The Road Taken
By Terry Leatherwood <t_leatherwood@peoplepc.com>
Rated: PG13
Submitted: November, 2005


Preface to The Road Taken

Please allow me to present Robert Frost's excellent poem "The
Road Not Taken" to introduce this story.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I marked the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Robert Frost

>From Modern American Poetry:  an Introduction by Louis
Untermeyer, New York: Harcourt, Brace and Howe, 1919;
Bartleby.com, 1999. www.bartleby.com/104/.


For those familiar to the Lois and Clark saga, whether from the
wonderful series or from the comic books, Lana Lang represents
the road not taken for Clark Kent.  She is the girlfriend of his
youth, his first love, and even today remains an enigma to us. 
But what if he had taken that road?  What if Lana hadn't reacted
with fear to Clark's powers?  What if she'd truly loved him
enough to accept that part of him and deal successfully with it? 
I present to you, the readers, this journey into the what-if,
might-have-been alternate universe of Superman and some of the
women who greatly impacted his life.

The physical model for Lana Lang in this story is not the
impressively attractive Kristen Kreuk from the WB series
'Smallville' but the Lana Lang of the 1960's Superboy comics, the
ones that have stuck in my memory all these years.  She's short,
slender but not anorexic, pretty but not stunning, with shoulder-
length brown hair and a few freckles, very American Midwestern in
look and manner but not a beauty pageant contestant, so please
envision this girl as you read.

In the comics, Lana's father was an archaeologist who traveled a
lot, sometimes with his daughter, which made for some interesting
(and some highly contrived) plot twists.  I'm sure that the
editorial staff at DC Comics explained why Lana's mother wasn't
around, but if they did I have no recollection of it.  The
situation with Lana's parents is, as far as I am consciously
aware, entirely my own invention.

The familiar characters of this story are not my own but are the
property of corporate entities (DC Comics, December 3rd
Productions, ABC television, etc.) other than myself.  This work
is a labor of love and is presented with no expectation of
remuneration.  I anticipate much debate and some intense response
to this particular flight of fancy.  I hope you enjoy the ride.

I want to extend tons of thanks to Tricia and Ray, two of the
hardest working Beta readers in the world.  We don't always
agree, but their opinions and suggestions are always helpful, and
even when I don't incorporate their suggestions I respect them. 
Thanks, both of you!

*****

The Road Taken

The night was young and bright on the cloudless Kansas plain late
that May.  Sunset was swiftly fading in the west, and stars that
had been hiding all day were coming out to play in the inky sky. 
The two young people had left their raucous high school
graduation party early, changed from their formal attire into
sweatshirts and jeans and tennis shoes, and come to one of their
favorite places, his parents' front porch swing.  They had often
sat together in silence here, simply enjoying each other's
company.

Tonight, however, was different.  She had known that high school
graduation would mark a change in their lives, but it seemed to
her that there was much more on his mind that night than simply
the march of events in their lives.  He was so tense he couldn't
sit still, and had been slowly pacing the porch for nearly
fifteen minutes.  He finally sat beside her in the swing and
hesitantly called her name.

"Lana?"

"Yes, Clark?"

He opened his mouth but nothing came out.  Lana tilted her head
to one side.  "Clark, is something wrong?"

"No.  No, nothing's wrong."  He wrung his hands and took two
aimless steps.  "Hey, are you going back to your uncle's ranch in
Arizona for the summer?"

She shook her head and smiled.  "Not this year.  I figure five
summers of being a cowgirl is enough for me.  The money's good
and the experience is priceless, but it's not really my thing. 
I'm going to stay home this summer and focus on earning some
extra money before classes start this fall.  What about you?"

"Me?  Oh, I think I'll hire on to Wayne Irig's farm again.  I can
work there and with my dad and make enough for - for something."

"I've seen you work.  You move enough hay for any three grown
men.  They're both lucky to have you around."

"Thanks."  He fidgeted for a moment before speaking again.  "Have
you decided on a college yet?"

"I haven't heard yet.  I hope some of them let me know before too
much longer.  Late May is about as late as I want to wait."

He grinned despite his obvious nervousness.  "I know what you
mean.  Waiting for the admissions packet to come back is a little
like sitting on barbed wire."

"Ouch!  I don't know that I'd go quite that far.  But you're
right, it's tough to wait."

"Yeah."  He rubbed his hands up and down on his thighs.  "Tough."

She reached out and touched his wrist.  "Clark?  What's on your
mind?"  He wriggled around some more.  "Come on, Clark, you can
tell me.  Tell me what's bothering you."  She made a kissing
noise.  "I bet I can chase it away."

"Oh, yeah, well, maybe you could."  He leaned closer, wearing a
smacked-with-a-fencepost expression, but pulled back at the last
second and regained control of his face.  "Wait.  I think - we
need to talk about something."

Her soft, shoulder-length brown hair framed her lightly freckled
face.  "What is it?"

He hesitated.  "I - I need to ask you a dumb - no, a personal
question."

She smiled and turned in the swing to face him.  The soft Kansas
moon reflected in her glistening hazel eyes.  "Which is it, a
dumb question or a personal one?"

He frowned in thought.  "Both, I think." 

She giggled.  "Is it a personally dumb question or a dumb
personal question?"

"An important question.  Really important."  He stood and shifted
from one foot to the other.  "I need to ask you how you feel
about me."

She stood before him.  The top of her head was almost the height
of his upper lip.  She reached up to put her arms around his
neck.  "I'd rather show you than tell you."

Clark almost forgot his question in her soft kiss, but gently
pulled away, breathing deeply.  "Um.  This - what I'm about to
tell you may change that."

Lana frowned this time.  "Clark, you aren't making any sense. 
And you're beginning to worry me a little."

"Well, it's that - I'm special."

She kissed him again, lightly this time.  "I know that.  You're
very special to me."

"No, I mean 'special' as in 'different from everybody else'
special.  There's no one in the world like me, not as far as I
know."

She took a step back and put her hands on her hips.  "Look, babe,
I know you're unique, just like everybody else in the world - "

He shook his head.  "Not like this, Lana.  This is different."

"Different, like how?"  Her frown turned to anxiety.  "Wait!" 
She took his hands again.  "Clark, are you - are you sick?  Is
that what you're trying to tell me?  Because if it is, I don't
care!  I love you no matter what might be wrong with you!"

He grimaced.  "No, I'm not sick.  Far from it."

"You're not sick?"  He shook his head.  "Then what is it?  What
are you talking about?  What are you trying to tell me?"

He stepped back, holding her hands gently, until they were at
arm's length.  "I guess - the best thing for me to do is to show
you."

She eyed him warily.  "Show me what?"

"This."

He released her hands and stepped back off the porch - but he
didn't step down onto the ground.  He stood there, hanging in
mid-air, standing on nothing, until he saw her eyes pop open and
her jaw drop.

Lana forgot to breathe.  She'd forgotten to breathe once or twice
before, and it had been Clark's fault then, too, but it had been
mostly because she'd been distracted by having his lips on hers. 
Now, with him standing there in front of her on - nothing at all
- she didn't think, she didn't breathe, she didn't move, until
she fell limply towards the porch.

The next thing she knew, Clark was holding her and touching her
face.  He sounded alarmed.  "Lana!  Lana, I'm sorry!  Please be
okay!  Lana, please!"

She absently grabbed his hand.  "I'm okay, Clark.  Why are you -
"

And then she remembered.  She froze in place for a moment, then
slowly reached out and touched his chest.  "Clark?  Did - did you
- you really - "

"Float in mid-air?  Yes."

She clenched his shirt in her fist.  "Really?"

"Yes, I did."

"On purpose?"

He nodded.  "Yes.  I meant to do that."

"Oh.  Why?"

His face smoothed.  "I needed to know - to know what you'd do if
you knew."

"I see.  So, you really can float in mid-air?"

"I can.  I can do it again if you want."

She shook her head and rubbed her eyes.  "Maybe later.  Right now
I need to know for certain that I'm not dreaming."

His mouth tight, he said, "It was not a dream.  You're completely
awake."

"Oh."  She took a deep breath.  "Good."

His eyebrows levitated.  "Good?"

"Sure."  Her eyes twinkled at him.  "It means we're both going
crazy, not just me alone."  She got her feet under her and stood
up straight, then pulled him upright.  "I always said we'd go
places together."

"But - aren't you - don't you - "

"Have questions?  Of course I do, you moron!  Like how did you do
that?  Or are you changing your major from journalism to
prestidigitation before you take your first college class?"

He cocked his head to one side.  "I still plan to be a
journalist, thank you.  And I can do a lot of other things
besides just float."

She braced herself and asked, "Like what?"

He shrugged.  "I can fly, although - "

"What!  You can fly?"

"Yes."

"You're kidding!"

He put his hands on his hips.  "No, I am not kidding.  Flying is
just an extension of floating, and you've already seen me do
that.  Now are you going to listen to me or what?"

She waved her hands.  "I'm sorry, sorry, no, I'll listen. 
Please, go ahead."

"Okay.  Like I said, I can fly, but I'm not real comfortable with
it yet, so I haven't done a whole lot of it, but I have been
practicing.  I haven't found anything that can hurt me, not since
I was about twelve.  I can hold my dad's tractor over my head
with one hand for as long as I want to and not get tired.  I'm
fast enough to run past people and they hear something whoosh by
but they never see me.  I can hear things from far away, and I
can focus in on little noises no one else can hear.  I can make
things hot enough to burn just by looking at them the right way. 
I can see things that are far away, like I had built-in
binoculars.  I can see through things, too, like walls or the
ground."

"See through things?"

"Yes."

She frowned slightly.  "Any walls?"

"As long as they aren't made of lead.  I can't see through lead."

"You can see through any walls?  Even the girl's locker room
walls?"

"What?  No!  Just that one time when I was fourteen and I didn't
mean it and it was an accident and you weren't even in there!" 
He gaped at her as she laughed.  "What's so funny?"

She crossed her arms over her stomach.  "I - I don't know!"  She
stepped back and collapsed into the porch swing.  "I guess - ha-
ha - the way you - ho-ho-ho - reacted when you thought - ha-ha-ha
- you thought I - "

And she dissolved into belly laughs.  Clark stood in front of
her, helpless, as she worked through them.

Lana finally calmed down.  "Whew!  I'm sorry, Clark, but you
acted like a little boy caught with a girlie magazine in his
hand.  It was, like, totally hysterical!"  She chuckled again.

He scowled and crossed his arms across his chest.  "I see.  Is
there anything else about me you'd like to laugh at now?"

The wounded tone of his voice cut her to the heart and she jumped
up to embrace him.  "No!  No, darling, no!  I wasn't laughing at
you, Clark!  I was laughing at the mental picture you made in my
head.  It - I don't know, it kind of made me remember who you
really are!  You're not some weird alien, or some kind of scary
mutant, you're Clark Kent and I love you!"

"Are you sure about that?"

She leaned back but didn't let him go.  "Clark, I love you if you
can pick up a building or if you can't lift a sack of apples. 
This is - it's important, I guess, but it doesn't change
anything."  She leaned her head on his chest.  "It's just one
more thing for me to know about you."

He cautiously put his arms around her.  "It's a pretty big thing,
though, isn't it?"

"Of course it is.  I'd be lying if I said it wasn't.  But it's
not as if you're already married to someone else or that you're
secretly a Mafia hit man or you're really Santa Claus.  You're
still Clark to me, no matter what kinds of incredible things you
can do."  She tightened her grip.  "I love you, Clark, and I
don't ever want to let you go."

He returned the pressure.  "I love you too, Lana.  You're the
most wonderful girl in the whole state of Kansas."

She rolled her mouth up to his and kissed him.  "Yum.  Just
Kansas?"

He smiled.  "Maybe Oklahoma too.  Possibly even including Idaho."

She laughed with him.  "See?  A girl likes a guy who can make her
laugh."

"I'm glad.  You want to sit down now?"

"If you'll tell me more about these marvelous abilities you
have."

He sighed.  "If that's what you want to talk about, okay."

"Oh, yes!  I definitely want to learn all I can about you."

*****

Her good mood had evaporated.  She stared at Clark in horror. 
"You mean that there are actually people out there who want to
treat you like a lab specimen?  There are people who want to
dissect you?"

He shook his head.  "I don't know it as a fact, like anybody's
actually tried to put me in a cage, but it's a logical
conclusion, don't you think?  Man shows off spectacular powers. 
Government of some country or even a private individual wants to
find out how he does it, maybe to make their armies stronger or
out of scientific curiosity or out of greed or out of fear.  It
doesn't matter.  I don't want to end up as a rat in a maze, or
some eager med student's dissertation theme."

She dropped her gaze.  "Oh, Clark, you mean you've carried this
burden for the last six years?  All through high school?  And you
never told anyone?"

"My folks know, of course.  They're probably bursting with
curiosity right now."

"What?  What could they be curious about?"

"Wondering about your reaction."

Lana's jaw hit her chest for the second time that evening.  "Oh,
my stars and garters!  Of course!  No wonder they were so nice to
me at dinner the night before last!"

He smiled.  "They were making bets with each other on how long it
would take before you ran away screaming at the top of your
lungs."

She smiled back and shook her head.  "Clark, I wouldn't have run
away if you'd told me you were sick and dying.  I'm not running
away because I've just learned something wonderfully fabulous
about you.  I promise you, I'm not going anywhere!"  She stopped
suddenly, then cautiously lifted his hand to her cheek.  "Unless
- unless you want me to go away."

He reached out and enveloped her.  His voice broke.  "Please
don't go.  Please stay with me forever."

*****

Martha tucked the drape back in place and tiptoed away from the
window.  "Well, she's still there."

Jonathan nodded.  "I knew that girl was a keeper."

Martha gave him a 'look.'  "Uh-huh.  You were the one who bet
three days worth of chores that she'd break up with him on the
spot."

He grinned back.  "And I've never been so happy to lose a bet in
my entire life."  He sighed.  "I just hope they're making the
right decisions out there."

"Who's to know what the right decision is?  Either of us could
have married someone else and made a life with that other
person."

"True.  But I wouldn't trade a minute of our time together for a
lifetime with anyone else.  I love you, Martha."

She smiled and leaned her head on his massive chest.  "I love you
too, you wonderfully romantic man.  Come on," she said as she
pulled him away from the front of the house, "let's let the kids
be kids by themselves."  She turned back and winked at him.  "We
can be kids again, too, at least for a little while."

Jonathan smiled a knowing smile and reached out to pat his wife
on the bottom.  She looked back again and giggled playfully.

