The note read:

'I'm really sorry about taking the clothes and boots. I will send you money to replace them as soon as I can.'

The man looked around him and up and down the road. He had barely been in the house for two minutes, but there was no one in sight.

In a phone booth, Clark is putting on the shirt he had taken from the back of the car. while making a call.

'I wasn't able to get any pictures; the fire pretty much wrecked everything.'

'But you're okay?' said the voice on the other end.

'I'm fine, sir.'

'Clark, how many times do I have to tell you to call me 'George'?'

Clark smiles as he crouches down to tie up a boot. 'I'm sorry, Mr Taylor, but my parents didn't raise me that way.'

An exasperated voice on the end of the phone sighs and says, 'Fine, but we'll change you in time, young man. Will you be able to send your piece in tonight? We might be able to get it on to the early morning run, or at least online.'

'You'll have it in half an hour.'

Clark steps out of the phone booth and puts on the jacket he had taken earlier. He catches sight of a school bus and remembers.

'My son was on the bus. He saw what Clark did.'

Jonathan, cradling a cup of tea, smiled at Pete. 'Son, what exactly did you see?' Mrs Ross was about to interrupt but Jonathan held up a hand. 'Abigail, please, let the boy speak.'

'I…I didn't see anything,' said Pete.

'Peter Joseph Ross!' exclaimed his mother.

'I didn't Ma. I was underwater and I couldn't see a thing. Clark…Clark saved me. He dived in and he saved me.'

'And we're grateful he did, son,' said Jonathan as he glanced out of the window. 'We're grateful that he did.'

'But the other children,' protested Mrs Ross. 'They saw-'

Jonathan shrugged. 'Police said the driver's foot was jammed on the gas, and when the back door opened and the weight shifted…maybe it was Pete falling out of the bus that ended up saving everyone?' he said, smiling at Pete.

Pete smiled back, 'Yeah, maybe.'

After the Rosses had left the Kent farm, Jonathan made his way to where Clark had 'retreated'.

'I just wanted to help,' Clark said, hearing him approach and wary of the hubbub his actions had caused.

'I know you did, but we talked about this, right? Right? We talked about this! You have…' Clark's shoulders slumped and Jonathan paused for a moment, the harshness of his words and his tone washing over him. 'Clark, you have to keep this side of you a secret.'

'What was I supposed to do? Just let them die?' Clark protested, kicking feet and looking away from his father.

Jonathan shook his head. 'Maybe,' Clark's head snapped round in shock. 'Maybe there was some other way. Some way to have saved them without drawing attention to yourself.'

'There wasn't time, Dad.'

'I know…I just…' he walked round the side of the truck and sat beside Clark. 'You're always going to want to help people - and that's great, it really is. But…there's more at stake than our lives or the lives of those around us. The things you can do…Clark, you've seen how people have reacted; you can hear what they're saying.' Clark turned his head, his face shadowed with sadness. 'The things you can do, and you wanting to help people, that's a powerful combination. It's something great. But you've seen and you've heard. You know their fear, and…I just think you need to…we need to find a way where you can do the things you can but without drawing attention.'

'People…they're going to find out eventually,' Clark reasoned.

'They are. Probably. But we don't have to help them, do we? Clark, you and…you change everything.'

'How? Why am I different? Is Mrs Ross right? Did God make me this way?'

(After Jonathan shows Clark the ship and tells him about the object he had examined…)

'You are my son…But somewhere out there you have another father, too, who gave you another name. And he sent you here for a reason, Clark; and even if it takes you the rest of your life, you owe it to yourself to find out what that reason is.'

They held each other for a few moments - Clark being careful with how hard he held is father, and Jonathan not caring and holding on to Clark as tightly as he could. They pulled away, both of them smiling: Jonathan now having the weight of the secret lifted, and Clark now having a small understanding about his 'otherness'.

'What do you think this does?' Clark asked, turning and examining the small object Jonathan had given him.

