-shirt and 
pressing her slender body tight against his.

It had been the first time that he'd become aware of his 
reluctance to go very far with Lana. Uncertainty had 
started to eat at him, and hadn't left him since. It had of 
course been worse since her offer to live together after 
their last year of high school, but the roots of his 
awkwardness with Lana had begun here, in this barn, where 
he'd had to pull away from her without being able to give 
much of an explanation, four years earlier.

It was strange for him to find himself here again, this 
afternoon, a mere couple of hours after having spent yet 
another unsettling moment with Lana. Lunch with her in the 
park hadn't gone as he'd expected, that was for sure. 
Everything had started off wonderfully, their friendly 
banter to the time, so many years before, when things 
weren't so complicated between them. They'd evoked 
childhood memories, laughing together at the recollection 
of the many times when they'd got into mischief and done 
their best to avoid their parents' severe scolding.

But moving on to the topic of their projects had been a 
mistake. As ever, what had started as a fairly innocent 
discussion about professional careers had turned towards 
their personal life, and Lana had quickly got upset again 
at Clark's reluctance to jump forward and take the final 
step.

She didn't understand. She would never understand, and as 
long as she pushed him towards something he didn't want to 
think about, nothing could happen. The more she pressured 
him into intimacy, the more he was shying away from her, 
and he didn't even want to. It was a natural, unavoidable 
reaction from him, like a protection he couldn't get rid 
of, something that was anchored deep within him and was 
throwing him completely off balance.

He could conceive how confusing it was for Lana, and how 
rejected she must feel if after five years of steady 
dating, her boyfriend still refused to talk about intimacy, 
or worse, did his best to avoid any situation that could 
lead them to that point. Lana had become, after all, a 
beautiful, attractive young woman, and he assumed that she 
was expecting more from their relationship than a few 
chaste kisses every now and then.

After their fight ensuing from her insistence that they 
move in together, Clark had thought that she'd finally 
started to see things from his point of view, but today's 
lunch had proved him wrong. It had taken all of his skills 
of persuasion to calm her down and reassure her that it had 
nothing to do with her; but what could he tell her exactly? 
He didn't know what was holding him back, when he cared so 
deeply for her and had no intention of dating anyone else.

He'd even considered the possibility of a subconscious fear 
of physically hurting her because of his differences, and 
had hung onto the thought for a few seconds, almost wishing 
it was the problem. But deep down, he knew he couldn't lie 
to himself, and his powers or whatever he could call his 
extra-human abilities had little to do with his 
relationship with Lana. At least, their presence wasn't 
involved in his lack of enthusiasm.

Lana's attitude towards them, however, had always disturbed 
him. When he'd first started to develop his strength and 
noticed with a certain amount of embarrassment that lifting 
a couch with one hand wasn't exactly 'normal', Lana had 
been the first person he'd talked to. Her initial reaction 
had been to mock him, and she visibly hadn't taken him 
seriously - which was to be expected, he supposed. But when 
he'd proved it, her laughter had stopped short, and her 
stubborn silence had scared him.

She'd looked...frightened, and his main concern had been 
that she would run away and never want to see him again. 
His abilities had never been a source of pride for him, on 
the contrary leaving him rather self-conscious about 
differences that he didn't want or need, and Lana's lack of 
response hadn't helped him in building some confidence. 
He'd never been worried about her repeating his revelation 
to anyone - he trusted her and when he'd voiced his wish 
that it stayed a secret, she'd immediately shown him that 
she understood his reasons. However, what had come next 
hadn't thrilled him at all.

Lana had been obviously not interested in hearing anything 
more about whatever he could do, and she'd made it clear 
that she was opposed to any display of his powers in front 
of anyone. Her initial fear, as she'd explained to him 
later that day, was born from a worry that Clark would be 
locked away and his every cell analysed by scientists, were 
his abilities to ever be discovered.

Her concern had actually bordered on obsession since then, 
and as a result, Clark had avoided the topic altogether to 
circumvent the argument that usually came from it. And he 
knew that her refusal to see the truth about him played a 
major role in the constant feeling of general discomfort 
that he automatically sensed around Lana. Yet he understood 
why she wanted to fake ignorance, why she seemed to reject 
something that she hadn't asked for and had been 
unceremoniously dropped onto her.

The shock of his own discovery had been too strong for him 
to think about what it would mean for Lana to know, back 
then, and he now regretted his bluntness. He'd relied on 
her to reassure him when she couldn't. He'd wanted her to 
tell him that he wasn't a freak when he indeed was one.