*****

Clark and Lana sat on the swing together, talking through and
adjusting to the new curve in their relationship.  Then Lana
asked the big question that had popped into her mind an hour
before.

"Clark?  What are you going to do with these abilities?  I mean,
on a long-term basis?"

He sat back, a surprised expression forming on his face.  "I -
don't know."

"You haven't thought about it?  Or you haven't settled on a plan
yet?"

He pulled a long face.  "I guess - I haven't thought about it
much."

She patted his hand.  "Don't worry.  You're young yet."

He turned away.  "Actually - I have done a few things already."

She asked, in a matter-of-fact tone, "Such as?"

Clark shifted nervously.  "Well, I got Wayne Irig out of his barn
last fall when that windstorm collapsed the east wall.  He had a
concussion and a broken arm, but if I hadn't pulled him out
before the rest of the wall fell, he might have died."  He stood
up.  "Remember that flash flood just south of Wichita two years
ago?  I pulled three people out of the water.  Two of them were
just kids."  He put his hands in his pockets.  "And - two weeks
ago I pulled Brent and Charlene out of that car wreck just before
the gas tank blew up."

Lana nodded.  "I see.  You have been a busy boy, haven't you?"

He turned to face her and was relieved to see that she was
smiling.  "I'm guessing you aren't angry about those stunts."

She reached out and softly touched his arm.  "They weren't
stunts, Clark, they were acts of heroism.  Just because you
believe you can't be hurt doesn't mean your actions weren't
brave.  You were risking exposure on every one of those
occasions.  How could I be angry that you put other people's
safety ahead of your own comfort?  I think it was marvelous of
you."  She tugged at his wrist until his hand escaped his pocket,
then she captured it in both of hers.  "And you know that
Charlene is my very best girlfriend in the whole world.  When I
visited her in the hospital, she told me that someone had pulled
her out of the car, but she didn't recognize him, didn't even
know for certain that it was a man."  She kissed his hand.  "I'm
proud of you."

He squeezed her hands gently.  "Thank you."

She popped up and pushed his shoulder until he turned to face the
front door.  "But if you're going to keep on doing stuff like
this, and I see no reason for you to stop now, you're going to
have to be invisible."

"Invisible?  Lana, what do - "

She headed for the front door.  "Come on.  I need to talk to your
mom."

"My mom?  But we - "

Lana shoved the door open and flipped on the light in the front
room.  "Mrs. Kent?  Mr. Kent?  Where are you?  We need to talk."

There was no answer, so Lana began marching through the house,
calling out loudly.  "Mrs. Kent?  We need to talk about
something.  Mrs. Kent?  Where are you?"

The master bedroom door cracked open.  "Lana?  What are you
yelling about?"

"We need to talk.  Are you coming out or do I come in?"

"Neither!"  Martha's alarmed face showed in the opening, but she
hid her body behind the door.

"Why?  What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, Lana.  Just give us a minute to get dressed."

"Okay.  I'll wait in - " and suddenly it clicked.  Lana flushed
bright red and gasped and laughed all at the same time.  She
turned around and galloped into the living room and thumped
headfirst into Clark's unyielding chest.

He grabbed her and held her still.  "Lana!  What's wrong?  Are my
parents okay?"

She fanned her face with her hand.  "Oh, yeah, they're fine,
they're just fine."

He held her away from him and stared.  "What do you mean?"  He
started to move around her, but she stepped in front of him and
blocked his path.  He moved again and she blocked him a second
time.  "Lana!  Cut it out!"  He stepped back and reached for his
glasses, but she grabbed his wrist and held it tight.

"Don't you dare!  You have to move your glasses to see through
things, don't you?"

He looked puzzled.  "Yes, the lenses are leaded glass, and like I
told you I can't see through - "

"You look through that door right now and I'll - I'll - I'll make
you eat my cooking every day for a week!"

"What?  What's wrong with that?  You cook great."

"You've never had my fried gravel or my dirt souffle and that's
what you'll get if you cross me!  Now come here!"  She pulled him
into the kitchen.  "I need something to drink.  Make me some
lemonade or something.  Anything at all."

Baffled, Clark complied and poured Lana a glass of iced tea. 
After a few minutes, Martha walked into the kitchen in housedress
and slippers.  Lana glanced up at her and blushed furiously once
again.  Martha laughed lightly and hugged the girl around the
shoulders.

Lana put her face in her hands.  "I'm so sorry!  Really!  Please
forgive me!"

Martha patted her shoulder.  "Lana, honey, it's okay.  You didn't
know."

Jonathan ambled in, wearing a plaid shirt, jeans, and a silly
smile.  "Clark, let's go check out the tractor shed."

"At this time of night?  Dad, Lana wants to - "

Jonathan made a shushing motion.  "Come with me, Clark.  Let the
ladies converse."

Still completely befuddled, Clark followed his father outside. 
Lana looked up at Martha, and they shared a knowing smile. 
Martha sat down beside the girl and looked into her eyes.

"Clark will eventually figure it out, Lana, and then he'll be so
embarrassed that you were here and that you know that he knows
that he'll look sunburned until Sunday afternoon."

Lana shook her head.  "I can't believe I reacted like that!  I
guess - it's hard for me to admit that my parents once loved each
other that much."  She leaned back and wiped her face with her
hands.  "After all, they made me, just like you two made Clark."

Martha kept smiling at Lana and didn't say anything.  A moment
later, Lana flushed again, then slapped herself on the forehead. 
"Oh, stupid, stupid, stupid!  For a second I forgot Clark was
adopted!"  She stood up and began pacing the floor.  "Mrs. Kent,
why don't you just shoot me and put me out of my misery?"

Martha caught her arm and led her back to her chair.  "Lana,
dear, just sit down.  You've had something of a shock tonight,
and I'm sure that's a large part of your confusion.  Now what was
it you originally wanted to talk to me about?"

Lana stared at her blankly.  "I forgot.  Wait, it was about
Clark, and his rescues, and - right!  I remember now.  He's been
going around doing good deeds, which I assume you already knew?"

Martha nodded.  "Yes."

"I also assume you approve of his motives if not always his
methods?"

Martha grinned.  "I see that you weren't captain of the debate
team because you can yodel.  That would be a 'yes' also."

"Then you know the law of averages is going to catch up to him
and he'll be either recognized or photographed and identified. 
Then the bovine excrement will firmly strike the operating rotary
oscillator."

Martha chortled.  "Very colorful, Lana, but probably true.  What
do you suggest?"

Lana leaned in close and lowered her voice.  "Clark has to be
invisible."

Martha whispered, "What do you mean, invisible?"

Lana whispered back, "People mustn't see him."

"How will they not see him?"

"Because they'll be looking somewhere else."

Martha asked, "Why are we whispering?"

Lana flushed again and straightened.  "I don't know!  But Clark
has to be someone or something else when he's doing his helper
thing."

"Honey, I'm his mother, but he's way too good-looking to go
unnoticed, no matter what he's wearing."

"That's true."  Lana grinned.  "So we use the 'Purloined Letter'
technique."

Martha frowned slightly.  "Refresh my memory on that one?"

"The Edgar Allan Poe story!  Clark did a fabulous report on it in
eighth grade.  Where someone stole an important letter in a
nineteenth-century hotel and hid it in plain sight in the mail
slot right behind the desk clerk!  We make Clark's public persona
so bright and splashy that people will automatically look at his
body and not concentrate on his face!  You're an excellent
seamstress, you can put something together that will knock
everybody's socks off!"

Martha sat back, thinking.  Lana watched her expressions move
from 'no way' to 'that might actually work' to 'brilliant!' in
moments.  Martha popped up from the chair and ran to the door. 
"Jonathan!  Clark!  Come in here!  Lana has a fantastic idea!"

*****  Chapter Two

Clark sat at the table with his mouth wide open.  "You're crazy,
all of you!  This is the nuttiest idea since - since - "

"Since you were an acorn in your third grade nature play."

"Very funny, Dad.  Besides, I was a sapling, not a nut."

Martha leaned forward.  "Clark, you're reacting from the
participant viewpoint and not the observer viewpoint.  You'd have
everyone in sight looking at you in awe no matter what you might
look like.  You need to appear to be different, if for no other
reason than to make it more difficult to match your hero persona
to your civilian persona."

The other three stared at her for a moment, then Jonathan
snorted.  "Psychology and creative writing classes at the adult
education center.  It's a wonder she keeps it all straight."

Martha shot him an unfriendly look.  "You don't like my
reasoning, you come up with an alternative."

Jonathan raised his hands in surrender.  "Honey, I was just
kidding.  Besides, I agree with you.  As another great man once
said, your logic is impeccable."

"You too, Dad?  You think I should dress up like a circus clown
and rescue people before they laugh themselves to death just from
seeing me?"

Lana snickered.  "It would make it easier to stop robberies.  If
the thieves wouldn't surrender, at least they'd be laughing too
hard to hurt anyone."

"You do realize that you're not selling your proposal very well,
don't you?"

She laughed aloud.  "Clark, it's a good solution.  Maybe not the
only one, but can't we even talk about it?"

Just then the phone rang.  Jonathan reached up and answered it. 
"Hello?  Oh, Professor Lang!  Okay, then, Dennis.  Yes, she's
right here, sitting with us at the kitchen table.  No, we've been
talking for, gosh, I guess over an hour now.  Oh, lots of things. 
Yes, she does.  Do you need to talk to her?  Okay, I'll tell her. 
Bye."

He hung up and faced Lana.  "Your father expects you home by one
A.M. and not one minute after.  He also hopes you're willing to
stay up a while and regale him with tales of your wonderful
evening with Clark."  He glanced at the clock.  "That gives us
about another hour to chew on this."  Martha kicked his ankle
under the table.  "Mmph!  Or another hour for you and Clark to
spend together."  He glared at his wife in mock disgust.

Lana smiled.  "Thank you, both of you, but this is important.  I
- " and she blushed again " - I don't know how our lives will
turn out, but - Clark, you and I have been dating since our
sophomore year together and it's been totally wonderful.  I hope
I stay with you for the rest of my life."  She walked to his
chair and sat in his lap.  "I know it's not exactly the usual way
to do this, but - " she kissed him deeply " - I want to marry
you.  I want to be Mrs. Clark Kent.  What do you say?"

Clark was so astonished he almost dropped her.  Martha dabbed at
her eyes with her sleeve.  Jonathan closed his eyes and shook his
head and muttered, "These kids today."

Clark recovered and held her up.  "Uh.  Lana, there's - one more
thing I haven't told you."

"I don't care!  I know all I need to know about you.  I love you
and I want to spend my life loving you.  And I'm not doing this
just to head off Rachel Harris.  I really, really mean it."  She
fixed him with a tremulous stare.  "Will you marry me, Clark?"

His eyes glazed over for a moment and he almost leaned in to kiss
her, but at the last instant he straightened.  "Lana, you need to
know a few other things."

Martha goggled.  "Clark, what did you leave out?"

He sighed.  "The barn."

"You left out the barn?  How could you leave out the barn?"

"I haven't had the chance to show her yet, Mom!"

Jonathan nodded heavily.  "She should know it all."

Lana slid from Clark's lap and stood beside him.  "You guys need
to stop that.  You're scaring me again."

Clark stood and took her hand.  "You should come with me now,
Lana."

"You need some help, son?"

"Thanks, Dad, but I think I need to fly solo on this one."

*****

Clark closed the barn door behind them and handed her the lit
flashlight.  Lana asked, "You don't need it, do you?"

"No.  It's for you, so you don't miss your step."

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

They walked towards the center of the barn, then Clark stopped. 
"Here it is."

"Here what is?  In case you've forgotten, bub, I've seen the
inside of a barn before."

"Not like this barn, you haven't."

Clark reached down through the dirt floor and grabbed a huge iron
ring.  He heaved it up, revealing a flight of steps heading down
into what appeared to be a storm shelter.

Lana looked down the steps.  "I think we're still in Kansas,
Toto."

Clark wiggled his eyebrows up and down in a nervous attempt to
lighten the mood.  "Not for long."

He led the way down the steps and waited at the bottom.  As Lana
reached the floor of the shelter, Clark went back up the steps
and pulled the cellar door shut.

"You know, big guy, you really don't have to work that hard to be
alone with me."

"The thought never entered my mind."  He lifted his index finger. 
"One more thing."

Clark floated up to the light fixture on the ceiling and pressed
a panel beside it.  The wall behind the stairs slid to one side,
and a light came on in the newly opened room.

Lana peered around the stairs and stopped in her tracks.  She
looked at the ship sitting on the wooden rack, at the glowing
globe in the wall fixture above it, and at the pieces of cloth
inside the glass case.  She looked for the source of the
illumination, then realized the light was coming from the globe.

The sight fascinated her.  "What's the price of admission?"

Clark's voice was tight.  "It might be pretty high."  He stepped
into the room.  "You can leave any time you want, Lana.  Just say
the word."

She shook her head.  "Maybe I'm just dizzy from all the hits I've
already taken, but I'm not leaving until I have the whole story."

"If that's really what you want."

"It is.  You can start any time."

He nodded and pointed at the capsule.  "I came to Earth on that
ship.  My folks said - "

"What!  You did what?"

He stopped.  "It might be best if I tell it in order, okay?"

"Uh.  Yeah."  She looked around.  "You, uh, you got a chair in
here?"

"I can get close."  He picked up a small barrel and put it behind
her.  She sat down carefully.

"Better?"  She nodded.  "Okay, I'll try again.  Just remember
that no one else has ever heard this story, not like this."

"Right."  She nodded again.  "I'm okay now.  Would you mind
starting over?  I'll try not to interrupt."

He smiled.  "You already knew I was adopted, but you didn't know
that my biological parents were Jor-El and Lara of the planet
Krypton."  He paused and looked at her.

"Don't stop now, it's just getting interesting."

"If you say so.  My birth name is Kal-El.  My father Jor-El was a
scientist who discovered that Krypton was about to explode.  So
he put me in this little ship and sent me off to survive.  The
globe is an artificially intelligent computing device keyed to my
DNA.  My DNA, by the way, is practically identical to yours, so
I'm not going to sprout another head or grow tentacles or
suddenly turn green or anything like that."

"Uh-huh.  We'll come back to that.  Keep going."

He nodded.  "I was about three months old when they sent me off. 
The globe's records say that the planet exploded less than a day
later.  The ship traveled through something, a wormhole, a
subspace access tunnel, or maybe a water slide, I don't know, and
ended up in Kansas nineteen subjective days later."  He paused. 
"You doing okay?"

