Strange Visitor (from another planet) and Green, Green Glow of Home were written by Bryce Zabel

"I thought you were having lunch with George Thompson today," Alec Freeman told his old friend and commanding officer, Ed Straker. Freeman knew that Straker had scheduled a helicopter to fly him from Metropolis to Langley, Virginia, to meet with the man the CIA director had assigned to oversee the agency charged with keeping the USA safe from aliens from outer space.

"I thought so, too," Straker admitted. Freeman noted the worry in Straker's ice blue eyes. Another man might have missed the signs, but Freeman had been Straker's right-hand man in SHADO for more years than either cared to recall. He knew the blond man's tells better than anyone aside from, maybe, Straker's wife.

"Trask is up to something?" Freeman guessed. Jason Trask and his team had been a problem for SHADO since before there was a Supreme Headquarters - Alien Defense Organization.

"When has Trask ever not been up to something?" Straker asked. It was a rhetorical question. Freeman knew he didn't expect an answer.

"The director agreed with the IAC's assessment that Bureau 39 was an unwarranted duplication of cost and effort and under Trask's command, it was dangerously out of control."

"I'm sure Trask took that well," Freeman commented.

"He was ordered to meet with Thompson this morning in the director's office."

"Let me guess," Freeman interjected grimly. "Trask didn't show."

"If this thing with Trask goes down as badly as it potentially could, it could get very, very, bad… for the whole planet."

"Knowing Trask, he'll be planning on going after Superman," Freeman said. "We could just tell him we know we can control him."

"Do you honestly believe that madman would believe anything anyone said that disagreed with what he's already decided is true?"

Straker sighed and Freeman knew that once again there was much more going on than Straker was telling him.

"Ed, assuming Trask does have a way to hurt Superman, exactly how bad would the results be?" Freeman asked. "Are we looking at possible retribution from his people on New Krypton?"

"I wish it was that simple," Straker told him. "I think we could handle a simple invasion."

"So, what has you so worried?"

"A dream," Straker said, making it sound like the most logical thing in the world.

"A dream?" Freeman repeated, trying to keep the disbelief out of his voice.

"A dream I had ten years ago," Straker continued. "I dreamed that you and I were in Metropolis and there was a Superman and Trask succeeded in killing him. And one month later, the Earth has hit by an extinction-level-size meteorite because Superman wasn't there to stop it."

"I wouldn't call that a dream," Freeman commented. "Sounds more like one doozey of a nightmare."

"Except that I'm not sure it was a dream," Straker said. "At the time, I made a check of all the known Earth-crossing bodies that would be big enough to cause that much damage. There was one. The orbital computations at the time showed it would miss the planet by a good margin."

"At the time?" Freeman repeated.

"I checked on its orbit from time to time," Straker admitted. "Last year its orbit shifted slightly. Maybe it got hit by another object, maybe something else happened but I doubt we'll ever know. In any case, it's going to intersect Earth's orbit and the Earth is going to be there when it happens."

"And even with the technology we have available to us from the Rokan-shou and the Aurisans, we don't have the ability to divert it, do we?"

Straker shook his head.

"Who else knows about it?"

"EPRAD, NASA, ESA, some astronomers," Straker listed. "Their calculations indicate it'll be a close miss. I ran my figures past a couple of the Rokan-shou navigators. It's not going to miss, unless we happen to have a helpful Kryptonian around to take care of it for us."

"Maybe we could tell Trask we need Superman," Freeman suggested, only half joking.

"In my dream, he knew and didn't care. And that's why I killed him."

-o-o-o-

Freeman had tried not to show his surprise at how seriously Straker was still taking a dream he'd had ten years before. Besides, Trask was still alive. And it was just barely possible that Straker had read more into the dream that he should have. It was also just barely possible that Straker was mistaken about the Earth-crossing asteroid.

Straker refused to give Freeman any more details of the dream, or the asteroid. Straker tried to laugh it off, claiming it was just a nightmare he'd had a long time ago, but Freeman knew he was just trying to minimize the worry he'd caused by telling Freeman about it

A call to an associate at EPRAD didn't help to confirm or deny Straker's assertion that Earth was in danger from an asteroid. Although Dr. Sascka confirmed that a body would cross Earth's orbit, all their computations indicated it would miss the Earth by a very comfortable margin.