Sighing deeply, he chased away memories that he didn't want 
to face, and he turned towards Wayne, who'd come back with 
the tools necessary to his work and had stayed in the 
doorway, immobile, respecting the silent grief of a boy 
he'd loved like a son.

Wayne didn't say a word - there was no need. After an 
almost imperceptible but encouraging nod, he walked away, 
though not quickly enough to prevent Clark from catching 
the glint of hidden tears in his eyes.

The old man had seen Clark grow up, witnessed his progress, 
his first words, his first steps, his first sorrows. The 
day of the accident, he'd been there, too, working in his 
fields and oblivious to the drama taking place a mere few 
feet away from him, down the road.

Just a truck.

A bloody *stupid* truck, one of the kind that travelled on 
a daily basis on those country roads, and in one dreadful 
second, everything was over.

Clark had recognised the sound of his father's car - at 
that time, he hadn't been aware of his enhanced senses, but 
they'd been there nonetheless, and he'd dropped the 
polished stones he'd been playing with to run and meet his 
parents, just like he usually did when they came back from 
a day in town.

That day of September 1976, they'd been coming back from a 
weekend they'd spent at his grandmother's bedside - the old 
woman was gravely ill and had required her son's presence. 
Martha hadn't wanted Clark to come with them; a few nights 
before the trip, the ten-year-old that he was had heard his 
mother argue that he was too young to be confronted the 
difficult truth of aging, life and death. Little did she 
know that her son would have to face it in a much more 
harsh way only a few days after.

Clark had wondered many times if it would have changed 
anything, had he accompanied his parents to Kansas City. 
Maybe something would have happened to alter the events 
he'd lived. Maybe they would have stayed longer in the 
city, and the truck wouldn't have loomed up in the way of 
Jonathan Kent's car. Maybe he'd have managed to avert the 
accident.

Maybe he'd have died in the crash and wouldn't be there, 
some nine years later, asking himself the same dozens of 
questions that had been rotting in his mind since that 
evening.

The image of his father waving at him through the 
windshield would stay engraved on his heart for the rest of 
his life. The same memory had been haunting him almost 
every night since the accident. For a long time, he'd 
wondered if he was responsible for his dad's lack of 
attention. If he hadn't been there, waiting on the path 
leading to the farmhouse, eager to see his folks again and 
tell them about the kite that Uncle Wayne had helped him to 
build, Jonathan would have kept his eyes on the road and he 
might have avoided a truck driving at a tremendous speed.

Wayne and Elisa had told him, over and over, that it wasn't 
his fault, that the truck driver had lost control, and 
Clark knew it was the truth. He'd seen the vehicle swerve 
dangerously from the right to the left, and the crash had 
been unavoidable. For a fraction of a second, he'd stayed 
rooted to the spot, watching the scene unfold in front of 
him without being able to do anything to stop it, and then 
he'd run, run faster than he ever had, screaming at the top 
of his lungs, his anguished cries covering the deafening 
sound of screeching tires and...

...and then, a loud bang had resonated through his ears, 
turning the evening into a nightmare.

The impact had been followed by an incredible silence that 
had lasted only a few seconds, but that had seemed like 
eternity to him. His blood had turned ice cold, a long 
chill coursing through him as the quietness around had 
spread the dark blanket of death over the fields where the 
corn's ears were gently shaken by the breeze, and that his 
father wouldn't plough ever again. Over the expanses of 
pasture where his parents wouldn't ever take him for an 
improvised picnic again.

Suddenly, something had set him into motion again, steering 
him out of his trance and triggering his mindless run. He'd 
called his parents, pleading for them to answer, sensing 
the unusual atmosphere surrounding the accident scene, 
seeing the thin film of troubled smoke stretching its 
threatening tendrils over the heated asphalt.

There had been a small spark, he didn't know why nor how, 
then everything had happened so fast. Too fast. Flames had 
devoured the two impacted cars, consuming the lives of his 
loved ones, challenging his cries. Before he'd reached 
them, though, a ball of fire was exploding, sending 
carbonised fragments and burning ashes around him, the 
blazing blow pushing him a few feet away with a thunderous 
roar.

He didn't remember much of what had happened afterwards. 
There was some sparse recollection of images, like Elisa 
pulling him into her embrace and steering him away from the 
burning wrecks, dragging him back to her house and unable 
to comfort him; then Wayne coming back from the crash 
scene, keeping his head low and apologising incessantly for 
confirming their worst fears. And of course, the funeral 
that had taken place a few days later, closing the book of 
the first part of his life, and yet leaving him with too 
much remorse to grieve properly.