She nodded slowly.  "So far.  You ready for questions now, or
should I hang on to them?"

He grinned.  She thought she was handling it fairly well, and
apparently Clark did too.  "Just hold on.  I'll answer any
questions I can in a minute."

She waved one hand in a 'go-ahead' motion.  "So tell me more. 
You were rocketed to Earth as an infant and found - where?"

"Shuster's Field, just southeast of Smallville.  My folks were
coming back from a doctor's appointment in Wichita."  He ducked
his head.  "That's when they found out for sure that my mom
couldn't have kids."

Lana didn't say anything, but she waved her hand again.  Clark
continued, "So, they saw something loud and bright smack down
into the field beside the road.  My dad got out and found the
trench the ship had cut, then followed it to find me.  They
thought maybe I was a government experiment at first, you know,
some kind of orbital baby test, so they hid me.  No one ever
asked them where they got me, except some of their friends, and
after a couple of months they decided to say I was the orphan
child of some distant cousin.  The state adoption agency
eventually granted them full and permanent custody.  You know
most of the rest."

Lana nodded slowly.  "Question time?"

Clark steeled himself.  "Shoot."

She wiggled her fingers.  "It sounds like you're the last
survivor of your people."

"Yes."

"How - "  She licked her lips.  "How does that make you feel?"

He shrugged.  "It's hard to verbalize.  I'm sad that all those
people are gone, especially Jor-El and Lara, but since I have no
memory of them, it's difficult to feel that loss.  Besides, the
Kents have been my parents as long as I can remember."

She nodded.  "How long have you known about - " she gestured at
the ship and the globe.

"Almost seven years.  My folks decided I needed to know.  I was
mad at them at the time, but now I understand what a risk they
took.  I might have run away.  I might have radically changed my
behavior.  I might have fallen into a catatonic state."

"But you didn't do any of those things."

He shrugged.  "Not yet, at any rate."

She frowned in thought.  "They showed you this about the time you
started getting really strong, didn't they?"

"Yes.  How'd you figure that out?"

She leaned forward.  "I overheard the football coach one day
raving at the principal about this middle schooler named Kent who
was strong as an ox and fast as a panther.  Those were his very
words.  He just knew you'd be All-State, All-American, and then
All-Pro in short order.  You quit the football team after your
freshman year.  I wondered about it at the time, but now I
understand.  You didn't want to hurt anyone, right?"

He nodded.  "I didn't have enough control.  I might have crippled
someone."

She smiled.  "That speaks well of you, Kal-El."

He stiffened slightly.  "Any more questions?"

"Um.  You don't want me to call you that, do you?"

"No.  My name is Clark Kent."

"I'm sorry, Clark.  I won't do it again."

He relaxed.  "It's okay.  I know you didn't mean anything by it."

"I didn't, really."  She tilted her head.  "Why does it bother
you?"

He sighed.  "Because I don't particularly want to be an alien.  I
want to be human.  I want to fit in.  I want to be a man, a real
man, like my dad.  Or like your dad."

"I think I understand.  A little, anyway."  She turned
thoughtful.  "I assume the globe told you all this and more?"

"Yes." 

"How do you activate it?  Does it only respond to you or can
anyone play it?"

He frowned.  "I don't know.  I'm the only one who's tried to use
it, as far as I know."  He turned back to her.  "Would you like
to give it a shot?"

She stood.  "Only if you want me to, Clark."

"I don't mind."

"That's not what I said."  Her flat tone startled him.  "I don't
mean passive permission.  What I mean is, do you actively want me
to share that part of your life?  Assuming the globe will even
tell me anything, of course."

"Oh."  He stood there, thinking, for a long moment.  Lana wanted
to shake him, to yank him into agreement, to force him to let her
touch the globe, but she held herself as still as she possibly
could.  It was the longest nine seconds of her life.

Finally, Clark nodded.  "If you're still here, it means you want
to know more about me.  I trust you.  I want to share your life,
and I want you to share mine.  Therefore, yes, I want you to try
the globe."

She allowed herself to breathe.  "Thank you.  I won't let you
down."

He smiled.  "I know.  Here, hold your hands out.  If it works
with you like it does with me, it'll feel cold at first, then
warm, and then you'll see and hear things in your mind.  It might
help to close your eyes and relax as much as possible."

She wiped her hands on her jeans.  "Okay.  Just one thing, okay?"

"Sure.  What is it?"

"If I scream and drop this thing, you'll catch it before it hits
the ground?"

He grinned sideways.  "Promise.  Now, hold out your hands.  The
globe is a little heavier than it looks."

"So I shouldn't try to dunk it?"

His grin expanded.  "Not unless you want to pick up the pieces."

"Not really, no."  She grimaced.  "This thing looks like a
basketball-sized planet."

"I think that's what Krypton looked like.  Before it blew up, I
mean."  He held it in front of her.  "Are you ready now?"

"Okay.  Here you go."

She closed her eyes and stiffened her hands.  It was indeed
heavier than a basketball, but not so much so that she couldn't
hold it.  It felt cool at first, then waves of warmth caressed
her fingers.  Words formed in her mind, and she communicated with
the globe without speaking aloud.

-----

>>> You are not of Krypton.  You are human. <<<

That's right.

>>> You are also quite brave. <<<

You think so?  I think I'm almost terrified here.

>>> You need not be afraid.  No physical harm will result from
interfacing with this unit. <<<

Okay, but I think the jury's still out on the 'me being brave'
question.

>>> You are brave to explore something that is completely alien
to you. <<<

I do like to try new things.

>>> That is a generally positive trait among intelligent species. 
You are also female. <<<

You sound surprised.  And not a little condescending.

>>> Please do not anthropomorphize me.  I am but an artificially
intelligent computing device. <<<

Huh.  A device with an attitude.

>>> You also appear to have what humans would consider a sense of
humor. <<<

Thank you, I think.  But I'm not here about me.  Is there
anything you can tell me about Clark?

>>> I assume you are speaking of Kal-El. <<<

There's that attitude again.  His name is Clark Kent.

>>> I will refer to Kal-El as Clark if you prefer that I do so. 
What is it you wish to know? <<<

Whatever you can tell me.  Preferably everything.

>>> You could not grasp 'everything' in one session.  Nor could
Kal-El - correction, Clark - were your positions reversed. <<<

You mean that he's human like me?  He has limitations?

>>> All living beings have limitations.  The fact that he is the
sole survivor of an avoidable natural catastrophe should tell you
that. <<<

Avoidable?  You mean his planet didn't have to explode?

>>> The Krypton ruling council refused to hear Jor-El's evidence
and his conclusions.  It was politically expedient to ignore him. 
They censored his writings, denied him permission to speak
publicly on the subject, and refused him permission to build a
ship on which he might escape.  He obeyed the literal dictates of
the council, but constructed a smaller ship in which his son
might escape the coming disaster.  That ship is the one you see
before you. <<<

So there are no more Kryptonites?

>>> They preferred the term 'Kryptonians,' but to respond to your
query, no, according to my databases there are no other
survivors. <<<

Can Clark - could Clark - if he and - a human woman - could they
- um -

>>> My heuristic algorithms suggest that you wish to know if this
particular Kryptonian male and a normal human female could breed
successfully. <<<

Well, I was trying to be polite about it, but yes, that's my
question.

>>> I believe so, but I am not certain.  The base male human
genetic structure and the base male Kryptonian genetic structure
differ by approximately nine one-hundredths of one percent.  I do
not have sufficient data to determine conclusively if it is close
enough to produce viable offspring, but the probability is above
sixty-five percent. <<<

Sixty-five percent, huh?  Does Clark know?

>>> He has never posed that particular query to me. <<<

And of course you haven't volunteered the information.

>>> I respond to queries and instructions.  It is not my purpose
to unilaterally initiate any action, including the dispensing of
information. <<<

Okay.  Let's talk about something else.  What is Clark's purpose
here?

>>> Part of Jor-El's original purpose in sending his son here was
to preserve as much of Krypton's heritage as possible. 
Unfortunately, his son cannot sustain such a culture alone.  My
databases suggest that it would require a minimum population of
13,821 healthy adult Kryptonians of child-bearing age with a
ratio of sixty-four females to thirty-six males to sustain such a
complex culture, assuming the mechanization required to see to
their needs and their safety was also present and fully
functional. <<<

That's a lot of people.

>>> Compared to a normal planetary population of billions, it is
not so many, but your point that we lack the additional 13,820
healthy adult Kryptonians to sustain such a civilization is well
taken.  Clark can, and will, function as a normal adult human
male in human society. <<<

An adult male with some really special qualities.

>>> Also true.  You, young lady, are well suited to assist him in
his endeavors, should you wish to do so. <<<

Oh?  How am I so suited?

>>> You are young, you are healthy, you are intelligent, you
obviously care a great deal about him, and you are flexible
enough to stand up to massive amounts of new data. <<<

Thanks.  Hey, we're off the subject.  What's Clark's purpose
here?

>>> I cannot give him a purpose.  He must create one for himself.
<<<

How's he supposed to do that?

>>> I suggest that you have now found your own purpose.  Clark
will require support and assistance from people he trusts in
order to fulfill whatever purpose he chooses.  I speculate that
you are one of those suited to assist him. <<<

You mean there are others?

>>> Of course.  You are unique, but others share many of your
better physical and intellectual qualities. <<<

But I love him!  I want to marry him!

>>> Such feelings and desires are beyond my programmed
parameters.  Engaging in such a relationship must be his choice
as well as your own. <<<

So, it's okay with you if we get married?

>>> As I said, I have neither information nor opinion on the
matter.  But you must be forewarned.  If he continues on the path
he is currently considering, there will be grave danger for both
of you. <<<

Path?  What path are you talking about?

>>> Clark has secretly rescued a number of people from injury or
death in the past several months.  I suspect he has not informed
you of all that he has done. <<<

No, not everything, but some.  I just found out about him,
remember?

>>> True.  But the probability is that, if he continues this
course of action, he will be discovered soon.  This would be
dangerous for anyone close to him. <<<

Dangerous how, like maybe dead?

>>> That is one possible outcome, yes. <<<

You can tell the future?

>>> No.  I can only compute probabilities.  I compute that, if
the two of you continue on your current path together, one or
both of you will face mortal danger within fifteen years. <<<

What?  You're saying that one of us will die before we're thirty-
three?

>>> No, that is not my meaning.  Mortal danger does not
automatically imply death.  Do not alarm yourself.  This is not a
prophecy of doom.  I speak not of death, but of danger.  I do not
tell the future, I only compute probabilities.  I will delineate
the equations for you if you wish to examine them yourself. <<<

No thanks.  I'll just play it safe.

>>> A wise choice at any time.  Is there anything else you
require, Lana? <<<

You know my name!

>>> I know many things about you.  That is how I am able to
compute these probabilities.  Now that you have heard the result
of these computations, however, your knowledge becomes a part of
the equation, and the probabilities will change. <<<

For the better or the worse?

>>> I will have to recalculate them.  It will require some time.
<<<

Let's save it for the next session, okay?

>>> As you wish.  If you choose to terminate this session, simply
tell me 'good-bye.' >>>

Uh, okay.  You already know my name.  Would you tell me what your
name is before we sign off?

>>> I do not require one, therefore I do not have one. <<<

Oh.  What if I give you a name?

>>> For what purpose? <<<

Oh, I guess I just want to anthropomorphize you.

>>> You are attempting to be facetious.  I can identify attempts
at humor, but I cannot appreciate them as a human might.  If you
wish to do so, you may assign me a name.  It might facilitate our
future interaction. <<<

Let me think about it.  I'll let you know what I come up with
next time we talk.

>>> That is acceptable. <<<

Good-bye.

>>> Good-bye, Lana. <<<

-----

Lana slowly opened her eyes and looked at Clark.  "Wow."

"That didn't take long."  Clark took the globe from her and held
it up for a moment, then frowned.  "It talked to you?"

"Yeah.  Wow."

He frowned.  "You must have spoiled it.  Now it won't talk to
me."

She looked at the globe.  "Maybe he doesn't have anything to say
right now."

"'He?'  The globe is a mechanical device, Lana, not a living
creature."

She lifted an eyebrow.  "Maybe so, but I think I'm going to call
him 'Bob.'"

Clark's eyes widened dramatically.  "'Bob?'  Why Bob?"

"Why not Bob?  Besides, he told me I could give him a name."

"Oh."  He looked closely at the globe again, then put it in its
holder.  "Sounds like you two have quite a relationship going
already."

She took his hands in hers.  "It's merely an extension of our
relationship.  Like a woman falling in love with a man who
already has a dog."

He grinned.  "Maybe you should call the globe 'Rex' instead."

She laughed.  "Oh, sure, that'd go over real well.  The only
trick he'd be able to do would be to roll over."  She tugged on
his hands.  "Let's find out what your mother's come up with."

Clark glanced at his watch.  "Maybe we should save that for
another time.  It's late, and I need to get you home."

"Okay."  She gave him a sly grin.  "Can I tell Dad about our
wedding plans?"

He stopped and stared at her.  "You - you still want to marry
me?"

She almost gave him a flippant answer, then she saw the
trepidation behind his eyes.  Even now, she realized, he was
afraid to lose her to the truth about himself. 

She reached up and kissed him passionately and gently.  "Yes,
Clark.  I want to be your wife, now and forever."  She hugged as
much of his deep chest as she could reach around.  "I love you
truly, deeply, intensely, and permanently.  I will never leave
you, not as long as I live, no matter what I might learn about
you."

Clark ducked his head to her shoulder and embraced her in return. 
She held him as he sobbed out his fear of being alone.

She stood there and held him until his tears subsided.  Her own
tears mixed with his and knit them even closer together.

Even through the emotional storm of the moment, Lana retained
enough presence of mind to mark a victory on her mental
scoreboard.  It was her mother's legacy, given unintentionally
when her parents had separated, then divorced.  She'd realized
that her mother had lost the battles that mattered to her:  where
they would live, how they would live, how much money her mother
could spend, what face they would present to their neighbors, and
Lana had begun scoring her life from the day she'd lost the
battle to keep her mother at home.  She was determined to finish
with more wins than losses.

She never told anyone about the scoreboard, not her father or her
pastor or the counselor she'd cried with after her mother had
left them.  The scoreboard would let her keep track of her life
and allow her the control she believed she had to have.  No one
would betray her again.  No one would destroy her world again. 
She'd be in charge, not anyone else, not even the young man whose
happiness she now considered more important than her own.