Was it possible that Straker was wrong? Freeman hoped so. There was something perverse about saving the Earth from marauding aliens only to be taken out by an act of God disguised as an asteroid.

The next few days simply confirmed another fact that Freeman already knew – Trask and his team were cunning as well as ruthless and while Trask may not have been clinically insane, his utter focus on his mission combined with his total disregard for human life made him at least as dangerous as any of Earth's real enemies. Plus, pulling a raid on a major newspaper was never exactly a good idea, and trying to intimidate the Daily Planet… well, that qualified as utterly lunatic. Freeman had never met Perry White, but the man's reputation as a newspaperman was that he was no one to mess with.

"Do we know for a fact that it was Trask and his bunch at the Planet?" one of SHADO's local operatives asked during the emergency security meeting that had been called immediately after the raid.

"Trask didn't even bother to hide his face from the building's security cameras," Paul Foster told her. "In fact, it almost looks like he wanted to be identified. He certainly made no effort to get a legitimate search warrant, or to cover the fact that his was a fake. And I'm sure he could have gotten a real one, if he'd wanted to."

"That doesn't make a lot of sense," the younger operative complained mildly. Freeman recalled that her name was Rosario – Connie Rosario. She was one of the newer, post-war, recruits.

"They were trying to get information on Superman," Straker told the group. "Trask wants Superman to know there's a government agency, legitimate or not, going after him. And he wants us to know that we can't stop him."

"Yes" Doctor Jackson put in. Despite the psychiatrist's many years in Great Britain and in the US, his Eastern European accent was a thick as ever – when he wanted it to be. "Trask wants everyone to know that he and his people are above the law and not answerable to any authority outside of himself," Jackson continued. "He wants us and Superman to respond in a 'reactive' rather than 'proactive' manner, thereby justifying his own skewed preconceptions of the situation."

"Are we certain that his ideas are really that skewed?" someone asked. "I mean, what do we really know about this Superman?"

"We probably know more about him than he does about himself right now," Straker told the group. "After all, we know he's not the only alien living on Earth, but I doubt he knows that."

"General, considering the type of being Superman is… can we control him if we have to?" Foster asked, echoing the question Freeman knew was on everyone's mind.

Straker took a moment before answering. "Can we control him as in giving him orders and expecting him to obey without question? No. Psychologically, he's basically a well-travelled, rather idealistic, young American male," Straker stated. He paused a moment before continuing. "Do I believe there is a method to rein him in if his actions become threatening or dangerous? Yes. Do I believe there is something capable of hurting him, maybe even killing him? Also yes."

"Sir, do you mind if we ask what that something is?" Rosario asked.

"Element 126. It's a relatively stable transuranic and it's believed to be a fragment of his home planet," Straker explained.

"And it can hurt him?"

"Yes, I believe it can."

Freeman could see the relief in everyone's faces. Handling a power mad human was one thing. An uncontrollable demi-god was something else entirely.

Freeman waited until he was alone with Straker before voicing his own concerns. "Ed, do we have any of this element 126?"

"Not yet."

"Do you know where we can get our hands on some if we need it?"

"I think so," Straker said.

Freeman snorted. Straker could be downright obtuse when he wanted to be. And it appeared that today he wanted to be.

"Does Trask have any?" Freeman pressed.

"Not that I know of," Straker said. "Not yet, anyway." He gave Freeman a sardonic grin. "Do you have any doubt that he would have used it already if he had it?"

Freeman had to admit that Straker was probably right. Trask would never have passed up the opportunity to use whatever weapons he had available to destroy what he considered an intolerable threat to the planet.

Freeman also didn't want to admit it out loud, but he wasn't certain he wouldn't act exactly like Trask if their positions were reversed. As far as Jason Trask knew, he was charged with defending a helpless planet against an unknown enemy of unknown strength – an enemy that may well have corrupted his superiors and kept him from being able to do his job.

"Ed, are we so sure that Trask is in the wrong?" he asked softly.

Straker had the courtesy to ponder the question before answering. "Alec, before the president authorized General Henderson and me to brief the heads of state of the great powers about the problem with our alien invaders, we had to have evidence that there was a credible threat. Evidence good enough to convince a congressional committee that there was a credible threat. Evidence good enough that if it came down to it, a district attorney could go before a grand jury and get a true bill against aliens from outer space on multiple counts of murder. How many innocent people did the Rokan-shui kill before we actually had enough evidence to go ahead? How many victims all killed with the same M.O.?"