Clark blinked back the tears that threatened to overwhelm 
him, like each time he thought back about that painful time 
in his life. Being here in Smallville, where he'd grown up 
peacefully during the first ten years of his existence, and 
which was now inevitably connected to the memory of that 
autumn evening where his parents had met their death.

He often wondered if he shouldn't move out of the county, 
leave everything behind and start afresh somewhere else, 
but he knew that running away from his memories wouldn't 
erase them. They'd pursue him, wherever he went. Maybe his 
surroundings would stop reminding him of his parents and 
that dreadful September day, but he also feared to forget 
what were, in fact, his only roots.

Being here was reassuring to him; he was living among 
people he'd known for as long as his folks had adopted him, 
and the inhabitants of Smallville were as close to a family 
as he'd ever got. The enclosed world in which he moved gave 
him the feeling of belonging somewhat, even if deep down, 
he was aware that this was only a fake impression. He 
frequently felt lonely despite these people's support. No-
one would ever take the place that his parents held in his 
heart, and that knowledge was getting harder and harder for 
him to bear, because it meant that he was turned towards 
his past and didn't place any hope in his future.

Taking hold of the tools that Wayne had deposited on the 
workbench at the back of the shed, Clark chased away his 
melancholic thoughts and concentrated on the task at end. 
He wanted to finish repairing the barn before the evening; 
the weather had been sunny since the passage of the storm, 
but there was something in the air telling him that the 
respite wouldn't last. The building might have resisted the 
last time, but it had been weakened nevertheless, and he 
didn't want to take the chance of testing its wind-
resistance any further.



********************


The landscape around Smallville was pretty okay to watch, 
Lois admitted grudgingly as she walked along the track 
leading to the gate of the Irig farmhouse. The path she 
followed was sandy, dotted with tufts of wild grass spread 
irregularly on it, and dandelions raising their thin petals 
towards the sun. The corn growing in the fields spanning 
the small path was rocked by a gentle breeze that brought 
some freshness to the hot mid-afternoon, and all in all, 
was offering the sight of some beautiful scenery.

Maybe the countryside wasn't all that bad. Sure, it seemed 
far from every essential element of civilisation to which 
Lois had always been used to, but there was a sense of 
freedom and respite that was missing in a big city like 
Metropolis. The people she'd met so far weren't slaves to 
their work, they took the time to relax and chat, they were 
open and friendly, and they didn't live to the same insane 
rhythm she'd known for all her life.

It would of course drive her crazy, were she forced to 
settle here permanently; she'd miss Metropolis's agitation 
way too much, and even if a couple of days in Kansas 
weren't as unbearable as she'd figured, it was only good 
for a short holiday as far as she was concerned. Or a tiny 
bit of investigation to keep her busy, in her case.

The sound of a noisy engine made her frown and she spotted 
an impressive mechanical shovel working a few feet off the 
side of the track, excavating the fields spread right 
beside a large farm looking anything but inhabited. She 
screwed up her eyes, shading them with one hand to make out 
the faces of the men busying themselves there. She was sure 
that these were part of the environmental mission - Maisie 
had informed her that they were around the Irig farm, after 
all - and she knew that she had to come closer to the scene 
to see exactly what the mission involved.

But a wooden barrier discoloured by the sun and scrubbed by 
the wind had been erected with dangerous-looking barbed 
wire affixed to the top, making it impossible to jump over 
it.

Retracing her steps, she circled the restricted area until 
she came as close as possible to the working people. She'd 
barely had time to determine the best position when a 
uniformed man scooted towards her rapidly, gesturing for 
her to go away. She faked unconcern, pasting a naive-
looking smile on her face as he approached her.

"You! Get away from here!" the man warned threateningly 
without any preamble, ignoring Lois's raised eyebrows as he 
kept his hand firmly on the stock of his gun.

"Why?" Lois challenged, taking a provocative step closer to 
the barrier.

If the man was taken aback by her bullishness, his attitude 
didn't betray it. "Haven't you seen the placards? This is a 
military area, here. Restricted, and certainly not a place 
for teenage girls to play."

Lois's hands fisted in anger, and she gritted her teeth to 
keep herself from lashing out at the man. She supposed this 
pit bull had orders from the hierarchy, but did he have to 
sound so damned patronising? Fuming, but knowing that 
insisting again would only get her into trouble and blow 
her chances of ever finding out what the operation was 
about, she turned away, rolling her eyes as she heard the 
uniformed man announce into his walkie-talkie that it was 
'just another of them pesky kids poking around'.