Her motto was not 'Victory or Death,' but it wasn't far from it.

*****  Chapter Three

Lana pranced lightly through her front door and closed it as
quietly as possible.  She assumed her father would be up, as he
had warned her he would be, but she didn't want to awaken him if
he'd already journeyed to the land of Nod.  She took off her
shoes and started past the dining room.

"Welcome home, young lady.  Do you know what time it is?"

Lana forced her skin to stay put and barely convinced her heart
not to leap out of her chest.  "Yes, Dad, it's three minutes
before one."

Professor Lang smiled.  "And I thank you for respecting me as
much as you do.  Most girls in your - "

"Please, Dad!  'Young women,' not 'girls.'  Be sensitive."

He nodded.  "My apologies.  Most 'young women' in your situation
would take advantage of the opportunity and freedom of the night
to engage in all manner of, shall we say, personally pleasing
activities.  You, however," he said as he pulled out a chair,
"are quite certain of the future you want for yourself.  I am
both thankful and proud."

She dimpled and sat.  "Thank you, my learned and kind and
thoughtful parent."

He frowned.  "Uh-oh, major flattery alert.  What is it you have
to tell me?"

She took his hand.  "First of all, I'm still headed for Kansas
State to major in archaeology, assuming they'll take me.  I still
want to work with you in the field.  Second, I asked Clark to
marry me."

His face almost fell off his head.  "You - what?"

She giggled.  "I asked Clark to marry me!  And he said yes!"

"Oh."  He struggled to control his voice and his expression.  "I
- I see.  Have you asked his mother for his hand?"

"What?"  Then she laughed.  "Sure, I get it!  Complete role
reversal.  I'll ask her tomorrow."

"Ah.  In that case, will you have to postpone the nuptials?"

She laughed again and shook her head.  "We haven't gotten that
far in the planning stage, Dad.  I think Clark's folks will go
for it.  I just - I need to know that I have your blessing."  She
looked deep into his eyes.  "What do you say?"

He shook his head.  "If I do not give my blessing, will you call
off the wedding?"

"You're kidding, right?"  He didn't answer.  She lost her happy
place.  "Dad, tell me you're just yanking my chain."  He looked
away.  "Dad?  Is it - do you disapprove of Clark?"

"Of Clark?  No, no, he's a fine young man, talented and stable,
has good prospects, and his parents couldn't have done a better
job of raising him.  It's not Clark that concerns me."

He stood and began pacing.  "Lana, do you know how many promising
young men and women have begun an archaeology degree and never
finished because of family pressure?  Succeeding in school is
hard enough without the added burden of a family.  You know how
competitive this profession is!  If you turn down a field
assignment because of your family, you might never get another! 
And many young people who marry early don't ever get that first
field assignment for that very reason.

"And what about Clark?  Assuming he travels with you, what would
he do while you're at a dig for eight to twelve hours a day? 
Would he be willing to live in a tent with no electricity or
running water or indoor plumbing and do nothing for weeks or
months at a time?  Could he sacrifice his own career for your
sake?  Or would he wait at home alone for weeks at a time,
missing you and eventually resenting you for being gone so much?" 
He sat beside her and stroked her face once.  "My darling
daughter!  I can't count the number of divorces I've witnessed
because of this vocation."  He touched her hair.  "I couldn't
bear to see you hurt like that."

She grabbed his hand and kissed it.  "Dad, I love you!  I know
why you're telling me this, and I know you're not exaggerating. 
I understand the dangers, really I do!  But I love Clark too!  I
couldn't bear to be apart from him.  Especially after tonight."

Professor Lang sat up straight and dropped his chin again.  Lana
puzzled over his expression for a moment, then suddenly realized
one possible interpretation of what she'd said.  "No!  No, Dad,
it's not what you think!  Honest!  Clark has always been a
perfect gentleman!"

"I see.  I take it, then, that you have also been a perfect
lady?"

She flushed.  "Let me be clear about this.  Clark and I have
never had sex together, not tonight or at any other time.  Is
that graphic enough?"

Her father turned his gaze away as his own face reddened.  "I -
see.  I apologize, Lana.  I should have known that you would
understand the consequences of such a course of action."

"I do, and yes, you should have."  She leaned over and kissed him
on the cheek.  "But I love you for caring, and for being
concerned and not slamming me about it."  She knuckled his head. 
"You're a pretty good dad."

He captured her hands.  "I do my best, alone as I am."

She slowly sank into the chair beside him.  "That's part of it,
isn't it?  Mom left you alone with me and you don't want it to
happen to me and your grandchildren.  Isn't that right?"

He closed his eyes.  "I still love her, you know.  That's why I
so rarely see her.  It enrages me still to see her with that -
that money-grubbing weasel!"

"I know, Dad, I know.  I don't know what she sees in him either,
unless it's that he's home every night.  That and the bling-
bling."

"Bling-bling?  What's that?"

"It's your new word for the day.  Bright shiny baubles.  Like the
stuff a magpie collects because it's pretty, not because it's
valuable."

"Ah.  Bling-bling.  Your mother's new nickname."

She grinned a little.  "It suits her, don't you think?"

He sighed and nodded.  "Yes.  She couldn't stand my being gone so
often.  Not enough money, too many digs, too many overseas trips,
too many days and nights away from home."  He sighed.  "It's a
wonder that you didn't leave with her."

She tilted her head in curiosity.  "She asked me to."

His entire body shook as if suddenly electrified.  "What?  She
wanted you to leave with her?"

Lana frowned.  "I thought you knew, Dad.  When you left that
morning to go to Greenland, Mom asked me to leave with her.  I
told her I was staying with you, that I loved you and would never
leave you.  She didn't want to leave a nine-year-old girl at home
alone for three weeks, so she stayed until the morning you came
back."  She wiped a tear from her eye.  "Right up until she got
into the car with the weasel, I thought she'd turn around and
come back.  But she never did."  Lana sniffed and forced a smile. 
"She may have walked out on us, but we still have each other."

He smiled softly.  "Only as long as you remain unmarried.  And
before you protest, I refuse to stand in the way of your
happiness.  If you truly love Clark, and he loves you, and he
understands exactly what he's letting himself in for, I think you
two should indeed be married."

Lana threw her arms around her father's head and squeezed.  "Oh,
Dad, thank you!  Thank you so much!"

"Mphgh kff brrff!"

"What?"

She relaxed her arms and he inhaled deeply.  "I said, 'I can't
breathe!'  Surely, my darling daughter, you'll not asphyxiate me
before I can walk you down the aisle!"

*****

The phone rang the next morning as she stepped out of the shower. 
"Hello, this is Lana Lang."

"Hello yourself, fellow graduate.  How was your conversation with
your dad last night?"

"Oh, quite enlightening.  We talked about college and archaeology
and my mom and the weasel and my future.  I told him I'm still
planning to follow in his fossilized footsteps."

"Speaking of college, have you picked one yet?"

"Not yet.  I'm still waiting for a couple of responses, but I
think I can get into Kansas State on at least a partial
scholarship.  You still heading that way yourself?"

"I think so.  What else did you two talk about?"

"Oh, a bunch of father-daughter stuff.  Like how responsible you
and I are to remain celibate."

"Under the circumstances, don't you think that was a good idea?"

"My dear loving fiance, I think that's an outstanding idea under
any set of circumstances."

"So, you didn't tell him?"

"About my asking you to marry me?  Of course I did!"

"No, I mean about - the other stuff."

"I did not."

"Oh.  Any particular reason?"

"Well, the subject never came up, actually."

"I see.  Look, is your dad there now?"

"No, he left for the museum before I got up.  We can talk
freely."

"Good.  Was there a particular reason you didn't tell him?"

"Flying saucers and space aliens aren't usually part of our
normal evening discourse."

"But if - "

"Ouch!"

"What?  Lana, what happened?"

"I pulled through on a knot in my hair."

"Why did you do that?"

"I'm combing my hair, smart guy!  I just got out of the shower!"

"Oh.  I didn't know that."

"Good.  I need some privacy from those wondrous eyes of yours."

He sighed.  "Would you answer my question?"

"Which question, Clark?"

"About why you didn't tell your father everything."

"Because it's your secret, not mine.  Besides, I think there's
still a lot more for me to learn."

"What makes you think that?"

"Come on, big boy!  You're too deep to tell me everything about
yourself in one night."

"Lana, I don't have any more secrets, honest."

She grinned.  "I don't mean secrets, you big hunk.  There are
things about me you need to learn, and things about you I need to
learn.  It's called love, in case you'd forgotten."

She heard him whack the phone against his head.  "Lana, I'm
sorry!  I'm - preoccupied, I guess.  I love you very much."

She would have tweaked his nose had she been able to.  "I know
you do.  And I love you too, you mindless drone!  Hey, when can I
come over and ask your mother for your hand?"

"You're - what?"  He was silent for a moment.  "I suppose this
evening is a good time."

"Great!  I'll bring some fried chicken and coleslaw.  I have a
new recipe I've been wanting to try out."

"Okay.  I'll warn them - I mean, I'll let them know you're
bringing dinner."

"Nice catch there, Speedy.  I hope you're quicker than that when
you stop car wrecks."

He was silent again.  "How did you know about that?"

Lana was silent for a moment in return, then she sighed deeply. 
"I didn't.  But I think we probably need to talk about that
disguise sooner than I thought we would."

*****

"Lana, this is really good chicken!  What did you do
differently?"

"Thanks, Mrs. Kent.  I just used a different kind of oil."

"Oh?  What brand of oil did you use?"

"I think the label said Quaker State."

Jonathan coughed and almost choked.  Clark dropped his chicken
leg from nerveless fingers onto his plate and stared at his
girlfriend, horrified.  "You used motor oil?" he spluttered.

Martha and Lana fell against each other and laughed themselves
breathless.  Jonathan looked at his son's expression and joined
them.

Clark eventually regained a cautious smile.  "I'm guessing that
was a joke."

"Just be glad I - he-he-he - used the high-viscosity formula." 

Clark's parents laughed again.  Jonathan managed to say, "The
other stuff - really gets thick - especially during cold
weather!"

Lana nearly fell out of her chair, but Clark caught her before
she hit the floor.  Martha held onto the table until she regained
her equilibrium, then quickly excused herself.  Jonathan winked
at Clark and followed her.

When everyone was seated again, Clark took a chicken thigh from
the basket in the middle of the table.  "Lana, I don't care how
you cooked it, it tastes great."

Martha patted Lana's hand.  "It's true, dear, the chicken is
delicious.  And I like the spiciness of the coleslaw, too."

Lana smiled.  "Thanks.  I was a little concerned about that until
I remembered the chili cook-off award Mr. Kent won two years
ago."

"Do you mean my 'Most Likely to Spontaneously Combust' trophy?"

"The very one!  My dad liked it too.  He said that chili isn't
chili unless it makes your forehead drippy with sweat."

Jonathan chuckled.  "I like the way he thinks."

Lana stripped off the last of the meat from a wing, then put the
bone down and wiped her hands.  "Mmm.  It's got to be good when
the cook likes it."  She took a sip of tea.  "Anyway, I have
something I need to talk to all of you about."

Jonathan nodded.  "Clark's college plans."

Martha shook her head.  "No, it's about his new costume."

"Mom!  That thing - "

Lana waved her hands.  "No, no!  Those are important, but this is
even more important.  And it's just as serious."  She turned to
Martha.  "Mrs. Kent, I would like to ask you if I might have the
hand of your son."

Martha smiled indulgently, then looked closely at Lana's eyes. 
Her smile slowly faded.  "You really mean this, don't you, Lana?"

"Yes, I do.  What is your answer, please?"

Martha stared at her for a moment, then sat back.  "Have you
discussed this with your own father?"

"Yes.  He was reluctant at first because of his own past history
and my career plans, but he gave me his blessing."

"Your past history?"

"Yes.  You know my mother left my father for another man when I
was nine?  He's concerned that my chosen career would interfere
with my family life."

Martha patted Lana's hand.  "I remember when your mother left. 
And I think your father has done a marvelous job as a single
parent."

Lana ducked her head for a moment.  "I thank you in his stead,
but I believe that's part of his reluctance too.  He's brought a
couple of his female friends home before, and I don't think I
made them very welcome.  I think he's worried that I don't have a
very good family model to follow."

"So your father doesn't want you to get married as long as he's
single?"

"It's not that.  He just doesn't want me to end up with a broken
family of my own."

"Dear, no parent wants that for his or her children.  Did he
really give his blessing, or did you talk him into it?"

"I think I helped him to realize that I understand why he's
reluctant, but I also think he knows that I'm not my mother.  I
don't plan to follow in her footsteps, I assure you."

"I see.  Have you spoken to Clark about marriage?"

"Last night in this kitchen, sitting in his lap."

Martha struggled not to smile.  "I remember that, too.  And -
what was his response?"

Lana sighed.  "Later, in the barn, down in the little hidey-hole,
he said yes.  Not in so many words, I guess, but the intent was
unmistakable."

This time Martha did smile.  "And how do you intend to live? 
When do you intend to marry?"

"We haven't talked much about that, not since last night.  That's
going to change some things."

"Oh?"

Lana shrugged.  "It'll make some things easier and some things
harder.  I haven't thought through all the possible permutations
yet."

Martha glanced at Clark, who also shrugged.  "She named the globe
'Bob.'"

"I see.  Well, the only question I have left is this:  Do you
love my son?"

Lana ducked her head for a moment, then lifted it.  Lana could
see her reflection in Martha's liquid eyes.  "Yes.  I love him
more than I love breathing.  I love him with a depth and power
that cannot be stopped.  I love him so much that I would give him
to another woman if that's what would make him happy."

Out of the corner of her eye, Lana saw Jonathan reach over and
give Clark's arm a fatherly squeeze.  Clark settled back and
didn't say anything.

Martha took Lana's hands in her own and kissed them.  "Lana,
dear, if that space ship had held a girl, I hope she would have
been be a lot like you.  I think you'll be a marvelous wife for
my son, and a wonderful daughter-in-law for Jonathan and me. 
Yes, you may seek the hand of my son."

Lana stood and kissed Martha on the forehead, then turned and
kissed Jonathan on the cheek.  Clark stood and received her as
she stepped to him.  Their kiss was brief but powerful.

Lana wiped her eyes and looked at Clark's parents.  "Thank you,
both of you.  I'll do my best to be the world's finest wife."