"Thousands," Freeman answered.

"And Trask wants to set himself up as judge, jury, and executioner of one possible, not even confirmed, alien on Earth," Straker said. "There's no evidence that Superman's committed any crime, except maybe emigration law violations. No bodies, no missing persons, nothing except for Trask's insistence that lack of evidence of a crime is evidence of a conspiracy to cover up a crime."

"So, how do we deal with him? Shoot him, like in your dream?" Freeman asked.

Straker gave him a sharp look. "I don't recall telling you that I shot him."

"Well, running him down with your car might damage the car. And bombs aren't your style," Freeman said, suppressing the sudden chill he felt. He knew Straker had shot Trask, but he had no idea how he knew.

"I should have had him taken out ten years ago," Straker admitted. "Unfortunately, Trask's supervisors didn't entirely agree with Jackson's assessment of Trask's mental stability. Besides he was useful in diverting suspicion away from us when we needed it."

"And now?"

"What do you think?" Straker's tone was flat. "If he or any of his people so much as sneeze, we need to know about it."

"Then it's a good thing that Paul ordered extra surveillance on them the moment we confirmed it was Bureau 39 that raided Daily Planet. But tell me, what if we do need to take him down? Do we tell the local authorities that the Bureau is a terrorist organization and let them handle it for us?"

"That's what we're supposed to do," Straker reminded him. "At least in the U.S."

"He knows an awful lot about us."

"I know."

-o-o-o-

"George Thompson went out to the Bureau's warehouse about one and he hasn't been seen since," Foster told Freeman later that afternoon.

Freeman didn't bother to ask if there was a chance that their security people had simply missed him leaving. Freeman knew better.

"Well, we knew Trask knew we were keeping an eye on him," Freeman said. "He'd make sure he had a back way out that wasn't in any city records. Maybe an underground tunnel to the basement of another building, access to the sewers, something like that."

"We thought we had all that covered," Foster told him. "We checked out the adjoining buildings right after Trask's bunch moved into the warehouse and we've been inspecting them periodically. Nothing."

"But he managed to get Thompson past us anyway."

"Or maybe Thompson hasn't left the building," Foster suggested.

"I'm told he had a pretty hefty list of appointments scheduled for today," Freeman said. "Not people you'd want to annoy."

Foster didn't respond.

"Anything else?" Freeman prompted.

"Only that the two Daily Planet reporters Trask seemed most interested in met with Thompson just before he left for the warehouse and one of them followed him there."

"Just one?"

"The woman, Lane. She and Kent split up and went in opposite directions right outside the building. We're not sure where he went. But neither of them looked exactly happy when they left Thompson's office."

Freeman chuckled. "They probably went there expecting answers and Thompson wasn't giving them anything except more questions." He sat back in his office chair and peered up at the younger man. "Maybe we should keep a friendly eye on those two reporters, too. After all, if Trask was interested in them, maybe we should be too."

"I'll get right on it," Foster assured him.

Freeman watched as Foster closed the office door behind him. George Thompson was missing. Freeman had no doubt that Trask or one of his people had arranged for an 'accident' to befall the government bureaucrat. Was this the final piece of evidence they needed to prove that Trask was as dangerously out of control as they believed?

Freeman doubted it.

Without a body, it was going to be hard to prove that Trask had anything to do with Thompson's disappearance. He could claim that he never got the order to disband his unit. Even with a body it might be difficult to prove anything. Trask and his people knew any number of ways to kill a man and make it look like anything but a murder.

-o-o-o-

Freeman had dinner at his usual hang out, not far from his apartment. Big house salad, medium rare steak, a little cordial conversation with the waitress who thought he was little more than a harmless middle-aged bachelor.

Going home to his empty flat didn't seem especially appealing. Between thoughts of the asteroid and Trask, Freeman didn't really want to be alone with what was in his head. Getting drunk wasn't an option – temporary forgetfulness and a sick headache in the morning. And he was getting too old for hangovers. He didn't want to socialize with anyone from work – once upon a time it wouldn't have bothered him to call up one of the girls in research and ask her out for dessert and coffee, or to call Foster out to pub crawl with him. But Foster had a wife and family now and Freeman's mood wasn't going to be conducive to chatting up a pretty young thing.