Well, they were visibly underestimating her, but the war 
wasn't over. And if anything, the security measures only 
intrigued her further; it looked unlikely for an 
environmental operation to be so closely protected, 
especially by people who wore khaki suits and were 
apparently part of the US armed forces. It seemed a bit too 
much for supposedly cleaning up an area contaminated by 
pesticides, especially when the workers didn't have any 
special equipment or clothing that could have hinted at the 
presence of a dangerous substance.

Everything seemed to confirm the theory that whatever they 
were doing wasn't as legal as they claimed it to be, and 
she would prove it. The outlines of a plan were already 
forming in her mind as she walked away and towards the Irig 
farm. The night was always an ally to spy on suspicious 
individuals and explore forbidden places, and she dared to 
hope that the government people hadn't ordered their men to 
work after dusk.

She assumed that a few security guards would be here to 
prevent the curious from snooping around the place, and 
considering how the guy who'd shoved her away had been 
fingering his gun, it would be better for her to be 
*extremely* careful. Not that she thought they'd shoot a 
'kid', like they seemed to be convinced she was, but one 
could never be too cautious. A bullet could go off way too 
quickly and unexpectedly, and do irreversible damage.

Lois arrived at the large gate enclosing the Irig residence 
within a few minutes. There was no bell in sight, so she 
pushed the high wooden door and peered inside, sighing as 
she noticed that no-one was around. Taking a few steps 
through the small, tidy garden in front of the farm, where 
daffodils and daisies were cohabiting, she easily reached 
the other side of the building and spotted the large sheds 
and stables adjacent to the main house, whose wide shadow 
was slowly stretching over the backyard as the softer 
shades of the late afternoon appeased the heat of a too-
bright sun.

But no-one was in sight. Not even a guard dog, although 
Lois wasn't complaining about that. Weren't country people 
supposed to work at farm chores at this time of the day? 
Rolling the haystacks, milking the cows, or whatever 
farmers were supposed to do?

A repetitive, regular shushing sound was coming from one of 
the barns, and she silently edged herself closer. The door 
was slightly ajar, and she bent over, sneaking a look 
inside, in search for the origin of the noise.

She held back a gasp as her eyes fell on the hard planes of 
a chest. A man's chest. A very *naked* chest. A guy about 
her age was energetically brushing a piece of sandpaper on 
a plank; lost in the cloud of dust his work was producing, 
the sight of him seemed almost surreal. A few rays of light 
were filtering from a hole in the roof, reflecting a game 
of shadows on his skin and stressing the natural tan of 
someone who'd spent most of his life outdoors.

She steered her gaze away from the fascinating sight, 
grateful for the apparent concentration of the man, and 
took advantage of the discretion of her spot to observe his 
face. His features were regular, the ridge of his chin was 
sharp and frank, and a small lock of dark hair was falling 
over his forehead.

And he was handsome.

Incredibly handsome.

She swallowed and took great care in staying hidden at the 
entrance of the barn, hoping with all her heart that the 
man wouldn't look up at her, because right now, she was 
glued to the floor and didn't think she could voice a word, 
were she requested to talk.

Lois had never been much impressed by men before. After the 
period of her life during which boys were pesky beings 
whose only goal was to ruin her entire life, she'd started 
to simply consider them as a compelling aspect of the 
world, with which she would have to cope. She enjoyed their 
company, she'd even had a few crushes on some of her 
classmates, and an occasional boyfriend in high school, but 
it had never gone beyond mild interest.

In any case, she'd never been one to get starry-eyed over a 
man. She left such humiliating behaviour to Linda, who 
admitted herself that her greatest weakness was men and her 
love for them. Lois held back a chuckle as she recalled the 
number of times her friend had pretended to have fallen in 
love with 'the right one' this time, only to mouth off 
about the guy in question a mere few days later.

In Linda's opinion, men could be the sweetest creation one 
day, and ugly pigs the next, whereas to Lois, they *always* 
were creatures whom she had a great deal of difficulty 
understanding.

She'd never had any serious relationships, though - some 
harmless flirting, which generally ended in disaster, when 
it wasn't the humiliation she'd had to face with Mike's 
petty revenge after she'd refused to go too far with him. 
The guy had no sense of honour, and to make up for it, he'd 
tried to ruin hers, inventing the fascinating story of Lois 
Lane in his father's car. Yuck. Mike had turned out to be 
an out-and-out compulsive liar who was better avoided at 
all costs...