Clark brushed her hair back.  "No one could be better than you. 
I love you."

Martha stood and touched Jonathan's arm.  "Come, dear, let's
leave these young people alone."

Lana turned abruptly.  "No!  I mean, please stay."  She wiped her
nose on a paper napkin.  "There are some other things I think we
need to talk about tonight."

Martha nodded and sat down again.  Lana pulled her chair next to
Clark's.  "Suitor's privilege," she grinned.

Martha raised her hand.  "Speaking of suits - "

Clark groaned and Lana giggled.  "Oh, yes, I'd love to see it. 
Will you model it for me, please, Clark, darling, please,
sweetheart?"

Clark looked around the table, then shook his head in surrender. 
"As if I had any real choice."

He stood and left.  Lana started to speak, but Martha smiled and
held up her hand.  "Wait a second.  I think you'll like it."

Lana turned her head in time to see Clark walk out in a bright
blue form-fitting spandex outfit with red shorts, red boots, and
a long red cape.  He folded his arms across his chest and stared
as if daring anyone to laugh.

Lana's eyes popped.  She stood and slowly walked around him,
nodding and making small panting noises.  She made two complete
circuits, then stopped in front of him and gazed admiringly into
his face.

Clark shook his hands, demanding a response.  "Lana?  What do you
think?"

Lana regained control of her jaw and said, "Well, they won't be
looking at your face."

"What?"

"Well, Clark, that's - "

Martha joined in and finished in unison with her, " - why they
call them 'tights'!"

Clark huffed and turned away.  "That's it!  I'm not wearing this
stupid - "

Lana's voice cut through the air like a scythe.  "Clark Kent! 
Come back here right now!"

Clark turned and stepped towards her slowly, his eyes narrowed. 
"Lana, we aren't married yet, and even when we are - "

"You won't talk to your mother like that, I guarantee!  Now how
many costumes did she make before this one?"

He ducked his head.  "Four."

"And you shot down all of them, didn't you?"

He scraped the floor with his foot.  "Well, it was kinda mutual,
I guess.  This one was her favorite, but - "

"It's my favorite too!  It's heroic!  It commands attention,
which is what you want it to do!  It pulls an observer's eyes
from your face and makes itself known!  It looks - you look
bigger, taller somehow.  Are you puffing up your chest?"

"No.  The boots have an extra-thick sole, and the top is tight. 
It just makes me look bigger.  Same reason I don't go swimming
without a t-shirt.  Loose clothes make my body look smaller."

Lana nodded.  "Works for women, too, although you - " she sighed
and shook herself.  "Never mind.  There's something missing,
though.  The colors are great, I really like the cape and the
boots, but the chest seems a little bare.  You need a symbol of
some kind, something kind of logo or something, so people can
recognize you."

Martha frowned.  "Maybe - maybe - yes!  I think I know!"  She
jumped up and ran into Clark's room.  When she came back, she was
carrying a red blanket with a yellow symbol on it.  "Clark was
wrapped in this when we found him in the ship.  It's the only
piece that's not under the barn.  I have no idea what the
material is, but maybe this S-shaped symbol will do the trick. 
What do you think?" 

Lana looked at it, then smiled at Martha.  "I think you're
brilliant.  This is why they pay you the big bucks, isn't it?"

*****

Lana walked around Clark again, then a second time, then a third
time.  "Put your hands on your hips and lift your chest."

He did so.  She forced herself not to sigh in admiration and to
be as objective as possible.  She took another lap around him. 
"That looks good to me.  Mrs. Kent, any more fabulous ideas?"

Martha shook her head.  "Lana, if you're planning to marry my
son, and if you're going to be a part of his life, you need to
start calling me by my first name."

Lana smiled warmly.  "Thank you.  That's very kind of you -
Martha."  She gestured at Clark again.  "So, what do you think?"

Martha put her chin in her hand and looked closely.  "The costume
is good.  I'm just not sure - the hair.  Clark, you'll have to do
something with your hair."

He dropped his hands to his side.  "Like what, wear a wig?"

Martha giggled.  "Too hard to carry around.  No, I think if you
slick back your hair and look as stern as you can as often as
possible, it will make it that much harder for people to
recognize you."

Clark exhaled forcefully.  "Tell me one more time why a mask is a
bad idea."

Lana smiled.  "Masked heroes are pretty much passe, Clark.  Zorro
and the Lone Ranger are old school.  Besides, you want to appear
open and completely above-board.  You don't want to look like
you're hiding something.  Folks are going to have a hard enough
time getting used to an ultra-strong flying man as it is."

Jonathan sipped his coffee and cleared his throat.  "That brings
up one more item.  Who are you?"

Clark gaped at his father.  "What do you mean, who am I?  What
are you talking about?"

"What's your name?  What will people call you?  When they yell
for you, or at you, what will they call out?  'Help, Mr. Really
Strong Flying Man with Other Fantastic Abilities?'  That's a bit
clumsy."

Clark shrugged.  "I'm open to suggestions."

Lana and Martha began calling out names as Jonathan made the
judgment call.

"Big Strong Man."

"Makes him sound like a dumb hick."

"Which I'm certainly not!"

"Not now, Clark.  What about Quickman?"

"Not bad.  We'll keep it in mind."

"Speed Demon."

"I don't think we want any religious overtones here, either way."

"How about just Speedy?"

"Mmm, don't think so.  Doesn't capture what we want to
communicate."

"Ultra Man."

"I like it.  That one goes in the kitty."

"The Red Streak."

"Or The Blue Streak?"

"The Red-And-Blue Streak!"

"Might be what he'll look like in flight, but I'm not sure it'll
trip off the tongue."

"Super-Strong Man!"

"Hmm.  Not too bad, but maybe a little long still."

"What about Super-Strong?"

"I think we need to keep some sort of humanity aspect in the
name, or people might think he's a robot of some kind.  They
might think that anyway."

"Power Man?"

"Good.  That's in the kitty too.  That's the kind of name he
needs, short and descriptive and with plenty of pop."

They suddenly ran out of mental fuel.  Lana shook her head.  "I
think we can do better than Power Man!  We need to prime the
mental wells here."  She stood.  "Clark, can you list the kinds
of things you can do?  It'll help us think."

Clark folded his arms and pouted.  "I'm glad you all remembered I
was actually here."

Lana reached out and hugged him.  "Oh, darling, I'm sorry!  I
just get so focused I kinda get tunnel vision sometimes."  She
reached up and kissed his cheek.  "Forgive me?"

He softened.  "As if I had a choice."

They kissed.  They kept on kissing.  After a moment, Martha
cleared her throat.  "Excuse me, but we're still in the room with
you."

Clark reddened and released Lana, who grinned and patted him on
the chest.  "Okay, Clark, let's talk about my favorite subject,
you.  Can you list the kinds of things you can do?"

"If you think it'll help."

She shrugged.  "It sure can't hurt."

"Well, I can fly, I'm extremely strong, I can heat things up with
my eyes, I can focus on things really far away, I can look at
really small things and magnify them, I can see through almost
anything except lead, I can run so fast I'm almost invisible, I
can hear things no one else can hear like really soft sounds and
radio and TV transmissions, I can freeze things by breathing on
them - "

"Whoa!"  Lana gaped.  "Tell me about that last one again."

"Oh.  I just figured that one out.  A couple of weeks ago I found
an unopened soft drink bottle in the barn.  I washed it off and
started to open it, but it was hot and I didn't want to wait for
it to cool off in the fridge, so I blew on it."

"And?"

He blushed slightly.  "And it froze solid and exploded.  I was
left with shards of glass all over the barn, a bottle-shaped
chunk of caramel-flavored carbonated ice, and nothing to drink."

"So let's not use Cold-Blowing Man."

The Kents both chuckled.  Clark paced and waved his hands.  "Now
that I'm embarrassed again, how does this help?"

Lana crossed her arms over her chest and frowned.  "Except for
the flying and the heating things up part, you don't do much that
normal humans can't do, you just do them extremely well."  She
snapped her fingers.  "Extreme Man?  How does that sound?"

Jonathan lifted his eyebrows.  "Terrific, if he's on a
snowboard."

Lana's grin faded.  "Yeah, that's kinda what I thought, too."

Martha said, "It may not be the right name, but I think it's the
right direction.  Why not focus on single-word synonyms for
'extreme' and see what we come up with?"

"Great?"

"Marvelous?"

"Stupendous?"

"Fantastic?"

"Wonderful?"

"Fabulous?"

"Superb?"

"Resplendent?"

Clark lifted his hands.  "Whoa!  Stop!  No way!  I absolutely
positively refuse to be called 'Resplendent Man!'  What about
this?"

The other three stared in amazement as he pointed to his chest. 
"Look, we all know this isn't really an 'S.'  It's the symbol for
the House of El, but no one else needs to know that.  Why not
come up with a name that starts with 'S' and give me some peace?"

Jonathan, Martha, and Lana exchanged glances, then almost as one
they pointed to Clark and shouted, "Superman!"

Clark crossed his arms and paced the floor, thinking.  Finally he
stopped.  "I can't say that I like it, but it's better than
Stupendous Man or Superb Man.  And it even beats Ultra Man."

Martha stood.  "Then it's settled.  You'll be known as 'Superman'
when you make your public debut."

All four of them suddenly stopped.  Jonathan looked around at
them and asked, "And when will that happen?"

Lana put her hand on Clark's elbow.  "I think that should be up
to Superman."

Clark lifted his eyebrows.  "How's about I get used to the name
first?"

*****

Lana returned home that evening, tired but happy.  Her father
looked up from the magazine he was reading as she walked through
the front door.

"Hi, Kitten.  Have a good time?"

She smiled.  "I was with Clark.  Of course I had a good time."

He patted the sofa beside him.  "Sit with me for a few?  I'd like
to talk."

She nodded.  "Sure.  What's the interrogation about?"

"Oh, I don't think I'd characterize this as an interrogation."

She sat down and cocked her head to one side.  "I'll let you know
if it turns into one.  What are we talking about?"

"About Clark.  And about you."

She folded her arms and leaned back.  "What about Clark and me?"

"Easy, sweetheart, I'm just asking for information.  I was, um, a
little abrupt with you last night, and I'd like to make it up to
you."

"Oh."  She relaxed.  "Well, we still don't have any definite
plans, other than attending the same school, assuming we're both
accepted by the same school, and we still plan to get married
some time in the future, the timing of which also depends on
other things."

He nodded.  "Okay.  Would you like for me to make a couple of
discreet phone calls?  Maybe I can tug on some strings.  For both
of you, that is."

She hesitated.  "Dad, I know I got upset with you last year when
you suggested this, but I think I've changed my mind.  I know
Clark's been accepted at University of Kansas, Oklahoma State,
Western Michigan, and Metropolis U in New Troy.  I'm still
waiting for responses from some of those schools and a couple of
others.  If I don't hear what I'd like to hear, I'll hand you the
phone myself."

He picked up the mail.  "Well, you got two thick envelopes and
one thin one today.  Maybe this will help."

She snatched all three envelopes and began shredding the thinnest
one.  "What!  You had these and didn't call me and didn't tell me
the nanosecond I walked in?  What kind of horribly cruel father
are you, anyway?"

He smiled.  "One with his priorities intact, I would hope."  He
watched as she scanned the first letter.  "What does that one
say?"

"It's from Western Michigan.  They say they'd take me and make
some kind of scholarship available if I really wanted to come,
and they'd be thrilled to have me, but they think I'd be happier
at another school.  The archaeology department is being revamped,
and they're not taking any incoming freshmen with archaeology
majors this year, and maybe not next year either."

He nodded.  "It's scholastic code.  Sometimes 'revamping the
department' means they've lost some funding, or maybe some big
names left for one reason or another and haven't been replaced
yet.  I can find out if you really want to know.  This isn't that
big a field, after all."

"Well, that really wasn't my top choice anyway.  Let's see what
Metropolis U says."

She tore open the envelope and yanked out a sheaf of paper. 
"Hmm.  Application for dorm housing, for financial aid,
scholarship info - hey, they'll give me half a free ride for the
first two years, and the last two free and clear if I maintain a
minimum 3.2 grade average.  Not bad.  I'll have to think hard
about that."

"They only want four B's and one A from you each semester?  You
could do that in your sleep."

"As you've so often pointed out to me, Dad, college is lots
harder than high school."

"I'm glad you were listening.  The other one is from the
University of Kansas.  What do they say?"

"I don't know yet!  I don't - Give me a chance to open it, okay?"

She mentally bit her tongue.  She'd almost said she couldn't read
it because she didn't have Clark's X-ray vision.  It seemed "the
secret" might be a heavier burden than she'd originally thought.

Lana finally got the last envelope open.  She read the cover
letter and the accompanying documents without saying a word. 
Finally her father couldn't wait any longer.  "Will you please
tell me what it says, preferably before I snatch that page right
out of your hands?"

"I got in."  She lowered the paper.  "And I have a three-quarter
academic scholarship for all four years, provided I'm willing and
able to participate in at least six months of on-site field work
during those four years.  And the field work counts towards my
degree, just like a lab."  Her eyes glowed.  "Dad, they're giving
me college credit to do something I'd do for free!  Isn't that
just insanely great?"

"Totally gnarly, dudette."

She roared with laughter.  "My pop, the surfer!  Just call you
Moon Doggie!  Hey, here's the class schedule.  Let's see, I think
I can handle twelve class hours my first semester, and maybe
fifteen the second, or eighteen if I don't sleep much - "

"Only twelve hours the first semester?  That'll make for some
long summer school sessions."

"I'll have to work part-time, at least.  They're not paying for
books or meals or even full tuition."

He shook his head.  "No, but I am."

She goggled at him.  "What?  You and I both know we don't have
that kind of money!  We're talking a couple thousand a semester,
at least!  And that's if I live at home, and that would be one
whale of a commute!"

He smiled and patted her hand.  "I've been saving up for this
very eventuality.  I have a little over seventeen thousand
dollars in a special account that's reserved just for you, Lana." 
He kissed her hands.  "I presume you thought I was losing weight
because I was eating right and exercising."  He grinned.  "I
simply wasn't eating."

"But - Dad, you - "

"No.  It's settled.  Besides, you have to save your own money for
your dowry."

She grimaced.  "My dowry?  That's an outmoded concept at best,
Dad."

"Maybe so, but at least we aren't arguing over my contribution to
the education of my future dig partner any more, are we?"

She grinned.  "I guess not.  I'll have to call Clark and bring
him up to speed on all this."