He was walking toward the park beneath the Metropolis Bridge when he spotted emergency vehicles down by the water's edge. It looked like there had been a fatality. A jumper from the bridge, maybe. Or maybe something else entirely. He stood and watched as a gurney with a body-bag was placed in the medical examiner's van.

Freeman made mental note to get in touch with the M.E.'s office in the morning and find out who the poor sod was that the MPD had fished out of the drink. Freeman wasn't a superstitious man, and his flashes of psychic inspiration were few and far between, but right now he had the eerie feeling that the dead man's identity – and he was certain it was a man – was going to be a serious issue for SHADO in days and weeks to come.

Sleep did not come easily and when Freeman did finally fall asleep, his dreams were disturbing.

Freeman and Straker were crouched by a farmhouse porch – from the landscape Freeman guessed they were in the Midwestern U.S. Straker was younger and armed with a high-powered rifle.

Jason Trask had set fire to a wooden shed with a padlocked door. Freeman knew there were people inside and he knew Trask knew and didn't care that he was committing cold-blooded murder. Freeman started to move forward but Straker stopped him. Freeman felt a flash of anger at the other man. Didn't he care that innocents were about to die?

Then the back of Trask's van burst open and a young man in jeans and a flannel shirt jumped out of it, running toward the burning shed. The young man inhaled the flames. Superman in civilian clothes? Freeman spared a glance in Straker's direction. The blond man didn't seem surprised.

The young man broke the padlock on the door, ran inside then came out a few moments later. Trask was standing there, hands behind his back in an 'at ease' attitude – or was he holding something out of sight? From his angle, Freeman couldn't tell.

Trask's expression was a sneer.

"Don't take another step," the young man warned.

"Fighting words, Mister Kent. Or should I call you, 'Superman?'" Trask countered. "A secret identity. Very clever."

The young man's grim expression didn't change. "You're going to prison. For murder, kidnapping, for abuse of power."

Trask simply smiled. It was the coldest smile Freeman had ever seen.

"But I'll tell everyone your secret," Trask said. He seemed to be enjoying himself.

"I don't care. This ends now, Trask."

"Agreed. But the question is, for whom?"

Freeman stifled a gasp as Kent closed the distance between himself and Trask faster than the eye could see. Then Kent gasped in pain and shock. His knees buckled and Freeman could tell it was an effort for the young man to keep standing. Trask kicked his feet out from under him, sending Kent sprawling. Still, Straker didn't move.

"You think you're better than we humans, don't you?" Trask was ranting. "Flying around, oh-so-perfect and superior. But those days are over, aren't they?"

"You're... wrong," Kent managed to say.

"No. You're wrong. It's over, and I have won," Trask stated. He waved the green crystalline rock he'd been hiding behind his back and waved it in Kent's face. "This little piece of home is going to be the death of you, Superman."

Freeman heard sirens in the distance.

Trask must have heard them as well. He set the green rock beside Kent. "Unfortunately, I won't be able to stay for the services," he announced, turning to head for the waiting van.

Despite his pain, Kent reached for the rock. Freeman could see it burn his hands like acid as he picked it up. Freeman started forward once again. From what he'd seen, the rock shouldn't affect him. If he could get the rock away from Kent…

Again Straker stopped him, but this time instead of a rifle, the blond man had a small device in his hand. It was silver and had several buttons on the face. Straker pressed one button and…

Freeman woke with a start and it took him a moment to realize he was safely in his bed in his apartment in Metropolis. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had such a vivid dream. His heart was pounding and he imagined he could still smell the harsh smoke from the scorched shed.

Freeman laid back, willing his heart to slow down to a more normal rate.

Jackson had told him more than once that dreams were a key to the unconscious mind, that they reflected what the mind was working on 'underneath'. Freeman tried to analyze what this dream might mean – he knew from Straker that Superman was a Kansan named Clark Kent and he knew that Trask wanted Superman dead. Was his mind simply writing a script for the confrontation between Trask and Kent? Or was there something more that his unconscious mind had picked up about the situation?

He was almost afraid to ask.