...just like any other man she'd encountered, Lois was 
forced to notice with a despondent sigh, returning her 
attention to the Greek God standing a few feet away from 
her, oblivious to the sudden fascination he'd generated in 
his observant.

He'd turned away from his workbench and was now focusing 
his entire concentration on the fixing of a smoothly planed 
plank to the damaged wall at the far end of the shed...and 
he was offering her the view of the hard planes of his 
back, his muscles flexing under the exertion as he 
accomplished his job with a dexterity that amazed her. When 
he seemed satisfied with his task, he took a few steps 
backwards and admired the result, cocking his head to the 
side, as if looking for any flaw in his carpentry.

She was suddenly aware of the hammer of her heartbeat 
against her breasts, and she shook herself, forcing the 
unwelcome sense of loss out of her mind as she willed her 
mind to concentrate on anything other than the sight that 
had greeted her upon looking into the barn.

It was right then that the man turned around, as if warned 
of her presence by some sixth sense, and flashed her a look 
of surprise that made her want to shy away. She was struck 
by the sheer honesty she perceived in his gaze, and as 
their eyes locked, she let herself drown in the unfamiliar 
sensation of belonging invading her.
 
"Looking for something?"

The gruff voice behind her back startled her, and she 
swivelled around, coming face to face with a much older man 
whose grey eyes reflected gentleness behind a rough 
exterior.

She shook herself out of her trance-like attitude and 
pasted a smile on her dumbstruck face, chasing away the 
last reminders of her encounter with the young country 
worker.

"Wayne Irig?" At his nod, she extended her hand to him. 
"Hi, I'm Julia Lewis," she introduced herself, quickly 
gathering herself and putting her fascination for Barn-guy, 
as she immediately nicknamed him, to the back of her mind.

Irig frowned and greeted her warily.

"I'm new in town," she explained when her host made no 
effort to talk to her. "And...I happened to drop by 
Maisie's bar, and she told me that you were selling typical 
farm stuff."

Irig's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline, or what was 
left of it. "Stuff?"

"Yes. Uh...vegetables and fruit and honey. That sort of 
thing," she added awkwardly, cursing her total lack of 
knowledge of country matters.

"Oh! Yes, that's right," the man replied, his face finally 
brightening up. "Elisa - my wife - will show you what we've 
got. You're from the big city?" he enquired as he set off 
towards the house, motioning for her to follow him.

Lois sighed, realising that she really didn't fit into this 
state and that it seemed downright evident to everyone 
around here; it augured of nothing good regarding her 
cover, unless she used it to her advantage. "Is it that 
obvious?" she asked grudgingly.

Irig laughed at the barely hidden concern in her voice and 
cocked his head to the side as he gave her a once-over. 
"Sort of."

"I'm from Metropolis," Lois clarified as she entered the 
house behind the farmer and was guided through a labyrinth 
of rustic rooms furnished with expensive-looking mahogany 
dressers and bookshelves.

"And don't you feel lost, here in Kansas?"

Lois grimaced inwardly but knew better than telling the 
truth to a man who was very probably a big defender of his 
state and what it stood for. "No, it's all right," she 
lied. "And since I'm going to live here, I'd better get 
used to it anyway."

"Oh, you're settling here with your family?"

"No...no family."

"You seem a bit young to be on your own," Irig remarked, 
eyeing her suspiciously.

"I've been living on my own for a while and have no problem 
with it," she replied airily, suppressing her annoyance at 
the farmer's curiosity. She admitted that it was natural of 
him to be enquiring about a newcomer who arrived on his 
doorstep, but she was angry with herself for not planning 
her whole cover story in advance.

It seemed to her that she still had a lot to learn if she 
wanted to succeed in her journalistic career. She'd been 
lucky until now that no-one had figured her out, and her 
rapid thinking had allowed her to fill in the weaknesses of 
her initial plan - assuming you could call it a plan. She 
was increasingly convinced that using a fake name had been 
one of her best ideas so far. Not only did it make her feel 
more secure, but it also ensured that none of the people 
involved in the case that she was investigating risked 
figuring out her real identity, or linking her to her 
former source, Burton Newcomb, whose death had been 
plastered all over the national papers before being reduced 
to a short news item, at the instigation no doubt of Trask 
- that guy seemed to have friends in high places and a 
certain knowledge on how to use the