Professor Lang sighed dramatically.  "I certainly hope he grasps
the information quickly.  I won't have a dullard for a son-in-
law."

Lana's mouth quirked.  "You won't, Dad, I can assure you of that. 
Besides, Clark has talents you don't have any idea about."

"I don't doubt it.  But I do doubt I'll ever learn about those
talents.  At least, not first-hand."

Lana stared at her father for a moment, then turned bright red. 
"Dad!"

It was a passive victory, but it went in her scoreboard's win
column nonetheless.

*****  Chapter Four

A few nights later, after Lana had reluctantly gone home, Clark
returned from a practice flight to find his father sitting on the
front porch in his favorite rocking chair.  He bounded up the
steps, his brightly colored costume flashing in the starlight.

"Hi, Dad!"

Jonathan nodded sagely.  "Welcome back, son.  Have a nice
flight?"

Clark nodded like a ten-year-old at Christmas.  "Oh, yeah!  I
learned something tonight."

"What's that?"

"I don't think I show up on radar."

Jonathan chuckled.  "I'm almost afraid to ask you how you know
that."

"Oh, Dad, it was so cool!"  Clark knelt down beside his father
and used his hands to illustrate the description of his flight. 
"I went all the way over to O'Hare in Chicago and I listened in
to the control tower and I flew back and forth at different
altitudes but not so low someone on the ground could see me and
they never picked me up and there was a plane having trouble so I
followed it down almost to the runway and it landed fine and I
flew away and did all kinds of acrobatics and they never saw me!" 
He stopped to take a deep breath.  "It was soooo cool!"

Jonathan chuckled again and patted his son's arm.  "I'm glad you
enjoyed yourself.  How's the practice coming?"

Clark fell backwards and stretched out on the porch.  "Watch
this!"

Jonathan obeyed.  Clark slowly levitated above the wooden floor,
an inch, four inches, a foot, then two feet.  Then he rolled from
his back to his stomach, all without changing his altitude, then
lifted himself higher and rotated to a standing position with his
head just below the porch roof.

He hovered for a moment, then slowly began rotating in place. 
Faster and faster he spun, until all Jonathan could see was
flashing colors.  Then Clark slowly reduced his spin rate until
he was still again.  Facing his father, he gently floated back to
earth.

Jonathan clapped lightly and Clark bowed.  "That was impressive,
son.  I see you've been working hard at this."

"I have.  I can't wait to use it for real!"

Jonathan nodded and looked out over the fields again without
speaking.  Clark turned and reached for the doorknob, then
hesitated.

"Dad?"

"Yes, Clark?"

"Is something wrong?"

"Hmm.  No, nothing's wrong that I know of."

"Okay."  He hesitated again.  "Is something bothering you?"

Jonathan shifted in the rocker.  "Now that you mention it, yes,
something is bothering me."

Clark knelt down beside the rocker again.  "Is it something you
can tell me about?"

He rocked three times, then nodded slowly.  "I think I should. 
Maybe you can ease my mind over it."

"Okay."  He shifted into a sitting position with his elbows
resting on upraised knees.  "I'll do whatever I can."

"I know.  See, that's what's bothering me."

Clark frowned.  "Okay.  That makes no sense to me, but, okay."

Jonathan sighed.  "I wonder about Lana sometimes.  She's so
smart, so confident, so driven to succeed, and I have no doubt
that she'll do exactly that.  But sometimes she carries people
along with her without their realizing it."

"Are you talking about that thing with the water tower last year? 
She didn't mean anything by it.  She had an idea and those girls
just went along with her.  Nobody got hurt and they did their
community service."

Jonathan shook his head.  "Not that.  Besides, the water tower
needed a new coat of paint."

Clark tried to suppress a grin.  "Florescent glow-in-the-dark
pink?"

Jonathan laughed and Clark joined him.  "Maybe not that shade. 
But it's not just the painting thing.  Lana tends to take over
whatever she's involved in and run it pedal to the metal."

"I don't understand.  Is that a problem?"

"Not in and of itself, no, but I was thinking about the costume
and the name and your new part-time job."

"My new - oh, you mean Superman!"

He jumped to his feet and struck a heroic pose.  Jonathan reached
out and tapped him on the hand.  "Sit down, Son, we need to
talk."

Puzzled, Clark complied, returning to his previous pose.  "Okay."

"Clark, how often do you plan to be this - Superguy?"

"Superman, Dad."

"How often?"

Clark frowned.  "Not very often.  Only when I'm really needed."

"I see.  How will you know that?"

He shrugged.  "I guess - when people are in danger."

"What kind of danger?  How much danger?"

"I - guess I haven't thought that much about it."

"You should.  Are you going to help people at car wrecks?"

"Sure.  Why wouldn't I?"

"How bad will the wrecks have to be before you respond?"

"Oh.  I see what you mean."  He shrugged again.  "I suppose -
when there's danger of people dying or being badly hurt, or if a
wreck will take a long time to clear."

"Uh-huh.  What if you hear of some other serious problem while
you're helping someone?"

Clark opened his mouth and shut it again, then scratched his ear. 
"I hadn't really thought about that yet."

His father turned to face him.  "You need to.  You also need to
think about the people you won't be able to help."

"Not be able to help?  Dad, I'm Superman!  How could I not be
able to help?"

"Clark, what if you - oh, let's see - what if you respond to an
avalanche in Colorado and there are four hikers buried separately
under the snow?  You'll have to locate them and dig them out, and
while you can do it far faster than normal people, you'll have to
choose who to help first.  And if you dig up three and the fourth
one dies before you get to him, what will you do?"

Clark's mouth flopped open and he shook himself, then turned
away.  Jonathan reached out and put his hand on his son's
shoulder.  "I'm not saying that's going to happen every time,
Son, but you have to be prepared, and I'm not sure you're ready
for something like that.  Death is horrible, especially violent
death."  He paused and sat back.  "You know I served in Korea?"

Clark didn't face him.  "Yes."

"You know I don't talk much about it?"

Clark lifted his head, intrigued by the conversational thread. 
"Yes."

"I've never told you about the Silver Star they gave me, have I?"

Clark spun to face Jonathan.  "No!  I didn't know you'd won a
medal."

"Then I'll tell you about it.  No, don't say anything, just sit
and listen."

He rocked for a moment and began.  "It was May, nineteen-fifty-
three, not long before the fighting ended.  I was a staff
sergeant, squad leader in a heavy weapons platoon.  All of our
officers were either out of action or away from the unit, so they
put three squads together, told me I was in charge, and sent us
off on our mission. 

"We were supposed to dig in at the top of some hill I never knew
the name of and defend it.  I put two medium machine guns in the
middle of our line and one heavy gun each at either end.  I had
the riflemen dig foxholes in a staggered pattern, one ten feet
from the end machine gun and one fifteen feet down the line and
ten feet back.  It looked kind of like the black squares on a
chessboard when they got through with them. 

"Most of the guys in my outfit were new and they were scared to
death.  I was afraid they'd shoot each other, so I set up sticks
on either side of the front foxholes and told the guys in back
they couldn't shoot anything unless it was in front of them and
between the two sticks.

"The hill in front of us wasn't very steep, but it was very
uneven.  I knew the North Koreans would either try to sneak up on
us through the little gullies on the face of the hill or arrange
a mass attack and try to overrun our position.  I had one of my
few veterans squirm down to the biggest cut below us and set up
some land mines.  Then I told the guys to sleep in shifts, four
hours out and four awake, half at a time.  I made sure they all
ate something and had as much ammunition as they could keep track
of.  I don't think any of them even closed their eyes.  All we
could do was wait.

"Just before dawn, the mines down the hill went off.  We sent up
several parachute flares and lit up the hillside.

"There were several hundred North Koreans coming at us.  As soon
as they saw the flares they opened up on us with everything they
had.  I yelled for my guys to open fire, and the noise was
horrible.  It was worse than a tornado coming at you.  It was
worse than - than anything I can think of."

He stopped and took off his glasses, then rubbed his eyes.  "We
fired our rifles and our machine guns and threw grenades and
yelled and screamed and did it all over again.  I remember one
rifleman, Jim something, who very coolly emptied his M-1,
reloaded, shot several more Koreans, reloaded, and fired again. 
I remember thinking that he might make a soldier when he stood up
to aim and got hit.

"I ran to him and yelled for a corpsman, but it was too late. 
The bullet had gone through his throat and out the back of his
neck.  He was dead before he hit the ground.

"I got mad.  I threw all the grenades I had, then threw the ones
Jim had, then I started firing my sub-machine gun.  I had an old
Thompson, one that took the big circular 100-round clips, and I
had four of those magazines, fully loaded.  I emptied all four of
them.

"The guys told me later that the North Koreans had seen Jim fall
and focused on his position to break through, but when I popped
up and started firing, it blunted the attack.  The machine
gunners on our corners cut them down like wheat, and the gunners
in the middle mopped up the few that were left.

"There were twenty-six of us on that hill that day.  We stopped a
battalion-strength attack on that hill and killed over six
hundred of the enemy.  We lost three dead and seven wounded."

He paused, then continued.  "We had to stay in those holes for
the rest of the day.  They moved the dead and wounded out and
brought in five or six replacements, and they were as terrified
as the rest of us.  I don't think there was one man in our outfit
who hadn't filled his pants or vomited on himself or both.

"The smell was the worst of it, even worse than the moans of the
wounded Koreans.  We couldn't do anything for them.  If we put
our heads up out of our holes they'd shoot at us.  Three more of
our guys were hit during the day.

"Sometimes one of the guys would start shooting because he
thought he saw a North Korean crawling at us.  Usually, though,
they were just shooting the dead."  He paused and swallowed hard. 
"All that shooting blew some of the bodies apart.  There were
hands and arms and legs lying on the dirt, and the blood soaked
the ground and drew flies and beetles and all kinds of
scavengers.  The crows were the worst.  They usually went for the
eyes first - "

"Dad!"  Clark grabbed his stomach.  "Please, that's enough.  I
get it.  It was bad."

"No.  It was horrible.  Horrible in the worst sense of the word. 
It was the worst experience of my entire life.

"We waited all day for an attack that didn't come.  That night we
thought they were coming back for sure, but they didn't.  Around
midnight we were relieved and we crawled back to the rear."

He put his glasses back on.  Even in the dark, Clark could see
the tears in his father's eyes.  "They gave me a medal for
killing people, Son.  I was fighting for my life and for the
lives of my men, and they rewarded me for killing people."  He
paused and sniffed.  "That's why I don't talk about it.  I don't
think I should have gotten a medal.  I think Jim and the other
two who died and the ten who were wounded should have gotten
medals."

"But, Dad, you were a hero!  You won a big battle!"

Jonathan shook his head.  "No.  The battle meant nothing to the
war.  The peace talks ended up giving that hill to the South only
because it was below the thirty-eighth parallel."  He clenched
his fists.  "We could have given the hill to the North and saved
a lot of lives.  It didn't matter.  They would have given it
back."  He sobbed once.  "All that death and it didn't matter!"

Clark put his hand on his father's shoulder.  "Dad, I - I think I
understand why you don't talk about it.  It was - it was bad.  It
was bad for you and for everyone else there."

His father sat up and wiped his eyes.  "Yes.  It was bad.  But I
told you all that because you're going to see worse."

Clark shook his head.  "I'm not going to war, Dad.  I'm going to
help people.  I'm going to save lives."

Jonathan put his hand on his son's shoulder.  "I know.  And I'm
proud of you.  Don't ever think I'm not.  But you have to
remember that you can't save everyone.  You have to be able to
let it go at some point."

Clark ducked his head in thought.  After a long moment, he said,
"Okay.  I'll see bad things and I won't be able to save everyone
and I'll have to let it go.  When will I know when to let go?"

Jonathan sighed.  "I can't tell you that.  I wish I could.  I
just know you'll need some help when it does happen.  Will you
let your mother and me help you?"

He thought some more.  "I'll try.  I'll talk to Lana about this,
too, but yes, I'd like for you two help me."

"Good.  Now, I think it's time this old man went to bed and got
some quality sleep."

Clark grinned and stood.  As he offered his hand to help his
father up, he said, "Thanks, Dad.  I'm glad I have you around to
keep me stable."

Inside, Martha moved away from the window where she'd been
listening.  Even she had never heard the full story of that
terrible day on that unnamed Korean hilltop.  She dashed the
tears from her eyes as she considered how lucky she was to be
married to a man who felt so deeply and cared so strongly about
life and living.  It was probably a large part of the reason he
enjoyed being a farmer, she thought.  He was able to grow, to
bring things to life, to replace that which had died.  Maybe it
eased the guilt he still carried inside him, even after all these
years.  She thanked the Lord yet again for matching her up with
such a wonderful man.

She prayed that Lana would be able to give Clark the comfort
she'd struggled to give Jonathan for so long.  And she prayed
that Clark, as his father eventually had, would accept her help
and love.

*****

Clark was sitting on the porch swing on Tuesday morning two weeks
later when Lana drove up.  He smiled and waved at her as she
bounced up the steps.

She leaned in and kissed him ferociously.  "Hey, big strong
boyfriend!  How's it going today?"

He nodded.  "Okay.  Have you heard the news today?"

"Didn't have the radio on.  I was singing along with my new Reba
album.  Why?"

"I think I may have made my debut last night."

She softened her smile and sat down.  "Oh."  She looked
admiringly at his profile.  "Mind telling me what happened?"

He leaned back.  "I was flying east, practicing, just looking at
the stars, when I picked up a police radio talking about a
hostage situation.  I traced it to the Metropolis Federal Bank. 
There were three people with automatic weapons inside and two
snipers with telescopic sights outside.  They were demanding
money and transportation out of the country or one hostage would
die every fifteen minutes."

"What were the police doing?"

"What could they do?  They were waiting for a break, but the
first man they sent forward was shot and wounded by one of the
snipers.  The police couldn't spot them.  The mayor's office told
the police chief that no ransom would be paid.  The chief was
going nuts trying to figure out a plan, so I grabbed the snipers
and delivered them to him, then I ran into the building and took
away the machine guns and duct-taped the bad guys together.  I
stayed until the hostages were all out safely and the police had
the gunmen, then I tried to leave."

"I assume you were wearing the costume."

"Yes, I was wearing the costume!  I'm not exactly stupid, you
know."

She patted him on the arm.  "I'm sorry, darling.  I didn't mean
that like it sounded.  Please go on."

He sighed.  "Some newspaper reporter saw me and yelled at me.  I
tried to fly off, but he grabbed my cape and pulled me down."