Smiling, Jonathan moved to the side of the ship, his hand running down and along the engravings on its side, and then he stopped. 'Here,' he said, rubbing the area slightly. 'It came from here.' There is a small pentagonal hole, slightly larger than the pentagon at the end of the object in Clark's hand. 'Your Ma and I tried to put it back in so many times over the years, but it kept…pushing us away. Here,' he held out his hand. 'Let me show you.'

Clark handed the object back to Jonathan, who then tried to put it back into the pentagonal hole - and his hand moved to the side. Rejected. He tried a second time and his hand was 'pushed' to the other side. He turned back to Clark and offered the object back to him: 'You try.'

Clark held the object and looked at the ship and the small hole. He was nervous - more nervous than he had been when first set the wet bed sheets Martha had hung out to dry on fire a few years ago, and more nervous than he had been earlier when Pete and Mrs Ross had come by. He stepped forward, holding up the object in between his fingers and slowly stretched his hand out to the hole. Suddenly, the object leapt from his fingers and entered the hole.

And nothing happened.

Clark and Jonathan looked at each other, their faces, alight with expectation, slowly showing disappointment. Sighing, Jonathan reached for the object, and his hand was pushed away again. Clark frowned and reached up himself, and then pushed the object a little further into the hole. There was a click, and…

The ship hummed and the glyphs and engravings began to move and morph. Clark and Jonathan stepped back in shock, and Jonathan protectively placed his arm in front of his son. Strange sounds could be heard and they seemed to be voices, but whatever language it was the two Kents couldn't understand it. Over and over the sounds were emitted and then, finally: 'please, we beseech you, look after our son. In time, he can be a great good for you world. In time, he can help you accomplish wonders.'

And then there was silence, and the two Kents stood there, their mouths agape, staring at the now silent ship.

The boys opened the truck door and pulled Clark out. He had been expecting this - it was almost getting to be a routine, but they were getting more and more aggressive these days. As he fell to the floor he saw that Pete was with them, and he couldn't help but feel a little disappointed.

'You think you're a tough guy, Kent?' snarled Kenny as he stood over Clark.

'Just punch him, man,' encouraged one of the other boys.

Clark looked past them, straight at Pete. Pete shook his head and then shrugged. Clark then looked at Kenny, frowned, and shrugged.

'Answer me, Kent,' Kenny demanded, raising a fist.

'You've already read what I had to say, Kenny,' said Clark, gritting his teeth.

Kenny made to punch Clark but one of the other boys grabbed his arm and pulled him back. Kenny glared at him, and then saw, a couple of dozen feet away, that Jonathan and a few other adults were watching. He shrugged off his friend and glared at Clark again. 'Next time, Kent,' he growled as he stalked away.

As the last of the group of boys left, Pete stepped forward and offered Clark a hand up.

'It's like you're looking for trouble with those pieces you keep writing, Clark,' said Pete, frowning as he saw Clark had crimped the fence post he had gripped.

'Truth hurts, Pete,' Clark grinned as he took Pete's hand and got up.

'Yeah, but…c'mon, Clark, do you really want the town to hate you?'

Clark shrugged. 'They already do, don't they?'

Pete smiled and put his hand on Clark's shoulder. 'You know we don't, Mr Reporter.' He looked past him, at the now distant group of boys. 'Those others, though…they don't understand.'

Pete turns to look at back at the garage and leaves as Jonathan approaches. Clark adjusts his jacket and dusts down the book he been made to drop when he had been pulled out of the truck.

'Did they hurt you?' he asked, wary of the other people watching from the front of the garage.

Clark shrugged. 'You know they can't.'

'That's not what I meant. I meant, 'are you alright?''

Clark shrugged again. 'It's my own fault. Posting an article on cheating and making some non-obscure references to who the culprits were was always going to get me into trouble.' Seeing that Jonathan was about to speak, Clark interrupted: 'I'm being careful, Dad, I promise. It's just-'

'The truth hurts, I know. Just...keep an eye on your own truth, too, Clark. The world's changing,' and then he smiles and ruffles his son's hair, 'but it will always need good reporters.'