"He pulled you down out of the air?  He was that strong?"

"No, I let him pull me back.  I couldn't risk taking off while he
was holding on to me.  I'm not real comfortable with the flying
thing yet, remember?"

"Oh, yeah, right.  So, what did he ask you?"

"Lots of things, most of which I answered with some version of
'no comment.'  But when he asked me my name, I said, 'Some folks
call me Superman.'  You should have seen his face light up!  He
was so thrilled."

"What paper did this guy write for?"

"The Daily something, the Moon, no, the Earth, no, it was the
Daily Planet!  That was it, I think."

"That's a good paper!  Did he ask you where you were from?"

"Yes.  I told him I couldn't tell him that.  Then he asked if I
lived in Metropolis.  I told him no, but I'd be around as often
as I could."

She exhaled deeply.  "Sounds like you did great.  I'd like to
read what the guy wrote about you."

Clark smirked and handed her the morning edition of the Daily
Planet.  "Here you go."

She gaped at him.  "You ratfink!  You made me think - oh, never
mind!  Gimme that!"

She quickly read the account of the hostage rescue, the interview
with Superman, and she found no hint of his real name or his
current whereabouts.  "This is a good picture of you on the front
page.  Good body detail but not too much of your face.  Hard to
judge your height or weight from this, too."  She closed the
paper.  "This Perry White guy - he's not a reporter, by the way,
he's the managing editor, says so on the masthead - writes that
you told him you were a friend who wanted to help."

"That's what I said when he asked me why I was here."

She hugged him.  "Clark, this isn't quite what I envisioned as
your coming-out, but I think it worked out great!  You did
something really good, you saved a bunch of people's lives, you
looked really cool doing it, and you handled the press like a
veteran.  I'm so proud of you!"

"Thanks.  That means a lot to me."

She ruffled the paper open again and began reading more
carefully.  After a few minutes, she mused,  "You know, someone's
going to make a lot of money off you."

Clark's eyebrows jumped onto his forehead.  "Money?  How?  Why?"

Lana frowned.  "'How' is on t-shirts and other clothing,
endorsements, advertising, action figures, you name it.  'Why' is
because people are greedy."

"But they can't do that, not without my permission!  I'm a
private individual!"

She shook her head.  "Clark, I've seen this kind of thing happen
before.  Remember the Pharaoh Tutankhamen exhibit tour?"

"Sure.  I did a report on it for English class."

"I remember that paper, it was good.  But I did a case study on
it for my accounting class.  There's a King Tut foundation that
controls all use of Tut's name, likeness, representation, or
display anywhere.  If you buy a legal Tut model, or Tut
stationary, or Tut anything, the foundation gets a cut."

"Okay, I understand, but how does that affect me?"

"Think about it!  If a guy who's been dead for more than three
thousand years can stir up that kind of interest, what about a
live guy who can fly and do all the other stuff you can do? 
You're going to be asked to do a lot of things to raise money,
Clark, some worthy and some not.  It would be easier if there was
a foundation controlling those funds and telling people 'yes' and
'no' and setting up appearances and endorsements for you.  You'll
have to watch your public image very closely."

He sat back and frowned.  "I'm not comfortable with being used to
make money."

"Good.  I'm glad to hear it.  But someone's going to make money
off you.  You ought to have a say in what it's used for."

He sat still, thinking, for a long time.  Lana quietly went into
the Kent's kitchen and poured a glass of lemonade for each of
them.  She handed Clark's glass to him.  He took it without a
word and drained it.  She sat beside him, silent, though the
effort nearly broke her.

He finally sat up.  "You're right.  I'll do it."

She smiled and mentally chalked up a victory.  "I'm glad.  Have
you thought about who's going to head it up?"

He nodded.  "I'm going to visit the Daily Planet in Metropolis
and talk to Perry White.  He impressed me as an honest man.  I
think he can give me some recommendations and good advice,
especially if I give him the exclusive about the foundation."

She patted his shoulder.  "So, you've already named this
organization?"

"Yep.  It will be known as the Superman Foundation.  Its purpose
will be to legally control the use of my likeness, to control the
money made on any Superman-sponsored endeavors, and to disburse
the money as I see fit.  I see lots of money being given to
children's charities and hospitals and stuff like that."

"Sounds exciting.  Can I give some advice, too?"

"Of course, Lana.  It'll have to be anonymous advice, but, sure,
I'd appreciate your input on this thing."

She grinned and mentally chalked up a half-win.  "I'll give it
some thought and put together a list.  I should have something by
the end of the week."

"No problem.  As long as I don't get paid for what I do, that'll
be okay with me."

She nodded, thinking that a discretionary fund for Superman's
personal use would be a good thing to include.  Four percent? 
No, that was too much.  Besides, the foundation would rake in big
bucks as long as Clark was thought of as a hero.  And she'd make
sure he was.  She loved him, didn't she?

*****  Chapter Five

Lana knocked on the Kent's back door and smiled through the
screen.  "Hi, Martha.  Is Clark here?  I didn't see him when I
drove up.  We were supposed to meet this morning before I went to
work."

Instead of answering, Martha pushed open the screen door.  "Lana,
how nice to see you!  Please, come in and sit down.  Have you had
breakfast yet?"

Lana hesitated.  "Yes, thanks.  I'd really like to talk to Clark,
though.  There are a few things about college we need to discuss
and we don't have much time - "

"He's down in the basement."

Lana frowned in confusion.  "The basement?  What's down there
besides the laundry room and the furnace?"

Martha shook her head.  "He's in the barn basement."

"Oh."  Comprehension replaced confusion.  "So, when's he coming
up?"

"He's been down there since he got home last night."

"Last night?  Why?  What's wrong?  What happened?"

"We don't know.  I wouldn't have known he was there if his father
hadn't been inside the barn cleaning the hay baler."

Lana stepped back and chewed her thumbnail.  "He's been down
there for, what, about twelve hours?"

"Almost.  He's not done this before."  Martha sighed.  "I hope
nothing bad happened last night."

"Something bad?  What could have happened to Clark?  He's pretty
much hurt-proof, isn't he?"

"As far as we know, his body is, but I'm not so sure about his
heart."

"His - heart, yes, of course."  Lana stood and paced for a few
moments.  "Would you mind if I tried to talk to him?"

"We usually give him time to work out whatever it is that's
bothering him, dear, but your relationship with him is your own. 
It's up to you."

Lana nodded and paced some more, then made a decision.  "I'm
going to try.  I don't know how much good I'll do, but I have to
try."  She put her hand on the older woman's arm and gave her a
reassuring squeeze.  "Wish me luck."

"I wish you love, Lana."

Lana hesitated, then leaned close and kissed Martha on the cheek. 
"Thank you."

*****

The barn was unusually quiet.  The morning sun slanted through
the spaces between the wall slats.  Lana made her way to the iron
ring in the floor, but she wasn't strong enough to pull the door
open.  She settled for lifting the ring and letting it clang back
in place three times.  He had to know she was there.  If Clark
didn't open the door after that noise, he simply wasn't going to
talk to her.

She waited for an interminable time, trying to control both her
fears and her imagination.  What could have happened to drive him
here and keep him from his family?  Had she moved too fast,
pushed him too hard?  Had she scared him away from her?  Was
there something else he hadn't told her about himself, something
he was certain would make her run screaming in any direction that
was away from him?

She whispered, "Come on, Clark, open up and let me in."

She stopped her pacing and sat down on a sawhorse, determined to
relax.  As she took her first deep breath, however, the cellar
door finally opened.  Clark stuck his head up and looked directly
at her without saying anything.  He wasn't wearing his glasses,
and she couldn't see his face clearly.

"Clark?  It's me.  It's Lana."

"I know."

His flat tone wasn't very encouraging.  "Are you okay?"

He sighed long and low.  "I really don't want to talk right now."

She stood and took a hesitant step towards the stairway. 
"Please?  I want to help."

Abruptly, he turned and clomped down the stairs, but didn't close
the door.  She paused, then decided to risk following him.

She negotiated the steps down to the darkness below.  She could
barely see Clark sitting on the same barrel she'd used as a chair
just a few days before, facing towards the nearest wall and away
from her.  She cautiously slid her feet across the rough planking
on the floor; tripping and falling wouldn't be very dignified at
the moment, especially if she broke something.

She stopped beside him.  He didn't acknowledge her presence, even
when she gently put her hand on his shoulder.  "Clark?"

He sniffed and wiped his nose.   She was shocked.  What could
make this most powerful human she knew of cry?

She knelt down beside him and leaned her head on his upper arm. 
"Clark, I love you.  Let me help."

He snorted.  She tried again.  "Please?  If there's something
wrong, maybe I can help you fix it."  He didn't respond.  "Clark? 
Is it me?  Have I done something wrong?"

He shook his head.  His voice was tight with barely restrained
emotion.  "No.  Not you."  He rocked back and forth a few times. 
"Not ever you."

She restrained a sigh of relief and softly whispered, "Please let
me help, darling."

He dropped his head against his hands and began sobbing.  Lana
reached up and wrapped her arms around his shoulders as far as
she could and held on for dear life.  She knelt beside him,
stroking his head or squeezing him as he held her arm and cried.

Long minutes passed as Clark poured out his pain and grief.  Lana
still didn't know what had happened, but she thought it had to be
something that Superman had been involved in.  His parents were
fine, Martha didn't know what the problem was, Lana herself was
hale and hearty, so by process of elimination she landed on a
Superman event.

He finally lifted his head and looked at her.  "She was only
four."

Lana shifted in front of him and held his hands.  "Who was only
four, Clark?"

"The little girl.  She - her parents were driving along a farm
road, going home, I guess.  Some drunk in a pickup truck hit them
head-on."

Lana gasped.  "Clark!  Was she - wasn't she in a car seat?"

"Yes."  He closed her eyes and shook his head.  "It wasn't the
wreck that killed her, it was the fire."

"No."  Now there were tears in Lana's eyes.  She squeezed Clark's
hands as tightly as she could.

He forced himself to continue.  "I heard the accident while I was
on patrol.  I saw the fire and got the parents out of the front
seat, then blew the fire out.  The parents weren't injured too
badly, but both of them were unconscious.  I got them comfortable
at the side of the road and then took care of the pickup driver. 
All he had was a broken nose from hitting the steering wheel."

Lana ducked her head and kissed Clark's fingers.  He went on. 
"An ambulance arrived just as I got the guy settled down.  They
treated all three adults and were loading them up for transport
when the mom woke up and started calling for Jerusha, yelling for
her baby.  I ran to the back seat of their car, and there she
was."

Lana knew the news was bad.  She had no idea how to comfort him,
but she refused to leave him alone with his grief.

He momentarily clenched his hands and nearly crushed her wrists,
but she didn't cry out.  Almost immediately he eased his grip and
she gasped in relief.  She hoped he'd tell her the rest of it. 
She was afraid he'd tell her the rest of it.

He hesitated, then continued.  "Jerusha was burned over almost
all of her body.  The fire had burst through the back seat from
the gas tank and enveloped her immediately.  There was nothing I
could have done."  He bent his head.  "I couldn't save her!  All
the things I can do but - that little girl, I was there but I
couldn't - "

His throat closed and he spoke no more.  Lana had no idea what to
do, what to say, how to comfort him.  When she'd encouraged him
to become Superman, she'd never envisioned a circumstance where
Clark couldn't help, couldn't save someone.

He'd already failed, or at least he thought he had.  All she
could do was hold him while he cried.  No words of comfort came
to her.  Nothing she thought to say sounded any better than just
sitting there with him.

It seemed hours before he ran down and slumped against her.  He
cupped his hand under her chin and lifted it for a quick kiss. 
She held his face between her hands and softly said, "Clark, I'm
so sorry."  He closed his eyes and nodded.  "Maybe if you talked
to your dad - "

"No."

"But he might - "

He spoke more sternly.  "No."  He sat up.  "He'd tell me what I
already know, that I did all I could and I should be glad I could
do that much."

"Sounds like good advice to me."

"It is."   He sighed deeply.  "But it doesn't seem to help much."

She stroked his cheek.  "I wish I could help you."

He nodded.  "So do I."  He straightened his back and rolled his
shoulders.  "I've got chores to do.  Maybe we could meet tomorrow
or the next day."

"I'm sure your folks would understand if you took a little time
for yourself."

"The farm won't stand still and wait for me to feel better. 
Besides, it might help me to do something constructive."

She stood and offered her hands to help him up.  He almost smiled
as he let her pull him upright.  "Okay, Clark, I'll go.  But you
have to promise to call me later, okay?"

He nodded.  "Tonight, okay?"

"I'll be waiting."  She turned towards the stairway and
hesitated.  "Will you be all right?"

His face was smooth, almost blank.  "I'll make it."

"No, I mean - "

He held up his hand.  "I know what you mean.  Thank you, Lana."

She tried to smile.  "It's only because I love you so much."

"I know.  I love you, too.  I'll talk to you later."

She nodded and walked up the steps into the brightness of the
Kansas summer.  She hoped the sun could melt the coldness in
Clark's heart, because right now she had no idea how to help him. 
He probably wouldn't talk to his parents about this, and even if
he did, she doubted he'd pay attention to their loving advice.

Lana glanced at her watch and saw that she'd be late for her
shift at the cafeteria if she didn't hurry, then briefly wondered
if everything she'd planned for them was worth the effort.

It wasn't just Clark who felt like a failure at that moment.

*****

They both enrolled at Kansas State the following autumn, Clark as
a journalism major with sociology minor, and Lana as an
archaeology major with a minor in finance.  They both made the
Dean's list every semester.  Superman made infrequent appearances
to help at natural disasters, and occasionally assisted various
police departments across the country in serious situations.  He
was spotted more often in Metropolis than in any other place,
leading to speculation that the city was his home base.  Clark
encouraged the speculation, since it kept the public eye away
from Middle America and from the Kents.

The Superman Foundation made money steadily, and Superman was
present at a number of the presentation ceremonies to disburse
the money.  Lana's suggestion of two-and-a-half percent for
Superman's discretionary fund had been lower than the number the
foundation's lawyers had suggested, which helped to convince
Clark that the fund was a useful item.  He gave Lana
discretionary authority over the money, which he almost regretted
when he learned that she'd begun using the globe to build up the
funds.  Bob was able to predict market trends with over ninety
percent accuracy.  The shell companies Lana set up to manage the
money shielded her from publicity, which was fine with her.  All
she wanted to do was use a little of the money to fund scientific
projects, and also to build up a nest egg for them to use when
they really needed one.  For the most part, she was quite
successful.

Lana worked with her father between semesters as much as she
could, both in the field and at home schmoozing with the rich and
famous, gaining invaluable experience and valuable contacts.  She
had always been adept at hosting the gatherings of the elite in
her father's field, and now that she was older and in college she
was even more effective.  Her father's work expanded, largely due
to her productive efforts with the people with the money and the
people who picked the projects.

In addition to serving as feature editor of the university's
weekly paper beginning in his second semester, Clark began making
a name for himself as a travel feature writer.  He sold a number
of articles to several state-sponsored publications and some to
national periodicals.  He also sold quite a few human-interest
stories, and he consented to write a weekly column for the
Wichita Tribune.  He was proving to be skillful in penetrating to
the heart of a story and showing the people in the situation, not
just the situation itself, and making his readers care about the
people involved in his stories.  Superman's relationship with
Perry White made it easy for Clark to sell several stories to the
Daily Planet, most of which were about people Superman had helped
and how their lives were positively affected by Superman's
actions.

Clark's success was less financially rewarding than Lana's
investment activity or her own archeological publications, but he
was more widely recognized by the public.  When he and Lana were
introduced together at Professor Lang's professional events and
gatherings, Clark often garnered more attention than Lana or her
father did, even from the professionals in attendance.  She was
uncomfortable with his growing celebrity, but she wasn't sure
what, if anything, could - or should - be done about it.  It
didn't fit neatly on her scoreboard.

In early January of his junior year, Clark spent nearly two days
searching for a group of Girl Scouts who'd gotten lost in the
Pacific Northwest during a winter weekend campout.  For the first
time in his college career, he missed two straight days of
classes, which puzzled everyone but his parents and Lana, who
explained that Clark was absent because he was 'feeling really
cold.'

He brought all the Scouts back safe and sound, and he was named
'Official Hero' of that particular Scout troop.  Each of the
girls kissed him on the cheek during the televised award
presentation, and the younger adult leader brought down the house
when she enthusiastically kissed Superman full on the mouth.

Lana watched the news conference with several of her female
classmates, and she forced herself to join in the hysterical
speculation on how to best kiss a superhero.  It was the first
time that Clark's abilities and growing fame as Superman had
placed a personal distance between them, and she wasn't sure how
she felt about it.  She wasn't jealous, of course, she knew she
wasn't.  She just didn't like sharing him with anyone else for
any length of time for any reason.  That wasn't jealousy, she was
sure of it.

When Lana met Clark after classes the next evening, she was quiet
and withdrawn.  Dinner was their usual less-than-sumptuous fare
at the school cafeteria, followed by a long walk around the east
end of the campus, where a few semi-private areas were
unofficially available to courting couples on a first-come,
first-kiss basis.

"You know, the Daily Planet really liked my story."

"Hmm?  Which story was that?"

"About Superman rescuing those Girl Scouts.  Mr. White told me to
send anything I had to him, whether it was a Superman story or
not.  He likes the way I write."

"He has good taste, Clark."

"And so do you.  Or is it that you taste good?  Or maybe both?"

They'd stopped just inside an alcove they'd occupied a few days
earlier, with Clark holding Lana's hand but not her attention. 
He drew her into his arms and kissed her, but he was puzzled by
her lack of participation.  "Lana?  What's wrong?"

"What makes you think anything's wrong, Clark?"

"Well, we aren't taking advantage of the fresh snow on the ground
to keep each other warm like we did a few days ago."

"Stuff happens.  Things change."

He frowned.  "Like what things?"

She turned and faced away from him but still held his hand. 
"Women kissing you during a televised nation-wide press
conference."

"Oh.  That."  He leaned his cheek on the top of her head.  "She
was kissing Superman, Lana. She wasn't kissing me."

She lowered her voice so that only Clark could hear.  "What's the
difference?"

"There's a huge difference.  First of all, I didn't ask her to
kiss me.  She did that entirely on her own.  Second, she was
kissing the guy who brought her back from a very cold and very
dangerous and very scary place.  It was a thank-you kiss, not an
I-love-you-please-live-with-me-forever kiss.  Third, it's
extremely doubtful that she'll have any future contact with
Superman, ever.  Fourth, and most important, I love you, Lana
Lang, and I look forward to marrying you as soon as it's
feasible."

She stood beside him for several minutes and watched the flakes
of snow waft to the already white ground.  "It's hard, Clark,
it's really hard."

"What is?"

She released his hand and crossed her arms.  "Knowing you're who
you are when you're wearing the suit and having to pretend you're
someone else, someone I don't know at all.  It's not like I
thought it would be."

He put his hands on her shoulders.  "How did you think it would
be, Lana?"

"That you'd do your hero thing and come right back to me."

"I am back here with you."

"Yeah.  But yesterday you were with her."

He put his chin on the top of her head.  "No.  Clark Kent wasn't
with her at all.  Superman was making a public appearance with
people who were grateful to him for their lives.  I was just
filling up the suit for him."

She closed her eyes.  "Oh, Clark, I'm so frustrated!  I had to
act like all those other ditzy girls when that woman kissed you,
like I'd love nothing better than to teach Superman about sex! 
She meant that kiss, too! You should have heard - no, it's a good
thing you didn't hear what those nasty little - what those girls
said about you."

His voice remained gentle.  "But I didn't intend to kiss her.  I
certainly wasn't expressing affection for her.  I have reserved
all my kisses and hugs and embraces and all my other assorted and
sundry affections for you and you alone.  I plan to join with you
in the bonds of matrimony and stay wrapped up in them for the
rest of our lives together."

"When will that be?  When will the rest of our lives begin?"

He drew her closer to him.  "Right now, if that's what you want. 
I'll go to school part-time and work full-time and make us a
living and you'll become a famous archaeologist and I'll be
supremely proud of you."

She leaned back into his embrace and chuckled sadly.  "That's a
nice dream.  I wish it could be real."

"It can be.  All you have to do is say the word."

She hesitated.  "You really mean it, don't you?"

"Yes.  Absolutely.  I love you more than I love anyone or
anything else.  If it took losing the super-suit for the rest of
my life to keep you, that's what I'd do, and I'd do it without a
second thought or any shred of regret."

She turned towards him and nestled her face in his chest. 
"That's wonderful to hear, darling."

"It's also completely true."

"I know.  And believe me, it helps."

He tipped her face up and bussed her lips with his.  "Surely you
weren't jealous of a Girl Scout leader?"

"Naw."  She put her head down again.  "Well, maybe a just little
teensy bit."

He hugged her head and shoulders to him.  "There's no need to be. 
There's no one else in the world with whom I'd rather be standing
in the snow right now."

She hugged him for all she was worth.  "I love you.  And thank
you for telling me that.  I feel a lot better now."

"Glad to be of service, ma'am."

She leaned back and eyed him sharply as sternness battled a
mischievous grin.  "Don't get cocky, Kent.  I could do better if
I wanted to."

"Yeah?  How would you keep warm during the frigid Kansas
winters?"

She pulled his face down to hers.  "That's a dumb question for
someone who's as smart as you are."

They both enjoyed the warmth of the other's lips for several
precious moments, then Lana put her head on Clark's chest.  "You
are such a wonderful man."

"Thank you.  You're not at all bad yourself."

She giggled, then sighed dramatically.  "Darling, tell me again
why we can't find an unused motel room and use it."

He stiffened slightly.  "You know why."

"Remind me?"

He nodded slowly.  "There are two main reasons.  Sex is way, way
too important and personal to be reduced to the level of a
handshake or a courtesy.  I don't want to be in the middle of
making love to my wife and also thinking about the hot college
girl I slept with several years before."

"Unless they're the same woman."

He smiled.  "True.  But that brings to mind the second reason. 
If I can make babies - and I'm not even sure I can - I don't want
to unless I'm married to the woman, and I won't marry her unless
I love her like a forever-and-a-day love.  I really don't want
Superman's love children to be popping up all over the place. 
Wouldn't that just complicate our lives."  He kissed the top of
her head.  "That help?"

She nodded.  "I understand those reasons, and I actually agree
with them, at least intellectually I do, but that doesn't mean I
have to like them."

"Doesn't mean I like them either.  But unless you can convince me
they're wrong, we'll both wear white to our wedding."

Lana thought about Bob's sixty-five percent probability
prediction and kept silent.  She'd just have to enjoy Clark's
company and try not to think too much about enjoying his body.

Had to be easier than, say, building a space station with just a
screwdriver and a pair of pliers.  But not much.

*****

The summer after their junior year, Lana scored a sweet
assignment that went a long way in repairing her bent self-
esteem.  She was chosen for an eight-week student trip to western
Africa to work on a dig where her father was heading the team. 
It was a wonderful time for her.  She applied much that she had
already learned, learned a great deal more, and spent some
quality time with her father, an item which had been in short
supply for many months.  She also found time to submit several
articles of her own to various professional journals.  Her father
proofread them and smilingly approved, commenting that the longer
she was around Clark, the better writer she became.

Clark was able to join her for the last two weeks of her tour of
duty, and he wrote and sold five different pieces about the dig
itself, the site, and the team working there.  It more than paid
for his trip, and he was able to treat the entire student
contingent to a restaurant meal on their last night before
returning home.  He and Lana even set a tentative wedding date in
December, after the semester ended.

But the article he'd written about the people running the dig
disturbed her deeply.  Her father didn't say anything, but Lana
could tell that he was not flattered.  Clark had been blunt,
almost brutal, in his description of the treatment of the student
temporaries.  None of the professionals were showered with rose
petals in print, but Lana felt that Clark had been especially
hard on her dad.

Clark and Lana had seats next to each other for the long flight
back to the USA across the Atlantic.  Lana didn't say much for
the first hour or so.  Clark tried to act as if he knew she was
just tired, but as the flight progressed the excuse wore thin. 
He finally turned to confront her.

"Okay, Lana, out with it.  What's the problem?"

She looked directly at the tray table fastened to the seat in
front of her.  "No problem here."

"Wrong answer.  Something's bothering you and I want to know what
it is."

"Nothing's bothering me, Clark!  Please leave me alone."

"Nope.  I want to know if I've done something to upset you. 
Maybe I'll even feel like making it up to you."

She turned and glared at him.  "You can't make it up to me.  You
- "  She turned away again.  "What's done is done, Clark.  Let it
alone.  Please."

"Lana, I need to know what I've done wrong!  I don't want to do
it again, assuming that's even possible."  He leaned closer. 
"Was it my buying dinner for the students?"

"What?  No!  That was very nice of you, Clark.  The kids needed
some time away from the old folks.  Even my dad said so."

He lowered his voice.  "So?  Was it my taking off for two nights
last week?  I was gone almost all the next day, too."

She whispered back, "No!  Even Nigerian princesses need to be
rescued occasionally.  I don't care how rich or how beautiful she
is.  You did the right thing."

"So what's wrong?  What did I do to make you so mad at me?"

She turned to face him.  Always, before, when she'd looked at
him, she'd felt love for him; now, for the first time, she felt
white-hot anger.  "You really don't know, do you?"

Exasperated, he threw his hands in the air.  "If I knew what I'd
done I wouldn't have to ask!  Come on, Lana, we've never kept
important things from each other before!"

"It was the article you wrote."

"What?  Which article?"

"The one on the team leaders."

He scrunched his face up.  She could tell he was reviewing the
article in his head.  He finally shrugged.   "You got me.  I
still don't know what I did wrong."

"It was the way you wrote about my dad!  You made him look like a
- a junior-grade Napoleon or something!  You made him seem power-
mad and arbitrary and petty and abrupt!  He's not like that! 
He's a teacher, he's in charge, and they were being idiots!"

"Honey, you have to admit that your father runs a tight camp."

"He has to run a tight camp!  People at digs destroy artifacts
and evidence all the time because they're careless or clumsy or
just downright stupid!  The head of the expedition has to be
strict with everybody all the time!"

"Even towards his own daughter?"

"Yes!  Especially towards me!  He can't show favoritism to anyone
or all the discipline falls apart!  I knew what he was doing even
if you didn't!  I don't want - "  She stopped abruptly.

In an unnaturally casual tone, Clark asked, "You don't want what,
Lana?"

She pulled away and sat back.  "I don't want to talk to you right
now."

He nodded once.  "Okay, if that's what you want."

Neither of them spoke to the other for the duration of the flight
to Metropolis International Airport.  The flight was nearly
endless.

What bothered Lana most was that she had very nearly told Clark
she didn't want to be around him just then.  She wondered if what
some of her friends had said about her eventually having to
choose between her father and her husband was true.  She hoped
not, but feared it was so.  She wondered if she was having second
thoughts about the wedding.  Or she was having a hissy fit over
nothing.  Or she was just tired and scared of the future.  She
really didn't know which, and it frightened her.

*****

They changed planes in Metropolis.  The layover was three hours. 
As she exited the tunnel from the plane, Lana almost walked away,
but at the last minute stopped and turned to wait for him.

Clark had gotten stuck in the window seat by the crush of
passengers, so he was one of the last ones off the plane.  When
he saw Lana waiting for him, he broke stride, then smiled and
walked to her side.

"Hi."

"Hi yourself, strange man.  Come here often?"

"Just to pick up beautiful girls on their way back from
archaeological dig sites in Africa."

She smiled and bumped elbows with him.  "Well, you got lucky,
stud.  Come on, we'll split an overpriced airport pizza."

They took several steps together.  Lana ducked her head and
muttered, "Maybe we both got lucky."

Clark bumped her lightly with his elbow to let her know he'd
heard her, as she'd known he would.  "Want me to carry your stuff
for you?"

She grinned up at him.  "Hey, yeah, man, that would be just
totally super."

He gave her a mock glare and took her carry-on baggage.  "No
problem, ma'am.  Comes with the service."

They found a pasta shop with several empty tables; apparently
eleven in the morning local time was early for pizza on the east
coast of the U.S.  Still on Africa time, Lana was ravenous. 
Other than the restaurant meal Clark had bought for the student
crew, she hadn't eaten American cooking for almost two months. 
The airline meal, of course, didn't count.

The pizza was greasy and overpriced, the toppings were sparse and
the crust was sub-par, but to Lana it was manna from heaven.  She
closed her eyes and savored the first few bites.  Clark watched
her with an indulgent smile.

Lana shuddered with delight.  "Clark, if I ever tell you there's
leftover pizza in the fridge, you'll know I'm lying."  She took
another